After my handler quit, it honestly felt like I'd just broken out of some invisible cage I didn't even know I was trapped in. For the first time in a long while, I could breathe without someone hovering over my shoulder, watching every move like a hawk pretending to be useful.
To this day, I never really understood why the higher-ups thought I needed a handler in the first place. I mean, it's not like I wasn't already doing whatever the hell I wanted anyway. If anything, the whole "supervision" thing just seemed like a glorified babysitting gig with a fancy job title. Their efforts were about as productive as teaching a cat to swim. Useless.
So there I was, sitting in my favorite cafeteria, fork in hand, enjoying my meal while my eyes casually followed the waitress who was making her rounds. She had this rhythm to her movements with her hips swaying left and right like a metronome that could hypnotize a man in seconds.
Her ass was… well, let's just say divine. Perfectly shaped, round enough to make a priest question his vows. Every step she took made those cheeks bounce just enough to draw your eyes and never let go. I swear, if there was a contest for the juiciest ass in town, she'd win by unanimous decision. My brain started drifting off, imagining what it would feel like to be sandwiched between those thighs, and for a second, the world around me just… disappeared.
Then my phone buzzed.
I glanced down, only to see a call from one of the higher-ups...
Basically, someone who handled everything in the department.
Naturally, I ignored it.
I mean, I could just tell her later that I was busy working on a case, maybe tailing a suspect or gathering intel. That kind of thing. And technically… it wouldn't even be a lie.
After all, I was working on a mystery right now—specifically, the mystery of how to get between those glorious ass cheeks. It was an unsolvable case that required deep concentration and patience.
But before I could make any progress on my "investigation," something happened.
One of the customers reached out and grabbed the waitress's butt.
She gasped softly and flinched, her tray wobbling as she tried to keep her balance. You could see her forcing a smile, trying to stay composed even though her lips twitched, betraying the disgust she was trying to hide. It was one of those fake smiles that said, I'd rather be anywhere but here.
Back in my academy days, they taught us a thing or two about human behavior. People under pressure can do all sorts of things just to survive. A mother might steal bread for her starving child. A desperate man might make a deal he knows will ruin him. When people are pushed into a corner, morality starts looking negotiable.
But the eyes... well, they always tell the truth.
You can wear a mask, hide your expressions, or force a smile, but you can't fake the look in your eyes. Unless you're wearing a faceless mask with no holes at all, and if you are, well, good luck not bumping into walls.
And right then, when I looked at her, I saw it clearly in her eyes. That quiet scream for help. That fragile calm that says, I'm just trying to get through this day.
That was enough for me to start listening.
My hearing's sharp. It was actually sharp enough to catch whispers from across a noisy room—so their conversation came through clearly.
"You're really working hard, huh?" the guy said, his voice dripping with sleaze. "Why don't you take a break and sit down with us for a bit?"
He grinned in that way that made me want to rearrange his teeth.
"I'm sorry, but I'm still working," the waitress said, keeping her voice polite even though her tone wavered slightly. "And what you're doing counts as sexual harassment. Aren't you afraid of getting reported?"
He chuckled, leaning back like he owned the place. "Oh, I don't think it's that serious. Right, guys? I mean, we don't mean any harm. But maybe if you just… open up to us a little—you know, open it wide—we could work out a deal. No need to get anyone reported, right?"
Then he slid something across the table.
Judging by the grins from the other three idiots with him, it was money.
I blinked slowly. Was this clown actually trying to buy her?
Not that he was trying to cuck me or anything—I didn't even know the girl—but holy hell, the audacity. The sheer, unfiltered stupidity of it all.
"I-I'm not doing that kind of job," the waitress stammered, taking a step back.
And that was it. That was my breaking point.
Before my brain could even process it, my legs were already moving. I walked up to the guy and grabbed his wrist. Hard.
"Huh?" he muttered, startled.
"You've got some nerve, huh?" I said with a grin that didn't reach my eyes. "Doing this crap in broad daylight? You got no fucking shame?"
He scowled. "Who the fuck are you?"
"No one important," I said casually, still holding his wrist. "Just another customer eating at his favorite family diner. How about you? Never seen your ugly mug around here before. You're not from this part of town, are ya?"
He smirked, trying to act tough. "What the fuck are you gonna do about it?"
"Well, there's no law saying outsiders can't eat here," I said, leaning in closer, "but I do have a problem with people terrorizing the locals. You're not planning to do anything stupid, are you?"
He tried to pull his hand free, but my grip didn't budge. His face twisted as he realized I wasn't exactly average.
"W-What the hell is this grip…?" he stuttered, struggling.
Then he twitched, trying to reach for something under his shirt. I already knew what it was before he even touched it.
I grabbed my fork—the same one I'd been using for my meal—and pointed it right at his forehead.
"Don't even think about it," I said flatly. "You were about to pull a gun, weren't you? What, you planning to shoot me? Maybe the hot waitress behind me too? I'd think really carefully before doing that. You might end up with a fork sticking out of your skull instead of a meal in your mouth."
Then I glanced at the other three. "And you guys," I said, "if you don't want this guy's brain decorating the floor, I'd suggest you stay still and think—real slow. Otherwise…" I made a small motion with the fork. "Pop."
They froze immediately. Smart choice.
I had to admit, though, the way they obeyed so fast reminded me of dogs following their owner's command. Loyal little bastards.
