I think I know exactly what your type might be, though,” he answered, mopping up another deluge of sweat with his abused handkerchief, this time from his jowls. “Get your ass off the wall and follow me. I’m gonna show you what happens to those bad boys you soak your panties over.”
Layla rolled her eyes skyward and pushed off the wall, grimacing at the sweaty outline she left behind as she followed Officer Maddock down the hallway to a dark blue door. As he set about unlocking it, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was some kind of vindication for him. He seemed like the chubby, pizza-faced boy who had watched all the jocks sweep his unattainable crushes off their feet in high school. Seeing them end up in a cell probably gave him a stiffy—not that he’d be able to see it to tell for sure.
“Let’s see how sexy these guys are once you see ‘em behind bars,” he intoned ominously, swinging open the door and sweeping a hand toward the cell block on the other side. “After you.”
“Are you kidding?” she answered, cocking out a hip. “You’re sending me to look over a bunch of hot, sweaty boys who are not only hard up for some female attention, but probably shirtless, too? And this is supposed to be a punishment? You might as well have invited a lioness into a meat market.”
Then, ignoring his pitiful attempts at intimidation, Layla strode past Officer Maddock and into the boys ward of the Oasis Juvenile Detention Center.
It was not what she expected.
The vast majority of the inmates were scraggly, dirty, and anemic, to say the least. There were a bunch of Hispanic guys with shitty gang tats emblazoned on their bronze skin—the sigils of Los Santos, La Raza, and Los Zetas were the ones she recognized right off. They were all still wannabes, by the looks of it. They probably thought they could earn their stripes just by sitting in a juvie cell.
Layla walked past them, her eyes shifting over their wanting bodies and avoiding the dark, lustful gazes they offered her in return. A few came close to the little strip of Plexiglas built into their cell doors, their sunken eyes straining to get a better look at her ass as she walked by.
Great, she thought dourly. Another waste of my time. The bad boys she went after looked nothing like this. They must have been the ones too smart to get caught.
Or maybe, she continued, her eyes settling on a mass of corded muscle crammed into the cell directly in front of her. They just weren’t bad enough…
He was so unlike the other inmates; so hard and chiseled that he might have been a Greek statue someone had tucked away into a disused cell for safe keeping. His undershirt was off and his pylon-orange jumpsuit was crumpled down around his hips, exposing every rippling bit of his gleaming flesh to Layla’s hungry eyes—well, above the waist, anyway.
She squinted, trying to fill in the blanks she couldn’t see beneath the ill-fitting jumpsuit rumpled over his legs. Unable to suss out any of the details, she inched closer for a better look.
That was when he looked at her, capturing her breath with a single glint of his brilliant forest green eyes.
Layla froze in the intensity of his gaze, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as he stared at her from under his dark brows. Then his eyes began to trail downward, slithering over the curves of her body in a way that made her feel dirty and used.
Her heart fluttered in her chest. She wanted more.
“Figures he’d be the one you picked out,” Officer Maddock blurted out behind her. She jumped, spun on him, and he continued: “That’s Jesse King, the president of the Marauders MC.”
Layla opened her mouth to snap at him, then frowned instead.
“The motorcycle club?” she asked, turning her attention back to the cell and jumping again as she found herself at eye-level with him.
Jesse’s face was pressed close to the Plexiglas barrier, eyeing her even more lasciviously than before, although Layla hadn’t
Layla rolled her eyes skyward and pushed off the wall, grimacing at the sweaty outline she left behind as she followed Officer Maddock down the hallway to a dark blue door. As he set about unlocking it, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was some kind of vindication for him. He seemed like the chubby, pizza-faced boy who had watched all the jocks sweep his unattainable crushes off their feet in high school. Seeing them end up in a cell probably gave him a stiffy—not that he’d be able to see it to tell for sure.
“Let’s see how sexy these guys are once you see ‘em behind bars,” he intoned ominously, swinging open the door and sweeping a hand toward the cell block on the other side. “After you.”
“Are you kidding?” she answered, cocking out a hip. “You’re sending me to look over a bunch of hot, sweaty boys who are not only hard up for some female attention, but probably shirtless, too? And this is supposed to be a punishment? You might as well have invited a lioness into a meat market.”
Then, ignoring his pitiful attempts at intimidation, Layla strode past Officer Maddock and into the boys ward of the Oasis Juvenile Detention Center.
It was not what she expected.
The vast majority of the inmates were scraggly, dirty, and anemic, to say the least. There were a bunch of Hispanic guys with shitty gang tats emblazoned on their bronze skin—the sigils of Los Santos, La Raza, and Los Zetas were the ones she recognized right off. They were all still wannabes, by the looks of it. They probably thought they could earn their stripes just by sitting in a juvie cell.
Layla walked past them, her eyes shifting over their wanting bodies and avoiding the dark, lustful gazes they offered her in return. A few came close to the little strip of Plexiglas built into their cell doors, their sunken eyes straining to get a better look at her ass as she walked by.
Great, she thought dourly. Another waste of my time. The bad boys she went after looked nothing like this. They must have been the ones too smart to get caught.
Or maybe, she continued, her eyes settling on a mass of corded muscle crammed into the cell directly in front of her. They just weren’t bad enough…
He was so unlike the other inmates; so hard and chiseled that he might have been a Greek statue someone had tucked away into a disused cell for safe keeping. His undershirt was off and his pylon-orange jumpsuit was crumpled down around his hips, exposing every rippling bit of his gleaming flesh to Layla’s hungry eyes—well, above the waist, anyway.
She squinted, trying to fill in the blanks she couldn’t see beneath the ill-fitting jumpsuit rumpled over his legs. Unable to suss out any of the details, she inched closer for a better look.
That was when he looked at her, capturing her breath with a single glint of his brilliant forest green eyes.
Layla froze in the intensity of his gaze, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as he stared at her from under his dark brows. Then his eyes began to trail downward, slithering over the curves of her body in a way that made her feel dirty and used.
Her heart fluttered in her chest. She wanted more.
“Figures he’d be the one you picked out,” Officer Maddock blurted out behind her. She jumped, spun on him, and he continued: “That’s Jesse King, the president of the Marauders MC.”
Layla opened her mouth to snap at him, then frowned instead.
“The motorcycle club?” she asked, turning her attention back to the cell and jumping again as she found herself at eye-level with him.
Jesse’s face was pressed close to the Plexiglas barrier, eyeing her even more lasciviously than before, although Layla hadn’t
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