Let Hate Go, page 1
Copyright © 2019 by DC Renee
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.
LET HATE GO
Cover Design by Rebecca Pau, The Final Wrap
Interior Formatting by Elaine York, Allusion Graphics, LLC/Publishing & Book Formatting
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Other Books by DC Renee
Connect with DC Renee
Other Books in the Let Go Series by DC Renee
Let Me Go - Book 1
Let It Go - Book 2
Let Hate Go - Book 2.5/3
Other Books in the Cupid’s Aim Series
Kamikaze Heart by Chelle C. Craze - Book 1
Arrow of Love by Clementine Floyd - Book 2
Bloom by Jaime Russell - Book 3
Love’s Lost Embrace by ChaShiree M - Book 4
Let Hate Go by DC Renee - Book 5
Swipe Right by Sadie Grubor - Book 6
To “my abula”. Know that you’re loved by even those who never got to meet you. And especially those who miss you.
To Baba & Deda. You’re loved and missed.
“Sorry Kat,” I said as I got into my car. “I promise I’ll come for dinner this week,” I told her after I’d started the engine.
“I’m not trying to give you a hard time,” she told me, and I could hear a bit of worry in her voice as though she was afraid she was piling on the pressure. “It’s just … we haven’t seen you in weeks, and the twins miss their uncle Eddie.”
I pictured Katy’s big doe eyes and Benji’s toothy grin. I’d been a part of their lives since the day they were born, and they’d called me Uncle Eddie since they could pronounce it. Benny had been their “cool” uncle, but I was the “fun” one—or at least I used to be. I’d been younger, and even though my schooling had been rough, followed by one heck of a residency, I’d managed to find quality time to spend with them. Now they were teens, and soon they’d get into that phase when they didn’t want to hang out with the stuffy old folks, which I’m sure included me, as young as I was in comparison.
Ever since I’d started working, though, I hadn’t seen them or Kat and Mason as much as I used to. I’d followed in Mason’s footsteps and had only been working for three years since my residency. For most of my life, I didn’t have a good role model, let alone a good male role model, until Mason came along. He was like an uncle and dad and stepdad rolled into one. He was a doctor, and naturally, I veered toward that profession. Even with the long hours I was pulling now, I didn’t regret my choice in profession. I was good at it. No, I was damn good at it. I was in the top five percent of my class at the USC Keck School of Medicine. I had gotten a highly sought-after residency at Cedars-Sinai, and then they hired me. I loved my profession. Like many others, I went in with big dreams of saving the world, one patient at a time, and even though that wasn’t the case, I felt immense satisfaction when I was able to help someone. It was a joyous feeling that I couldn’t describe. The downside were those you couldn’t save or knew were headed down a dark path. That was when the world tilted on its axis, and you couldn’t find your footing. You felt like your entire body was going to fall away from you, and there was nothing you could do about. The overarching emotion was helplessness. And no matter how many times you delivered bad news, it didn’t get easier.
Sadly, that was part of the job. And even though I was proud of how well I was doing and how quickly I was advancing, I was still a “newbie” by most standards. In other words, I didn’t get the best hours at the hospital, and when I was done with my shift, I was generally tired.
All I wanted to do was go home, grab a beer, sit on the couch, and do nothing until I passed out. Hearing Kat’s voice, though, made me realize how much I missed them. It also reminded me I needed to call my mom too. It had been a few days since I’d talked to her, and a few more since I’d seen her as well.
“I miss them too, and I miss you guys. It’s just been so crazy lately. But I’ll definitely make it to dinner this week.”
“Good,” she said excitedly. “Let me know when as soon as you figure it out. I’ll let Benny know too, so maybe he, Sophie, and their little rug rats can make it too. I know they’d love to see you as well.”
“That would be nice,” I responded genuinely.
My mother, sadly, had been an addict for a big chunk of her life, but she’d been clean and sober for a few years now. Even though those had been some of the darkest days of my life, her addiction had ultimately led to me meeting Kat, Mason, and their entire gang. And though they weren’t family by blood, they most definitely were family. Kat’s twin sister, also a drug addict, had been my mom’s buddy. Even in her drug-induced haze, Kat’s sister—also Kat, ironically, short for Katherine, whereas Mason’s Kat was short for Kaitlyn—always managed to look out for me. So when she passed away, she asked her sister, Kaitlyn, to take care of me.
She and Mason took me under their wing instantly and never made me feel like I was anything other than part of their family. By extension, I got Benny, and later, Sophie, John, and Chain.
I might have had a bit of a crush on Sophie for a while, but I grew out of that when I realized how much I enjoyed having her as an aunt. I still liked to joke with her and Benny from time to time, mostly because I got a kick out of how it riled him up.
