Jump The Line (Toein' The Line Book 1) Read Free

n ’ hit me . ” 
    “ I must apologize, bu t —”
    “ Stop saying that.  I hate it . ” 
    I want to walk, but if I quit wh o’ ll he get to replace me?  Dumb question.  Who else would stick around when Ang fails to show?  I squint through the flashing blue strobe lights and cigarette smok e— smokin g’ s outlawed in Newport bars, but who at Oma r’ s obeys the law ?— and shoot a gaze out across the carpet of sleazy riff-raff. 
    “ Hurry up ,‘ Laina !” O.J. says, raising his bar rag. 
    “ Do n’ t you dare hit me again ,” I hiss.
    “ I t’ s a cop ,” he hisses back, and then glances nervously toward the group at a table in the far corner.  These men are O.J .’ s clients, and the y’ re all turbaned up and shadowy looking but wearing expensive dark suits and starched shirts whiter than their gleaming teeth.  O.J. introduced their leader to me and Ang as Rakesh Gupta.  “ A lawyer ,” h e’ d emphasized.  “ Important . ”   To which Ang had whispered towel-heads, probably ISIS or Al Qaeda, and then snickered ,“ Yeah, sure, O.J., and I’ m Taylor Swift . ” 
    “ Imagine!  A co p— her e— in Omar Jai n’ s establishment ! ”   Omar whines, as if he thinks I’ ve personally set out to ruin his reputation with the Afghanistan deputation.  I watch Rakesh slap a C-note on the table, he and his mysterious entourage rising and gliding like phantoms out the front door.  I yell ,“ What, you guys ca n’ t take a little bar brawl?  Do n’ t want the heat comi n ’ down on your clean-shaved necks ! ” 
    Worried, I turn back to O.J.
    “ A cop ?” I rasp.  How can this be?  I do n’ t do lap dances, or anything illegal, so ther e’ s only one reason a cop would come looking for me.
    Robi n’ s in troubl e— again.
    I shoot O.J. a mean glare.  “ Why did n’ t you say ? ”
    “ I must apologiz e —”
    “ Stop with that ! ”

Chapter 2
    Over by the D J’ s folding table, I spot them.  Not just one but two LEOs, a male and a female.  Detectives.  Starched shirts, creased pants, comfortable shoes made for chasing prey, like me and my brother, Robin.  “ Think the y’ re the meanest sumbitches in the valley ,” Berta would say of these two, mocking their aggressive body language.  I t’ s open and begging any of Oma r’ s more questionable badasses :“ Give us a try . ”
    One heartbeat later, my heart sambas into my mouth.  I feel like the ceilin g’ s falling in on m e— h e’ s that awesom e— and all I can do is stand here and gape, my breath caught in my throat.  “ Whoa ,” I whisper.  “ Freaki n ’ whoa .  I think I’ m in love . ”
    “ Lust ,” O.J. says, casting me a scathing glance.
    Do I care I’ ve offended his Punjabi values?  He needs to get a clue: this is America.  Women can wear their lust in public.  Anyway, I’ m in struck-dumb mode, Cinderella meeting Prince Wha t’ s-His-Name for the first time.  “ Whoa ,” I whisper again.  I t’ s all I can say.  H e’ s that hot.  Looks like a Viking .  Tall, blonde buzz cut, serious athletic build and plenty of coptitude beneath that casual blue windbreaker screaming Newport Police in big white letters across the back.  And the way his slacks stretch taut across those powerful thighs?  Oh, be still my quivering heated thighs.  For once, stop dancing.
    He tosses me a deliciously knowing glance, the dare-you-girl look he locks on me irresistible. 
    “I’ d let him take me to Valhalla ,” I say, swallowing, my breath releasing at last.  “I’ ve seen zero cops in Goshen who look like that . ”
    O.J., herding me down the stag e’ s plywood steps, looks scornful, like h e’ s thinking I’ m a silly American co-ed dazed by a case of instant lust.  H e’ s right.  Unable to resist, I steal a second and then a third look at the cop wh o’ s just stirred an unforgivable Bonnie Parker ache south of my belly button.  When O.J. presses into me from