CUT: Part 11
Gravel crunched under their boots as Augusto “Gusto” Tormenta and Deputy Desmond “Dezzy” Frost walked side by side along the dark shoulder of Coxwell Heights Road. Dezzy’s flashlight swept slow arcs across the treeline, the beam catching on leaves and throwing long shadows behind them. The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine, but the space between the two men felt charged. “You know,” Dezzy said, voice low and a little rough, trying to slice through the thick silence, “I always try to catch your reports, Gusto. Even when I’m on-duty.” Gusto glanced sideways, that trademark smirk curling his full lips. Moonlight highlighted the deep tan of his skin. His open shirt shifted with each step, revealing glimpses of thick, smooth pectorals and the silver cross nestled in the valley between them. “Oh yeah, guapo?” he teased, voice a velvet rumble. “You like watching me on screen?” Dezzy’s neck flushed dark under the collar of his uniform. He rubbed the back of it with one larg...