“Ah shit, Kat, I gotta go,” I said, snapping out of my revere as I saw the flashing red and blue lights behind me.
“Everything all right?” she asked, immediately worried.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it.”
“Okay,” she responded, but I could hear the skepticism in her voice.
“I’ll let you know about dinner.”
“Okay. Bye, Eddie.”
“Bye, Kat,” I said and hung up just as the officer approached my window.
I rolled it down, and an unexpected voice said, “Sir, do you know how fast you were going?”
My eyes snapped up to see a woman staring down at me. Her silky voice coupled with a bit of an edge was sexy as hell. But add that to the way she looked—her hair in a tight bun, like a librarian, waiting for me to pull it out and let her hair cascade down, her big brown eyes framed by thick, dark lashes, full lips in a slight pout, waiting to be kissed, and after a quick scan down her body, I saw she was a perfect mixture of curves in all the right places—and I couldn’t help the images that flashed through my mind. The different ways I’d loosen her up, or let her take charge, her tone telling me—no, demanding me—to do dirty, dirty things to her. I had to mentally tell little Eddie to calm the hell down before we embarrassed ourselves.
“No,” I finally answered after I realized she’d been staring at me and waiting for a response. “But I’ll go any speed you need me to.” I’m not going to lie; I knew I was a good-looking guy. It wasn’t just me having a false sense of high self-esteem. I hadn’t had any issue getting girls from the minute I’d shed the tall, thin body and bulked up almost overnight. All I had to do was flash a smile, say a few words, and bam, panties gone. The natural flirt in me couldn’t help but flirt with Officer Hotness.
She wasn’t having it. “License and registration.”
“If you want my address, Officer, you only have to ask. Better yet, why don’t I take you there now?” Not my finest one-liner, but it would do.
She narrowed her eyes at me before saying, “License and registration,” once more.
“I’d like to register for you,” I said quietly, but not quietly enough for her not to hear—completely on purpose.
“Are you on something?” she questioned.
“Me? No. Just high on your beauty.”
“Sir, out of the car, now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, getting a little excited as I got out of the car.
“Face the car, hands on the car, legs spread apart.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever had action in public, but I’m down.” I was a flirt, but I wasn’t normally this bold. Something about the situation, about an authoritative sexy woman commandeering me turned me into a dirty old man, apparently.
She checked me out, and then actually made me do a series of tests to see if I was drunk—exactly like you see on TV. I thought those were fake. Afraid not. All the while, I couldn’t stop the comments from flying out of my mouth, and she couldn’t hide the sneer from her face. In the end, I was sure I was saying half the things simply because she didn’t want me to say them. There was clearly a pattern here with me trying to rile people up.
“You do realize I can lock you up for harassing a police officer?
“Since when is flirting considered harassing?” I asked.
“Oh? Is that what you were doing?” she asked sarcastically. “It sounded like you were trying out for worst comic of the year.” I think I fell in love.
“Go out with me,” I blurted out.
“Mr. Valencia, you think you’re the first person to react this way? I’m used to assholes like you who think you’re hot shit just because you have a pretty face, but I’ve got news for you. Your shit stinks just like the rest of the male population. Your one-liners are horrendous. Your flirting is atrocious. And the crap you’ve been saying? I’ve heard it all before, but it was more clever. You think because I’m a woman that you can buy your way out of a ticket by flirting with me? You think I’m some dumb bimbo who’ll risk my job for something stupid like this? I earned this position. I earned my job, despite assholes like you who think you’re better than me because I’m a woman. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, Mr. Valencia, or I’d be cuffing you, and you’d be cooling off the night in jail. For now, you’re getting off with a ticket.”
Her little spiel pissed me off. I’d been flirting not because I was trying to get out of a ticket or because I thought I was better than her. I was flirting because I thought her being a woman cop was hot as fuck. I was mad she lumped me in with the other assholes. I had a lot of strong, capable woman around me, and I was proud of them.
I took the ticket from her, practically ripping it out of her hand, my anger rising to the surface. “You have it all wrong, Officer Drew,” I said, having read her nametag before. “My one-liners might need work, but they’re not because I think less of you; it’s because I think highly of you. But you mixed me in with the other assholes. So you want me to be an asshole? Fine, I’ll be an asshole. Maybe I should write you up for the very colorful words you just told me? I’m pretty sure police officers aren’t supposed to say the things you did. Lucky for you, I didn’t record the conversation,” I told her with a smug smile. If she wanted me to be a dick, well, then she’d get what she asked for. I let my words soak in for a minute, watching her get madder by the second. That makes two of us. “Thanks for the ticket,” I said with sarcasm. “If that’s all, I’ll be on my way.” I walked away without waiting for a reply, got in my car, and drove off, leaving her standing in the dust, staring after me, the look of pure rage still visible on her face even as I got farther and farther away.
