Perdition
by Sandrine Shaw
This is going to give him wank material for weeks, Darren thinks. Months even.
Here's preppy little Hanna Marin on her knees in front of him, looking up at him with a wide-eyed innocent look that he knows to be fake, and which is all the more appealing for it.
Every word that comes out of her mouth is a lie. Not much of a surprise there; why break the habit? No, I didn't write the note. No, I don't know what you're talking about. No, I'm not helping the murderer of my best friend for whatever messed up reason.
He's sick of her lies, sick of the way she covers them up with defiant blue eyes and a sulking little pout.
What he really wants is to step closer, crowd her some more until her back hits the wall, take her chin in his hand and force her to stop evading his gaze. What he really wants is to shake her, leave bruises on her skin. Make her crack and lose that defiant composure until she breaks down or lashes out and hits him. Shove her back on her knees and make her put those lying lips to a better use.
Ashley had been wild in bed, completely inhibited, a far cry from her usual prim and proper self, and Darren can't help wondering if Hanna would be the same. If she would be responsive if he pushed her down between the rows of wooden seats and fucked her on the cold stone floor of the church.
He won't, of course.
Hanna is underage, and he's a cop. Maybe he's not a good guy or even a particularly good cop - he has no delusions about himself - but there are lines he won't cross. Wouldn't cross. Not outside of his own mind, anyway, where he can't stop imagining what it would be like to have her. How long it would take for her to drop the scared little girl act. If she'd rake her sharp nails across his skin and leave welts. If she'd gasp his name with a different kind of inflection than she speaks it now. If she'd lie about it to her friends afterwards, claim that no, of course nothing happened between her and Detective Wilden, and avert her eyes when he passes her in the grocery store or in the hallways of Rosewood High.
And if he pushes Hanna a little harder than necessary, if his tone is a little more suggestive than it should be, if his words hold implications that are not quite proper, if he gets off on how frightened she looks... no one will know. Who would ever believe a compulsively lying teenage girl over the word of a cop?
End.