Meera Deshmukh woke at 5:00 a.m., same as always. Her small Mumbai apartment smelled of coffee and gun oil. At thirty, she was an IPS officer known for never backing down. Tall, curvy, with full breasts, slim waist, wide hips, and powerful thighs, she turned heads even in uniform. Warm brown skin, long black hair usually tied tight, dark sharp eyes, and thick red lips—she looked like danger wrapped in beauty.

She started with a brutal workout: push-ups until her arms burned, squats that made her thighs shake, then ten kilometers on the treadmill. Sweat rolled between her breasts and down her flat stomach. After a cold shower she slipped into her khaki uniform. The shirt stretched across her chest; the pants hugged her hips and ass. She checked the mirror, adjusted her badge, and whispered, “Another day to break someone.”