She Handcuffed Her Undercover Husband

The grand opening of my new lounge, "The Foundry", was supposed to be a celebration. Instead, the State Narcotics Task Force swept the place like a SWAT team.

Dozens of patrons were forced to lock their hands behind their heads and drop to their knees. Before I could even ask for a warrant, Rachel—my wife of five years and the newly minted Captain of the unit—slammed me face-first onto the polished hardwood floor.

"Connor Duke," she cold-eyed me, pressing her knee into my spine. "Caught red-handed distributing class-A synthetics. Make it easy on yourself, Connor. Who’s your supplier?"