Page 35 of Perdition

The little shit.

Frost bit back a very impolite greeting, knowing that no matter what he said or how he said it, the man before him would find a way to be offended.

Because the man standing before him was Sgt. Bradley Copper.

The man who’d been sniffing around his Em.

A man, Frost couldn’t help but feel, was going to become a real pain in his ass.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Flowers,” Sgt. Fuckface drawled, all nonchalant, like he hadn’t been throwing game at a married woman. An older married woman at that. Not that Em looked a day older than twenty-five. That woman was still as delicious and mouthwatering as barrel-aged Kentucky bourbon—his favorite drink. Em was still fine as hell at thirty-six, with her lush curves, her beautiful face, and big heart. So it wasn’t a surprise that men of every age were drooling after her.

But Em was his.

So fuck Bradley Copper, with his smirk, his gun, and his badge.

“Sgt. Copper,” he drawled right back, “what brings you ‘round here? Doesn’t seem like your kind of place.”

The asshole’s smirk only grew.

“Every man needs a great florist, especially when he wants to send the woman he’s interested in a beautiful bouquet.” He crossed his arms, perma-smirk in place, and said, “I really like theflowershere; gorgeous, fragrant, vibrant, and ready to be picked—for the right occasion.”

Frost’s jawed ached from how hard he was grinding his teeth, holding back on committing a felony. He couldn’t apologize to Em from behind the bars at Lackawanna County Jail.

“I agree,” he ground out, “theflowershere are beautiful and fragrant, but I’d be careful about which ones you pick…someone else might already own them.”

Sgt. Asswipe chuckled, dropping his hands to tuck his thumbs into his belt.

Frost couldn’t stop himself from giving the officer a cursory once over. Tall. Built. Maybe mid-twenties. Golden boy. Captain America. Probably ate injustice for breakfast.

He probably had a tiny dick, with all the macho bravado he was throwing around like confetti.

Is this the kind of man Em would go for?

Hell, he didn’t know. She’d only ever been with him, had always said that he was her dream man, her fantasy, the only man who ever got her wet and needy. The only man who would ever have her body and her heart.

Sadly, he could no longer say the same, could he?

Because he’d given parts of himself—parts that Em alone had once owned—to another woman. Parts that he was desperate to claw back.

“No worries,” Sgt. MicroPenis exclaimed, “I only pick the ones that have been left too long, drooping and growing dim while waiting to be chosen. I pick those, give them tender love and attention, and they perk right up.”

This motherfucker.

Frost was many things, but an idiot wasn’t one.

All evidence to the contrary, dummy! Since you’re having a thinly veiled conversation with an upstart looking to steal your woman because you’ve been neglecting her and your marriage.

His body vibrating with the need to do violence, Frost nearly broke into pieces when his cell began to ring again, the sound nearly shattering him from the tension.

Frost checked the screen.

Sarah.

Fuck.

Sgt. ButtPimple hummed, then tsked. “Better get that. Might be important.”

Before Frost could hit IGNORE or tell Sgt. Nutsack to mind his own business and leave his fucking wife alone, the fuckface strode into Flower’s Blooms.