Well, fuck her, I thought to myself, mad at the entire situation. I’d never hated a person so quickly, but Officer Drew had just made the list.
Evie
“You.” I’d stopped short at the word and the voice that accompanied the word. And then I echoed it.
“You.” Despite the urgency of the situation and the flurry of activity surrounding us, it was as though we were in a Western showdown, each staring at the other, unmoving, shooting daggers with our glares, itching for a fight, a battle to win.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, snapping both of us out of our little stare down.
“What the hell are you doing here?” It was a stupid question, mostly because based on his white coat, it was blatantly obvious what he was doing there. It was also petty because I was just trying to one-up him.
Being a woman in this field was difficult, to say the least. It wasn’t just the everyday folks who made it difficult; it was the guys on the force as well. Everyone, my colleagues, people I encountered on a daily basis—surprisingly, women included—didn’t take me seriously. They thought a woman wasn’t strong enough or tough enough to be a police officer. Many downright disrespected me. Several times a week, someone would tell me I was in the wrong field. You know how many times I heard people telling me I should take a desk job like “normal women”? I’d be richer than rich if I could collect just a dollar each time. Then there were those who thought I was a lesbian. As if being a lesbian automatically meant you wanted a typically “male” job. First, there was nothing wrong with being a lesbian, but I happened to like the opposite sex. And second, being a lesbian didn’t mean you wanted to shoot a gun and serve the people. That was a professional choice.
That alone would have driven me crazy, but it was also my looks. I’d known from an early age that I was a pretty girl. I’d overhear people telling my parents what a pretty child they had, and that was a nice little confidence booster. As I got older, I got looks, and stares, and guys vying for my attention. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed basking in the attention just as much as the next person. Plus, if things got out of hand, my older brother was there to step in. A few words of warning and I was no longer bothered.
But add that to the already negative stigma of being a woman police officer, and it was a total disaster. “You’re too pretty to be a cop.” Elder women and some elder men too usually said that, and I’d heard it too many times to count. But I usually dealt with assholes, thinking they could flirt with me to get out of a ticket or whatever the hell they were in trouble for. Buddy, I got news for you … I’m a good-looking girl, and when I’m off duty, I got no problem finding a man, so why in the hell would I want to go with a rule-breaker like you?
And when I ignored their flirting, they would actually get pissed and call me a bitch. Seriously?!?! Because I couldn’t care less about your stupid one-liners and instead am about doing the right thing, I’m the bitch?
Eddie Valencia had been no different … at first. Though he had continued to flirt long after the others would have given up, and he didn’t get mad or say anything rude or degrading. What surprised me was what had actually pissed him off. It was only after I’d told him he hadn’t been the first to try that he got mad. I couldn’t help but replay that little bit of conversation in my head for a few days after, and I actually felt a little bad for comparing him to the rest. Even though he’d been on the right track to be just another number in the long list of idiots who tried cheesy-ass pickup lines on me while I was on duty. But then I’d remember that he chewed me out, had threatened to tell my superiors about my slightly colorful choice of wording, and then sauntered off like he’d one-upped me. The fucker had some nerve. It was thanks to the fact that I was stunned silent that he wasn’t locked up for the night for harassing an officer.
Then another couple of days passed, and I forgot about him.
Until I walked into the ER to check on a shooting victim. I’d been called to a domestic dispute with my new partner, who was actually a nice guy. When I told him the shit I went through, his response was, “You want to tell me you think girls don’t flirt with me to try to get out of a ticket? You think I’m not objectified because I’m a cop? News flash, Drew, women love men in uniform, no matter what they look like. Now you’re getting a taste of what we go through. Suck it up and get some tough skin.”
He had a very valid point, and the fact he didn’t treat me differently made me like him immediately. It was even better that his wife was a knockout and a sweetheart who didn’t feel threatened by me, In fact, she invited me over for dinner, made me chocolate cake, and we’d been best friends ever since. She laughed when I said that out loud. Too bad I wasn’t joking.
We had made it to the house just in time to hear a gunshot. We went in, found a man down, and called the ambulance. Turned out he was the wife’s brother. The husband liked to use the wife as a punching bag, and her brother had finally had enough. He’d come to take her away, but the husband didn’t like that. Wonder what gave that away … yes, I’ve developed a sick sense of sarcasm with this job. The moral of the story was don’t piss off the guy with the gun. Lo and behold, the asshole husband pulled out a gun and shot the brother in the middle of their argument.
Nelson, my partner, and I stayed on the scene to do our usual thing, then we finished our shift. And when it was over, I headed to the hospital to check on the brother. I didn’t always check on the victims, but I had an appreciation for some of them—like this guy—who’d simply wanted to do right by his sister.
