Brutal Read Free Page B

and that’s only because the fucker does not know when to quit.
    I have no family; I was raised in the system. The parents I was born to were hooked on drugs, and did whatever it took to get them, including pawning me. I don’t remember much of my time with them, but the few memories I do have ain’t good. Foster care? Fuck that, life was easier on the streets, versus hoping the family that got stuck with you wasn’t violent, crazy or just took you in for the pay check. At an early age, I had to fight to stay alive, so that’s what I did. Those parents of mine? Dead, last time I heard, good riddance. When we’re not working, Rafe does whatever Rafe does. As for me? I’m usually always working. I got shit else to do.
     I don’t date. I’ve seen the worst of what this city has to offer.  I don’t have much faith in humanity on a good day; no need to make matters worse by associating with anyone else. Growing up on the streets, with no authority figure or discipline, I figured out quick that I need rules and order in my life. Right after graduation, I went into the academy, became a cop and never looked back. I wanted to make a difference, and I do make a difference. I helped to clean up the streets, made some sizable busts, and was promoted to Detective within five years. I take what I do seriously. Which is why it pisses me off that I spend so much time thinking about a woman I’ve never met. Women are not even on my radar.
    I’m an ugly son of a bitch. Bigger than most men. Meaner than ‘em, too. Women don’t run to me, they usually run away from me. Females want good looking men, who like to talk and shit. I’m not good looking, and talking is a waste of time. I won’t pay for a fuck, so I don’t bother. Rafe brags all the time about all the pussy he gets, and he looks fucking miserable most days so it’s not much of a loss in my book. Besides, time spent fucking is time that could be spent finding criminals. So now it’s time to find out who this mystery woman is, so I can move the fuck on with my life.
    “Knock knock, motherfucker,” Rafe says, walking right in with perfect timing, as always…not.
    “I’m working, fuck off,” I growl.
    “I know, but I want to see who the mystery crime stopper is, so open that file up.”Rafe demands reaching for the file.
    “This ain’t no group effort here, so get the fuck out,” I snap, snatching the file before Rafe can read it.
    “Open it, or I’ll break your jaw and open it for you.” Rafe smiles. “Cap wants this person found and brought in ASAP.”
    I rip open the file and see a face, the face of the woman who I can’t get out of my head, staring at an older man; her father, probably. God damn, she’s the most perfect female I have ever seen. She’s tiny and fragile – not yet a woman. This is not a rogue. It’s not possible. This was taken about ten years ago, so she had to be a teenager. The man she’s staring at with adoration looks familiar, but I can’t place him. Fucking Rafe keeps yappin’ while I’m trying to concentrate, and it’s pissing me off.
    “…fucking listening to me right now man?” spits Rafe
    “What?” I say, totally not following
    “I said, hand over the file, man. What’s the name on it again?” he asks me. Name? Whose name? Oh right, hers.
    I glance at the name and see Venessa Cross. What the fuck am I missing? Cross. Cross.
    “Venessa Cross,” I say handing over the file to Rafe
    “Oh, fuck you,” Rafe mumbles
    “What am I missing, man?” I ask. He’s pulling out his phone and dialing someone “Who the fuck is Venessa Cross?” I demand, hating to be ignored.
    “Yes, sir, it’s a positive ID, we’re on our way now,” he says then disconnects. Looking at me in disbelief he says, “Venessa Cross doesn’t mean anything to you?”
    “No, should it?”
    “Venessa Cross is Brent Cross’ daughter,” explains Rafe, and when that doesn’t register he continues. “Detective Brent Cross? Cross