Still, I couldn't help but wonder why they were listening to this clown in the first place. He didn't exactly have that "leader" vibe.
Nah, these four were probably just dumb buddies who got together to do stupid, perverted crap. Like some kind of discount delinquent squad—minus the cool factor.
"Miss, call the police for me, please," I said casually, giving the waitress a quick wink that made her freeze up for a second before blushing hard.
"A-Ah, right away!" she stammered, her voice trembling slightly as she spun around and dashed off. Her heels clacked sharply against the floor as she ran, and despite the situation, my eyes couldn't help but drift down to her ass swaying side to side. It bounced with every hurried step she took toward the counter, where she'd call the authorities.
"W-Wait, why the hell are you calling the police on us?!" the guy with the fork near his skull cried out, his voice breaking. "I-I thought this was already settled!"
I turned my gaze toward him, the sight alone almost pitiful. He looked less like a man and more like a terrified pig that realized it was next in line for the slaughter.
"Well, you sure are bold for a coward," I said, smirking faintly as I crouched down a little to meet his trembling gaze. "Doing this kind of crap in broad daylight, huh? You've got guts, I'll give you that. But unlucky for you, pal, you picked the worst damn place to do it. I'm here almost every day, so yeah—let's just say your timing's absolute garbage. But hey, at least your stupidity helped me pass the time. And now, thanks to your little stunt, you've caught the attention of someone who works closely with the authorities. Sucks to be you."
My grin widened, and I could practically feel the tension spike. The four of them looked like they were melting in their seats, sweating bullets, their hands trembling like leaves in a storm.
"After you get your well-deserved punishment," I continued, straightening up and brushing my coat off, "I hope you four learn something from this. Maybe think long and hard before pulling dumb shit like this again, yeah?"
They all nodded quickly, their faces pale and drenched in sweat. None of them dared to speak another word. I snatched their guns away and tied their hands together tightly with a piece of cord I found lying around. They didn't resist—not even a little.
Turning back toward the waitress, I gave her a reassuring smile. "That must've been a pretty terrifying experience for you, huh?"
"Well, I'm kinda used to it already," she said, forcing a small, awkward smile. "But still, thank you for saving me, detective."
"Ah, well, I couldn't just stand around and watch something like that happen right in front of me, could I?" I said, leaning on the counter with a lazy grin. "It's kinda my job to stop crap like this. And besides..." I gave her another wink. "You're too beautiful to let that sort of thing slide."
She looked away, her cheeks turning pink. "I'm not that much of a beauty," she muttered softly. "But I appreciate it."
A few minutes later, the sharp wail of police sirens echoed outside, growing louder by the second.
"Oh, looks like they're here," I said, stepping toward the window. The moment I saw who stepped out of the patrol car, though, I froze like a frog that had just spotted a snake.
Because the person leading the team wasn't just anyone. It was her—the one who had called me earlier.
***
"You really are wearing my patience thin, huh?"
Thessa Lox stood in front of me, arms crossed, her piercing glare cutting right through me. I sat there, hunched in my chair like a scolded kid who'd just gotten caught breaking a window.
We had a... complicated past. Back in the academy, things between us weren't exactly smooth. We weren't lovers, not exactly friends either—it was something in between that never quite made sense. But because of that, we ended up knowing way too much about each other.
Thessa knew exactly the kind of scumbag I was when it came to women. She knew how I'd turn down clients just because they weren't my type. She knew how I'd flirt my way through every opportunity and somehow still keep my job. Basically, she knew everything.
"You know, you're gonna age faster if you keep staring at me like that," I said with a smirk, slouching back in my seat.
Her glare didn't even waver. It was the same look she'd always given me back then—like she was staring at a pile of trash that somehow started talking. I'd gotten used to it over time, but something about her eyes still made a small chill run down my spine.
She let out a long, exhausted sigh. "I can't believe you ignored my call just because you were busy flirting with a waitress at a family diner," she said, rubbing her temple. "You've got some serious balls to ignore me for something that stupid."
"Didn't I say I was busy?" I said, shrugging. "I caught four guys harassing someone. That still counts as work, doesn't it?"
"Stop making excuses," she snapped. Then she sighed again, clearly too tired to deal with my nonsense. She'd known me long enough to realize scolding me wouldn't change a damn thing. "Anyway, the reason I called you is that the higher-ups decided on your next handler."
"My next handler?" I groaned, tilting my head back dramatically. "Didn't they already learn their lesson? Every handler they assign to me quits sooner or later."
"Yeah, I know," she said flatly. "But this one's different. She's famous—you might actually know her."
"Know her?" I raised a brow. "Unless she's got a big chest, I doubt it."
She pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered under her breath, "Still the same piece of shit as always..." A faint smirk tugged at her lips though, like she couldn't help but find it a little funny. Then she turned and gestured behind her.
Someone approached—her steps were measured and confident. A woman with striking red hair, her presence calm yet sharp like a blade in its sheath. Her eyes were cold, her expression composed—like she was made of iron and frost.
"Good day to you, Detective," she said in a steady, professional tone. "My name is Alice Thorncroft. I'll be your next handler. I hope we can work together to the best of our abilities. I look forward to working with you."
Her voice was calm and crisp—too perfect. Her posture, her gaze, everything screamed strict and serious.
Naturally, the first thing my eyes did was wander down to her chest. I stared for a second, frowned, then looked back up.
"Too flat," I muttered under my breath. "Pass."