When The Night Falls: A Night as Dark as Sherry

SHERRY

The afternoon heat in Rio de Janeiro was oppressive, the sun beating down relentlessly.

“Paula, to the right!” The sharp command in my earpiece snapped me back to reality.

The target, a well-known cocaine dealer, darted ahead of me, slipping through the narrow alleys with ease. His bright red windbreaker disappeared around a corner, and I pursued with renewed vigor.

I knew these streets like the back of my hand, every dirty corner ingrained in my memory from countless hours of studying. Chases like this had become my daily routine, a thrilling game of cat and mouse that kept my adrenaline pumping.

My fellow officers, a mix of seasoned veterans and eager rookies, ran alongside me. Despite the urgency of the situation, they wore smug grins, as if this was just another day at the office. However, their respect for me was minimal. I was the officer who always followed the rules, the one who didn’t fit into their tight-knit group. I was tolerated, not accepted.

Our chase ended at an abandoned warehouse on the city’s outskirts. The dealer stood panting, cornered amidst the decaying machinery and discarded crates. It was a nice try, but not even a seasoned criminal could outrun the Rio de Janeiro police force.

When my unit saw him cornered and defenseless, their smiles turned sinister, making me uneasy. The dealer pulled out a thick stack of bills from his pocket.

“One thousand dollars for each of you. Let me go,” he panted, his voice echoing in the cavernous warehouse.

The greedy glint in my unit’s eyes was clear. But I stood my ground, my training and principles holding strong against the temptation.

I could feel their disapproving stares; my rule-following nature had once again made me the odd one out.

***

I woke up abruptly, a scream dying on my lips. I hated having dreams about my old life. Even my old name, Paula, made me shiver with nerves.

My heart was racing, my hands gripping the sheets tightly, a thin layer of sweat on the back of my neck. I blinked, forcing my vision to clear as the mundane reality of the guest house room gradually replaced the vivid nightmare.

Before I could fully regain my senses, the bedroom door swung open. Mick stood there, his muscular figure silhouetted in the doorway, a worried look on his face.

“Sherry, are you okay?” he asked, his voice tense.

Embarrassment washed over me. This was not how I wanted Mick—strong, kind, slightly off-limits Mick—to see me. I pulled the sheets closer around me and forced a weak smile.

“Yes, I’m okay,” I replied, my tone sharper than I intended. I saw his concern quickly turn into a hint of hurt, his eyebrows furrowing. I was messing this up already.

He didn’t respond, but his jaw tightened like he was holding back a retort. After a few awkward seconds, he turned and left, leaving me alone with the glaring morning sun and a fresh wave of guilt.

Still feeling embarrassed, I changed into my uniform with shaky hands. The crisp black suit made the situation feel all too real. Today was my first day working for Mr. Jefferson. It was a reminder of the money, prestige, and above all, the safety I’d just earned.

I felt a surge of excitement, but with it came a wave of nerves, making my stomach churn.

A shower. That’s what I needed, a hot shower to wash away the remnants of the night and prepare for the day ahead. I hurried towards the bathroom, eager to clear my head.

I opened the door, my mind already planning the day ahead, when reality came crashing down.

Mick. Naked.

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