So this was how fucked up her life was, yeah?
Elsa was out in LA for Cochella. Bunch of fancy white rich chicks watching indie bands or some shit like that. Been gone just three days out on the West Coast and already she'd woken up hung over in some stranger's bed, naked and tousled and for the life of her she couldn't remember how she'd gotten here or the name of the girl laying next to her.
What's the point in cheating, puta, Renee Montoya berated herself as she shoved her breasts into her bra and her gun and badge back onto her belt. If you can't even remember it, neh?
"You leaving already?" a groggy voice groaned from the bed. She'd sat up, milk-white skin stark against the dark silk sheets, cherry-red tresses, svelte figure with tits and a face that screamed plastic surgery just like the house stank of rich people. Exhibit A. People vs. Montoya. You're so goddamned lonely and desperate you can't even keep it in your pants, can't keep your hands off their tits. You're a fucked up cunt, girl. Just admit it to yourself.
"Yeah," Montoya grunted, looking away as she buttoned up her GCPD shirt. "Gotta go."
"Well, you can protect and service me anytime, Detective," the girl grinned coyly, pulling a familiar yellow slip from the bedside, pushing it down between her parted thighs and against her skin, lips parting into a pout at the touch. She had that tight core and taut skin from years of yoga, and a smooth, soft, hairless mons like a prepubescent kid. Chick either waxed or lasered, Montoya found herself thinking, followed bitterly by guess you're one of those cops now, cunt. Gordon shouldn't never have trusted you…
"Yeah. See you." she said, self-loathing eating her away. She wanted to leave. Didn't want to watch little miss perky trust fund here masturbating herself with the DUI ticket she'd scrapped in return for the sex. But she couldn't lie and say the sight didn't make her wet, that she didn't want to throw herself back in bed, didn't want to be the one performing that erotic touch…
"No goodbye kiss?" daddy's girl here teased.
She'd already fucked her. Already given her a pass on a felony for a night tangled up in her sheets. Already thrown away a three year relationship with Elsa for a night of drinking and fucking with whoever the hell she was. What was one more kiss?
…but it wasn't just a kiss. It never was. Once her hands had found that creamy skin again, fingers buried in her dyed hair, lips pressed against hers she just couldn't help herself. She never could. But the worst part was she couldn't come, now matter how hard she tried. The guilt was just too much.
It'd been before sunrise when she'd first slipped out of bed, ready to hide her sins and face another day on the beat. It was nine thirty when she left, late for work with the stink of sex on her, and enough daylight to see the pictures in the entryway on her long, stumbling walk of shame.
Boyfriend. It figured. She'd thrown away her decency, her self-respect, Gordon's trust and everything the badge ever meant to her for a one night stand with some shit-faced white slut who wasn't even gay. Feigned bicuriosity was such a small price to pay for a get out of jail free card.
You've been had, puta. You've been used. And the worst part was, it wasn't even one of Meroni's traps. That pimp had been known to hire girls to beg favors, then own the dumbass stupid enough to trade sex for a blind eye. No, no this fucking shitstorm was her doing. And that made it even worse. Refusing Meroni she could've at least played the hero, turned herself in, confessed the crime…
But now she couldn't even garner absolution. Not even from herself.
"Rough night?" Crispus asked her as she slumped into her chair.
"Yeah," Renee Montoya sighed. "Fuck me."
