To everyone else, Lydia’s the reverend’s perfect daughter. But I’ve seen the fire behind her sunshine. I’ve known for a while that she’s been aching for a little rebellion—and this? This is her version of flipping the bird to the system that failed Colt and his family.
“I mean,” she adds, her voice softening, “he never got justice. The guy who tried to ruin the Marshalls got to retire in peace. That car used to be his throne, and he abused his power. Thought it might feel good to turn the tables a little.”
I chew the inside of my cheek, staring at the car. It’s risky. Reckless. But technically, Iaman officer. And no one’s using it anymore anyways. I could justify it. Maybe.
And maybe—just maybe—I could do one better.
A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. “I have an even better idea.”
Fifteen minutes later, my paperwork filed, the keys jingling in my palm, I’m cruising down the gravel drive toward Colt’s place, the sheriff’s cruiser rumbling beneath me like a storm.
He’s shirtless, lounging near the firepit that hasn’t been lit, his skin golden in the sun, abs glistening like some kind of temptation made flesh. When he spots the vehicle, he stiffens, confusion crumpling his brow before realization hits and he starts walking toward me.
I park and hop out fast, leaning a hip against the door, trying to look casual.
“Molly,” he says, low and sharp, eyes locked on mine. “What the hell are you doing in that thing?”
I bite my lip, teasing. “Lydia broke it out while the chief’s out of town.”
He closes the distance between us, his expression unreadable. I see the way his jaw ticks, his eyes flicking to the car again, then back to me. And just like that, the teasing dies on my lips.
Shit.
Maybe I didn’t think this through. Maybe this car is more than just a vehicle to him—it’s the symbol of everything that broke him. The arrest. The trial. The silence of a town that didn’t fight harder for him.
My stomach twists. “Colt,” I say quietly, reaching for his hand. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He blinks, like I’ve pulled him from a memory he didn’t want to revisit. Then his fingers thread through mine, tight.
“No,” he says, voice rough. “You didn’t upset me. Just caught me off guard. That car… it’s the last thing I expected to see you roll up in.”
“I was…” I hesitate, my boot kicking a small cloud of dust between us. “I don’t know. I got this crazy idea in my head as sort of afuck youto Sheriff Davenport. I thought maybe we could…” I glance up through my lashes, nervous now that he’s this close, heat radiating off him. “I don’t know.”
“What was your idea, Molly?” he asks like he already suspects where this is going.
When I meet his gaze, there’s a flicker of something at the corner of his mouth. A twitch. A ghost of a smile. It’s enough to let my breath go.
“I was thinking…” I shift my weight. “Maybe we could fuck in it.”
A low chuckle rumbles out of him, shaking his head in disbelief. Then, with a gentleness that melts me, he reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, fingers lingering against my chin.
“You do nothing but surprise me,” he murmurs. “I thought I knew my best friend growing up, but clearly, I didn’t know a damn thing about you and the fire that’s inside of you.”
My lips tug upward as I lean my hip against the car, letting my eyes take a slow, deliberate stroll over him—bare chest glistening with sweat, those thin, low-hanging shorts clinging to his hips like they were made to be peeled off.
He dips his head, pressing a kiss to my neck, slow and deliberate. “You’re under arrest, Officer Patrick,” he growls playfully before spinning me gently and guiding my hips to rest against the car door. “Though,” he continues, voice gravel rough, “I was thinking back seat. But seeing this view?” His hand slides down my back to my belt. “I’ll take it right here.”
He unbuckles me with practiced ease, slipping my gun from its holster and setting it carefully on the ground. I should probably be more concerned about all this—but all I feel is heat.
He tugs my pants down slowly, helping me step out of them one foot at a time until I’m completely bare from the waist down, the warm air brushing between my legs, already slick with need. Then he grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it up and off, tossing it somewhere behind us.
I gasp as my nipples press against the hot, sun-soaked glass of the cruiser. The contrast sends a jolt through me, and he pins me there with one hand flat on the window, the other sliding between my cheeks, fingers teasing until he pushes two inside me, slow and deep.
“You’re soaked,” he breathes into my ear, voice dark and hungry. “You were getting turned on just thinking about this, weren’t you? Me. You. This car.”
“Yes,” I whisper on a moan.
He bites down gently on my ear, groaning. “I love that the first thing you thought of when you saw this car wasmefucking you against it.”
