Bestfriends Shouldn’t Know How You Taste

Bestfriends Shouldn’t Know How You Taste Chapter 71

Chapter 71

“Did it slip the captain’s mind that I have a toddler  waiting for me at home? I can’t work overtime.” I  grumble as I bring the cup of coffee to my lips.

God I needed that bitter sweet liquid.

“I don’t think captain Steffen cares.” Nate snorts, kicking  up his feet on the white desk.

I rolled my eyes, placing the cup down on the surface of  the desk.

“He should care because I was the one who made it  possible for him to become the captain that he is today.”

It was true. I was selected to become the next captain of  the department but I turned it down. All for one reason,  my family.

If I had taken that role I would not be able to spend  much time with them as I wanted to. My family is my life,  I can’t stay long without them.

So I turned down the role and recommended Steffen.  Who happened to turn out to be an a*s.

“Officer Waters there’s a call for action at Willow street.”  One of the new recruits ran up to us.

I groaned staring at the ceiling. “I swear that area is the  devil’s spawn.”

I turn to stare at the younger man. His sandy blonde hair  cropped short, brown eyes wide with alarm. He looked  comical but I refrain from laughing at his expense.

“Anything else we need to know before we go there?” I  questioned opening the drawer to pull out my gun. Nate  does the same as he stands up.

did not give much intel, only  that it was a young

the exact destination of the  crime?” I

 what she got when she tracked the number that called.”  He

the gun in my duty belt.  “Must be some poor girl who got harra*sed by the many  criminals

time to call for help.  Remember last time?” Nate asks as we run outside

had been raped and battered. The lad  who found her was too

grunted opening the car door and

thing I see. I tear my  eyes away

before us.” I nudge my  head

hell happened here? Whatever

ahead until something  familiar caught my eye and has me

gifted my first son  Blake. My heart pounds as I whispered

had spray painted his name at the sides

 when the paramedics roll out what seemed to be

you can’t just

words. “You can’t

if this is my son under that  white cloth. “Is that my son, is that my son?”

off the  white cloth. Black hair. A sob rack over me until I peel off  the rest. I sighed. It was

a boy inside there? Dark haired boy?” I asked  one of the female

“Yes there’s a bo-“

house.  My stomach churn with unease and my chest gets heavy  with anguish. There lies my son, soaked with blood as  they place him on one of

 I hear a shout of protest

painfully when his eyes drop to

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