San Joaquin County Sheriff’s Dept. // Keeping the peace on the road. Off-duty, I’m stripping down vintage engines & drinking whiskey. Zero questions. #SOARP
⌖ Deputy Quinn Mercer, San Joaquin Sheriff's Dept
⌖ Hobbyist vintage bike restorer
By day, I wear the badge & monitor the highway. By night, I'm in my garage with grease on my hands & a glass of Jameson. If you cross into my world, keep your tailpipes quiet & your nose clean.
↣ The middle Spencer sister
↣ Recently moved back to Charming
↣ Single mom of one
↣ Owner of Phoenix Crest Bed and Breakfast
↣ Overly dramatic
↣ Music lover and Photographer
↣ Trigger warnings
↻ and ♡ Penned by #𝒮𝒶𝑔𝑒 htt
"I'm on the clock, and the law doesn't play nice on an empty road. Back up. If you're as good with a wreck as you claim, you'll find my private garage after my shift ends at six. Don't make me pull you over twice."
𝒜s he leaned in, getting closer, Quinn didn't move an inch. She refused to give him the satisfaction of a retreat.
When his fingers gripped the top of the file, her hold on the bottom remained firm, a silent tug-of-war of absolute wills beneath the dark sky. —
"A bastard has to learn to read the blueprints early if he wants to survive the wreck, love," he whispered, his gritty brogue sharp and quiet. "I can play nice with the law, Deputy. Let’s get out of your headlights. Show me how deep this leak really goes."
"You want to read the blueprints, Teller? You have to earn the clearance first," she murmured, her voice a cool whisper that drew a sharp line in the dirt. With a sudden, swift twist of her wrist, she ripped the folder smoothly from his grip. —
@BelfastKill I’m always ready, Teller. Just remember that ghosts only scare the people who don't know how to handle them. The Jameson is already poured, and the gate is open. Try not to get lost on a little California dirt road on your way in. See you at six.
⸻ ⌖ 𝓣he doors to the barn are locked, the Jameson is poured, & the uniform is on a hanger. Best part of living on the edge of the county line? Nobody drops by unless they're invited.
@BelfastKill I'll send you the coordinates to my barn. Let's see if you're actually ready for what happens when you step off the asphalt and into my private territory. See you at six. Don't keep me waiting.
"Your club is a sinking ship, Killian. If you want to stop the leak without your brother Jax catching a bullet, show some respect for the woman holding the blueprints. Now step back from my headlights before the dash-cam catches your good side."
𝓠uinn remained leaned against the cruiser as his Harley went dark, without flinching or even shifting when his boots hit the dirt. Her posture was fluid but coiled. Quinn's clinical gaze traced the metallic rhythm of the silver coin rolling over his knuckles before meeting —
"Blow into a tube, Deputy? Dead on," he rasped with his gravelly Belfast brogue laced with heavy, mocking amusement. "But catch yourself on, mucker. A strategic girl like you doesn't park here to breathalyze a Nomad. You’ve got a file, I've a club full of idiots. Let's talk."
She pushed off the car, taking two deliberate steps into his space. With a smooth movement, she lifted the thick police file from under her arm & tapped the sharp edge of the folder directly against his leather-kutte chest, right over his heart. —
@BelfastKill You talk a big game for a man thousands of miles from home, Teller. You might be a big deal in Belfast, but you're on my asphalt now. Bring the good stuff & let's see if you can actually handle a woman who knows exactly how to handle heavy metal.
like the usual California reapers; there was a nomadic, hardened steel to his posture that flagged her tactical instincts immediately.
"You're tracking dirt into my sector," she called out , her voice cool & entirely unintimidated. "State your business before I make you blow."
⸻ ⌖ 𝓢starter: @BelfastKill
𝓣he red & blue lights of the cruiser flickered off, leaving the dark tree-line behind Teller-Morrow pitch black. Quinn leaned against the driver's side door, her heavy utility belt clinking softly as she checked her watch. —
help.
Hearing the low, distinct rumble of an approaching motorcycle engine idling down the dark road, she didn't draw her service weapon. Instead, she wiped a stray smudge of engine grease from her jawline & stepped into the dim light of her headlights. The rider didn't look —