Chapter 1

After the divorce, I fled to Seattle with my daughter. Surviving as a Black single mother in a new city nearly broke me.

Then came David. A Major Crimes detective. A safe harbor.

I thought the darkness was behind us. Until our six-month anniversary. I showed up at the restaurant early and saw him kissing a pregnant woman. Two toddlers clinging to his legs.

——

"You should've changed your passcode, Elena. Using your daughter's birthday is lazy."

The voice slid out of the dark living room.

My purse slipped from my hand, hitting the floor. My fingers froze an inch from the light switch.

In the pale moonlight, a massive silhouette sat on my sofa.

David Thorne. Senior Detective, Major Crimes.

Hours ago, I’d thrown a glass of ice water in his face at a crowded restaurant. I told him if he ever came near me or my daughter again, I’d ruin him.

He’d played me for six months. The perfect, protective bachelor—who actually had a wife expecting their third child.

Now, he was inside my locked apartment.

"Get out," I said, sliding my hand into my dropped purse for the pepper spray. "I've already called the cops. They're on their way."

David chuckled. "Elena. You're a brilliant architect. You calculate load-bearing walls and think you control everything. You forgot the dispatch supervisor is a golf buddy of mine."

He stood. His badge gleamed faintly on his dark tactical jacket.

"That 911 call? Flagged as a 'domestic dispute, non-emergency.'"

He advanced.

I pulled the pepper spray. He was faster.

His hand clamped over my wrist. Bone ground against bone. The canister hit the floor.

"You liar!" I thrashed against his grip. "You have a wife and two kids! Get out of my house!"

David scoffed, loosening his grip just enough to toy with me. "Don't be so rigid, Elena. Emily takes care of the house. She's the perfect wife. But you... you're smart, gorgeous, and you handle my other needs. There's no conflict."

He freed a hand and swiped his thumb over my lips. "We keep this going. As long as you behave. That downtown municipal contract you want? I can pull strings. You play the independent career woman, and I—"

"Go to hell."

I wrenched my arm free and slapped him hard across the face. "Get out! Or tomorrow morning the entire Seattle PD will know!"

David’s head snapped sideways. When he faced me again, his eyes were dead.

"You disobedient bitch."

He grabbed a fistful of my hair and slammed me into the wall. My vision blurred.

I shoved at his chest. He swept my arms behind my back and wrenched them upward. Cold metal snapped around my wrists.

Handcuffs.

"Let me go—"

He clamped a hand over my mouth, grinding my face into the drywall. He leaned in, smelling of mint and tobacco.

"Assaulting an officer?" he whispered. "Right now, you're my prisoner."

His arousal pressed hard against my thighs.

"No!" I twisted, trying to kick him.

He grabbed my collar and yanked. Buttons flew across the hardwood. My silk blouse ripped open to the cold air.

He unbuckled his leather police belt with one hand.

Smack!

The thick leather whipped against my bare skin. A searing pain shot through me. Before I could breathe, his knee drove between mine, forcing my legs apart.

He tore away my underwear and shoved himself inside me. Dry. Brutal. Without warning.

A ragged sound tore from my throat. My fingernails gouged into the drywall.

"You think your rules protect you?" he panted, gripping my hips. "Look at who really makes the rules, Elena."

He thrust into me over and over, turning my home into an interrogation cell. When he finally finished with a harsh exhale, he just let go.

I collapsed onto the floor, wrists still cuffed behind my back. My thighs stung with torn skin and his bodily fluids.

David adjusted his clothes. He crouched and unlocked my cuffs.

"By the way," he said, pocketing the key. "You just tried to assault an off-duty police officer with pepper spray. I could arrest you right now. But I'm in a good mood. Goodnight."

The door clicked shut.

I curled up on the cold floor, shaking. The bleeding skin on my wrists and the burning ache between my legs didn't let me numb out.

In the dark, another face surfaced—my ex-husband, Mark.

Five years ago, Mark was the same. He called his assaults his "marital duty." Back then, I compromised. I thought endurance would buy peace. Instead, he escalated until he nearly beat me to death. It cost me everything to get those divorce papers.

I thought I had climbed out of that abyss. Tonight, David just showed me that to men with absolute power, I was still just prey.

No. Not again.

I forced myself up. I didn't shower. I didn't wash away his filth. I sealed my torn blouse into a Ziploc bag.

I threw on a trench coat, drove to the downtown hospital, and asked for a SANE nurse.

The examination took four hours.

The forensics nurse swabbed every trace of DNA off my skin. She photographed the bruised grooves around my wrists and the tearing between my legs. Every touch stung, but I didn’t shed a single tear.

At dawn, holding a sealed medical report, I walked straight into the Seattle Police Department's Internal Affairs Bureau.

"I need to report a detective."

I sat in a cold metal chair, staring at an IA agent who was suddenly wide awake.

"David Thorne. Senior Detective. Last night... he raped me."