Page 49 of Bent, Not Broken

“I might be bi.”

He cocked his head at me, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Okay.”

“I don’t know, though. Polunin’s my first guy.” I sniffed and licked at my dry lips. Fear curdled in my stomach as I expected Paxton to laugh and tell me I was a fucking idiot, or maybe punch me, too, for implying there was something wrong with being gay, but he didn’t do either.

He leaned back in his seat and crossed his muscular arms. “Mate, I’m not gonna judge you. If you found a guy that makes you question your sexuality, then I’m chuffed for you, but it ain’t any of my business. I don’t care who you shag. I’m just here to do my job.”

“Yeah, of course.” I focused on the road, at a young woman who pushed a two-child stroller up a steep hill. The stroller looked beaten up, with one of the wheels wobbling, and I stopped the car to get out and offer her a hand. She thanked me when we got to the top of the incline, and by the time I got back inside, Paxton chuckled.

“Do you want to ask me a question or something?” He glanced at me with a small smirk. “Because if you want to know something about my pansexuality, all you gotta do is ask.”

I snorted and got us back on the road, but my hands were back to tightening on the steering wheel. So we sat in silence for about five minutes because that’s how long it took me to finally get it out. “He’s not talking to me after the night you saw us. He’s pissed, and I’m fucking mad that he’s pissed.”

“And by mad I’m guessing you don’t mean excited.” Paxton’s mouth quirked at his own joke. “Want some advice, Slater?” He was already talking in that British twang again. “Us not-so-straight men have a rule we try to live by. Don’t shag a guy who thinks he’s straight, because in my opinion, they’re more unstable than an unpinned grenade, and stupider than a donkey’s arse. You, friend, embarrassed him.”

“How?” I snapped before I could stop myself, baring my teeth toward him.

He laughed. “No one wants to be someone’s big secret, and you tried very hard to hide him when you saw me.”

“It’s not about him being a guy,” I argued. “It’s about who he is. He’s a fucking defense attorney, one who represents people I’m trying to throw into prison. If the captain knew—”

“There’s nothing she can do. There’s no law against it.” He gave me a look like maybe he still thought I was full of shit, though, and my gut roiled with guilt.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean our coworkers will like it. It’s his job to defend the people we’re trying to arrest. And there could be investigations into my conduct surrounding people I arrested before we were ever a… a couple.” The radio buzzed again, and we stayed silent to listen to it, but it wasn’t anything for us. I kept the car moving through the narrow streets, keeping an eye out for any trouble. A pretty shiny blue Mustang parked at a run-down house caught my attention and I pulled off to the side to run the plates.

Paxton sighed. “Is this your problem or theirs? Sounds like you’re the one who’s worried about it, mate.”

“He’s already got a Harlot off on charges we were trying to get her on, and he’s the reason Conrad has an investigation against him right now.”

The plates came back clean. I watched a man in a fancy suit swing open the front door of the house and freeze at the sight of our car. He looked too pristine and uptight to live in this sort of neighborhood, and my instincts told me he was looking to get high. One glance at Paxton and we both jumped out of the car, leisurely strolling up to him.

The man’s eyes widened, face paling to a ghostly white as he let out a nervous laugh, brushing a hand through his floppy brown hair. “Officers, how can I help you?”

“Is this your residence, sir?” I asked, tilting to peer around him. There was movement in the house, some crashing, and then a strung-out skinny man stumbled out the door with a laugh.

“It’s the pigs. Oink, oink.” He sniffed, wiping his thumb under his nose where a white powdered substance sat. I didn’t have to do a test to know it was something that could get him into trouble.

Paxton shook his head. “Are you on drugs, sir?”

The banker-looking asshole with his nice suit and shiny shoes made a squeaking noise. He took a step toward his car, and I shook my head in warning. “I’d like a lawyer.”

“Oh fuck,” I muttered under my breath. Always with the fucking lawyer. “Your lawyer’s not from Demchenko and associates, are they?”

Paxton sent me a bewildered look, and I shrugged. I did not want another one of Madden’s rich clients.

“No?” The well-dressed man frowned.

“Is there something you’d like to tell us before we search you, sir?” Paxton raised his eyebrows, and the guy raised his hands, palms out toward us.

“I have drugs?”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Paxton mumbled, just loud enough for me to hear. I snickered. This was going to be fun.

By the time we got both men on possession of cocaine and meth, and we had the paperwork done, it was nearing the afternoon, and I was already exhausted. We weren’t anywhere near done with our shift, though.

This time I let Paxton drive when we got back into the cruiser, and he handled her well.

“You said you have a brother, Paxton?” I asked when we headed back toward the shitty neighborhood where we’d found our coke dealer and his rich customer. The sun had begun to sink low in the sky, with the shadowy beginnings of dusk creeping across the dying trees and broken-down homes on the east side of New Gothenburg. Usually we didn’t venture out this far, but the station on this side needed help after a good amount of their officers went out with some kind of stomach bug.