But I ignore him, focusing instead on navigating the winding roads back towards the city. The silence that falls between us is thick with tension, a palpable reminder of the power dynamic at play. I'm the law, and he's the criminal—no matter what twisted fucked up shit just happened.
As soon as I return to the city limits, I pull over to the side of a random street, putting the car in park. Without a word, I open the back door and motion for Zane to exit.
"Get the fuck out," I said, my voice cold and dismissive.
Zane hesitates for a moment before complying and stepping out onto the pavement. He looks back at me, his expression a mix of annoyance and confusion. "What the fuck, can't you take me home?" he demands.
Ignoring his fusses, I reach into my car and toss his wallet and phone onto the asphalt beside him. "Consider that a gift, you faggot ass bitch," I said before closing the door and sliding back into the driver's seat.
As I start the engine and begin to pull away, I can hear Zane's angry shout echoing behind me.
"Fuck you!" Zane yells, his voice carrying on the wind as I speed off into the night, leaving him standing alone on the desolate roadside.
I don't bother to look back, keeping my focus on the road ahead. The incident with Zane is done, over, and forgotten—as far as I'm concerned. I've fulfilled my duty, and now I have nothing to do with him anymore.
But as I drive, the memory of our forbidden encounter lingers, refusing to be erased from my mind. The taste of his mouth, the feel of his tight ass wrapped around my cock, the desperate pleas for more—it all swirls together in a tangled web of shame and gloaming desire.
I shake my head, trying to clear the thoughts, but they persist, haunting me like a ghost from my past.
The drive back to the station felt like a goddamn eternity. My hands were gripping the wheel so tight I thought I might snap it in half. The window was cracked just enough to let the cold air hit my face, but it didn’t do a damn thing to clear my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d just done. About him*
Zane.
I shook my head, trying to shove the memory down, bury it somewhere deep where it couldn’t claw its way back up. But it was no use. The heat of his skin, the sound of his voice, the way he looked at me—it was all still there, burned into my mind like a brand.
When I pulled into the station, I took a second to collect myself. Deep breaths. In. Out. I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror, making sure I didn’t look as wrecked as I felt. Then I stepped out of the car, slammed the door harder than I needed to, and walked inside.
I almost made it to my desk without incident, but of course, Bradley had to stick his nose in.
“Hey, Logan!” he called out, his voice casual, like he didn’t have a care in the world. “How’s the flat tire? Everything good now?”
I forced a smile, tight and practiced. “Yeah,” I said. “It was a hassle, but I got it sorted.”
He nodded, about to turn away, and I thought that was the end of it. But then he stopped, something clicking in his brain. He turned back to me, his brow furrowed.
“Wait a second,” he said, his tone shifting. “Didn’t you have a detainee? Where’s the guy you arrested?”
My stomach dropped, but I kept my face neutral. I met his eyes, steady and calm, even though my pulse was hammering in my ears.
“I let him go,” I said.
Bradley blinked, completely thrown. “You let him go?” he repeated like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Logan, that guy could’ve killed someone at the bar!”
I could feel the tension rising, but I wasn’t about to let him question me. “He didn’t kill anyone,” I said, my voice sharp but controlled. “And I made the call to let him walk. The guy with the minor head injury will be fine; as a matter of fact, let them all go.”
Bradley didn’t buy it. He stared at me, his confusion giving way to suspicion. “You want me to let all of them go? What the hell is going on, Logan? That’s not like you.”
That’s when I snapped. I slammed my hand down on the desk between us, the sound echoing through the station. Bradley flinched, his eyes wide, but I leaned in, my voice low and lethal.
“Officer,” I growled, “I made the call. Just do what I say. If there’s any fallout, I’ll take the heat. Now drop it.”
For a second, I thought he was going to push back. His mouth opened like he had something to say, but then he thought better of it. He nodded, stiff and reluctant, and stepped back.
“Alright, Sergeant. Your call,” he mumbled before walking away.
I stood there for a moment, the tension still coiled tight in my chest. My hand was still on the desk, my fingers digging into the wood. I let out a breath, ran a hand through my hair, and tried to get my shit together. What the hell was I thinking?
By the time I got home, I felt like I was dragging a two-ton weight behind me. I locked the door, kicked off my boots, and started peeling off my uniform. The badge hit the counter with a loud clatter, and I stared at it for a long moment. That badge was supposed to mean something. It was supposed to stand for justice, for doing the right thing.
But tonight… tonight, I’d thrown all of that out the window.
I didn’t even realize I was moving until I was in the bathroom, standing under the scalding spray of the shower. The water was so hot it burned, but I didn’t turn it down. I scrubbed at my skin like I could wash away the memory of Zane—the way he looked at me, the way he touched me, the way he…
I slammed my fist against the tile, the sound sharp and jarring in the small space.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?” I mumbled, my voice barely audible over the rush of water.
When I finally stepped out, I didn’t bother looking in the mirror. I didn’t want to see whatever was staring back at me. I dried off, wrapped the towel around my waist, and made my way to the bedroom.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
I slid into bed carefully, trying not to wake her. The mattress dipped under my weight, and I froze. For a moment, I thought I might get away with it, but then she stirred.
She rolled over, her arm draping across my chest as she nuzzled into my side. Her warmth seeped into me, but it didn’t bring me any comfort.
“You had a rough day at work,” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.
I didn’t answer right away. My throat felt tight, and my chest was heavy.
“Yeah,” I said finally, my voice low and flat.
She didn’t press for details. She never did. She just tightened her hold on me, her breathing evening out as she drifted back to sleep.
I stared at the ceiling, my mind racing. The guilt was suffocating, but beneath it was something darker. Something I couldn’t name.
I turned my head, looking at her peaceful face. Jessica. My wife.
Her wedding ring glinted faintly in the moonlight streaming through the window.
And all I could think about was Zane.
I anticipated that this story would bring out mixed feelings about the dual POVs, especially since my other stories are typically told from a single perspective. I will do my best to establish clear voices for each character to avoid confusing you guys. Zane and Logan have distinct personalities, and their chapters will reflect their unique perspectives and emotions. Initially, I planned to narrate the story from Zane’s point of view. However, I soon realized that Logan's life, even without Zane's influence, could be quite intriguing. 
