Breeding Her: The Red Flag Edition

Chapter 1

Kade

The problem with small towns was that everyone knew everything.

I knew Jimmy Barnes brewed his own moonshine and sold it to the Golden Girls Club. Everyone else knew I’d never shut him down—not unless I wanted Grammy’s cane on my ass. Those old women were mean enough sober. But whatever Jimmy dumped in that brew, it kept them mellow.

The last real excitement around here had been a couple of outsiders trying to grow marijuana. Two years ago, and people still talked about it like it was headline news.

A knock rattled my office door.

“Boss.” Carlton’s voice came before his knuckles even left the wood.

“What?” I didn’t bother looking up. “Tell me someone’s committed a gruesome crime, or should I just turn my gun on myself?”

“Whoa. Bad time?”

I sighed. “What is it?”

“Did you hear about the new teacher?”

“Everyone’s heard about the new teacher.” I grumbled and set my pen down. “Mrs. Morris must’ve been ninety when she finally let go. She sure hung onto that job.”

Carlton leaned against the frame, all grin and trouble. “Maybe you need to get laid.”

My head snapped up. The laugh died in his throat. He knew better—everyone did. My high school sweetheart had left me for the big-city lights, and the whole damn town had watched it happen. Some scars never healed; others just got passed around as gossip.

“So this new teacher—”

“Get out, Carlton.”

He chuckled, because of course he did, and shut the door before I found something to throw.

The door clicked shut, and quiet settled back over the office. The clock ticked loud enough to count the seconds I was wasting. Another day, another empty report. Outside, Farrows End yawned and carried on pretending nothing ever changed.

?? ?? ??

I checked my pocket for my phone before locking up.

Bureaucratic paperwork—that’s what most of this job had turned into. I spent more time filing forms than chasing anything worth catching. Another night spent contemplating my life choices.

I could hit the home gym. Go for a run. Pretend I wasn’t restless.

Headlights cut across the station lot as I slid behind the wheel. Then a small yellow rust bucket shot past the window, engine whining like a mosquito with a death wish.

Aw, hell no. Not on my watch.

I checked for traffic and pulled out after it, siren dark, just the hum of the cruiser eating up distance.

Brake lights flared at the bend—hesitation—then the driver floored it again.

I flipped the lights on.

Finally, some action.

It was a woman.

She glanced at her rearview mirror and eased off the gas, the car drifting into a small lay-by.

I grabbed my hat before stepping out. Her blinker flashed in a manic rhythm—probably one bad bulb away from dying altogether.

Judging by the car’s condition, replacing the whole thing would’ve been easier.

I approached the driver’s window. She had both hands on the wheel, muttering to herself. I tapped the glass. It groaned as she tried to roll it down, shuddering to a stop halfway. She gave it a shove with both hands; no luck.

“Do you know how fast you were going?”

“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.” The words came sharp—then her eyes widened, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

Definitely not from Farrows End.

“License and registration,” I said, keeping my tone even.

“Oh, officer—”

“License and registration.”

She huffed, throwing her hands up. “Oh, come on.”

“Step out of the vehicle, ma’am.” My patience was already thinning.

“What for? No!” She reached for something on the passenger seat.

I popped the door open, plucked the keys from the ignition, and unbuckled her seat belt in one motion.

“Oi—hey! What do you think you’re doing?” she yelped, shoving at my chest.

“We’re a law-abiding town here, Miss. Now step out of the car, or I’ll do it for you.”

I let a smirk slip when her dark-brown eyes flared.

Her dark hair was piled into a messy knot, a few strands loose around her face. The rectangular glasses gave her a straight-laced, hot-librarian look that didn’t belong on the side of the road. Her skin had a warm, flawless glow that caught the cruiser’s lights.

I breathed in and caught a trace of her perfume—light, clean, too human after a day of stale coffee and asphalt. I stepped back before my body decided to embarrass me.

Either Carlton was right, or she was some kind of witch.

“You have five seconds to get out of the car.”

“God, keep your pants on, officer,” she muttered, pushing the door open.

I swallowed. Not because she was dressed to tempt—she wasn’t.

She looked like she’d stepped out of a library catalogue: emerald blouse buttoned to her throat, long sleeves, a brown-red skirt that brushed her boots. Victorian, severe, absolutely not my type.

So why the hell was my pulse doing that?

“Just give me a ticket or something and I’ll be on my way,” she snapped at me before pushing past me.

My mouth dropped at her audacity. She began muttering to herself before raising her hands in the air.

Something was off about her. I tugged my handcuffs off and moved behind her to capture her wrist and slide the cuff on.

“What are you doing?” she said, trying to pull away from me.

“You're being detained,” I said, chasing her nimble hand.

“Sir— ow,” she said as I captured her hand.

It had been a while, but I snapped the other cuff in place and guided her to the hood of my cruiser.

“This is police police brutality,” she cried as her body bent over my hood.

“I don't know. I think I smelled some weed from your car,” I murmured before leaning over her to whisper. “Don't move a single inch… or else…”

I felt every muscle in her body tense before I reluctantly moved away from her heat. When I stepped back, I made the mistake of looking at her. Her small hands looked good in my cuffs.

She had light pink polish on her nails. Such a small detail, but too many unhinged images shot through my mind about those hands. I glanced lower to the baggy skirt that did nothing to hide those wide hips and shapely… I shook my head.

She's a witch, remember that.

“Officer, I—”

“Silence.” I snapped.

She wisely remained quiet while I returned to the car, hoping she was a criminal mastermind in disguise. I wouldn't mind seeing her in the lockup.

I went through her purse and found her driving licence.

Name: Juliette Morgan

Age: 24

She was photogenic even if she was from the city.

It was always the ones from the city that thought they could come into small towns like mine and do whatever the hell they pleased.

Not on my watch.

I left her purse on the passenger seat.

I’d teach this one a lesson she’ll remember long after she leaves Farrows End.

The gravel crunched beneath me as I walked back to her.

“Do you have any dangerous or sharp objects on your person?”

“If I did, they’d be stabbed in your eyes by now.”

I smiled.

“Was that a threat to an officer of the law, Ms Morgan?” I said.

She scoffed and strained to glance over her shoulder. “If it were a threat, you’d know about it.”

I didn’t know if it was boredom—the challenge in her eyes. Or the fact I hadn’t felt this alive in years, but something inside me just… snapped.

I leaned against her and placed my foot against hers before I pushed. I repeated the action with her other foot while she gasped.

“Keep those legs spread and don't move,” I murmured.

Her breathing was shallow and fast—the sound of someone caught between anger and fear.

Perfect.