Page 35 of The Boss

The driver’s side door swung open, and a uniformed officer stepped out, hand hovering over his holster. “What the hell—”

“I was mugged,” I gasped. “Two guys. One had a knife.”

The officer’s face shifted instantly from suspicion to alertness. “Where?”

“Back there—” I turned, breath ragged. “Off the trail.”

He grabbed his radio. “Dispatch, I have a possible 10-64 in progress, requesting backup at Roger Williams Park…” His voice was clipped, efficient. No panic. Just procedure. As he waited for a response, he opened the car door. “Get in,” he told me.

I wavered for a moment. I didn’t like cops. Not in afuck the policeway, just… a general wariness, especially as a guy who’d spent most of his life getting into one trouble after another. Most of them by my own fault. Cops had never been on my side before—no reason to think they would be now. But I didn’t have a choice, so I slid into the back seat, and he slammed the door behind me, locking me into a dark world of silence.

* * *

The station was cold. Sterile. The kind of cold that wasn’t just about temperature—it was in the walls, the flickering fluorescent lights, the dull hum of a vending machine in the corner. The kind of place that made you feel guilty even when you weren’t. Pretty much like every other police station anywhere. You see one, you’ve seen them all.

The desk officer barely glanced up when the patrol cop brought me in, handing her my ID. She was middle-aged, chubby, with red-died hair and deep-set eyes that flicked over me without much interest, like I was just another file in an endless stack of paperwork.

“Victim of a mugging,” the cop explained. “Tossed his phone at the suspect and ran. We found it at the scene, along with his empty wallet. They took the cash and ditched the evidence. Probably got spooked.”

The desk officer nodded, scribbling something down. The scratch of her pen filled the silence. Then she looked at me.“Take a seat while we process the case. If you want, you can call someone to come pick you up.”

I blinked. “Thank you.”

As I went to the bench by the opposite wall and flopped onto it, my mind raced. The hard wood was ice-cold through my jeans, and the whole place smelled faintly of burnt coffee and something chemical—disinfectant maybe, or whatever they used to clean dried blood off floors.

I didn’t have anyone to call. All my friends were back in Maine or Pennsylvania. Darren? Not a chance.

I swallowed. My throat felt tight.

There was only one choice.

* * *

Zac showed uppissed. Fifteen minutes. That’s all it took.

The glass doors swung open, and he stormed into the station, a force of nature in black wool and barely contained fury. His fitted sweater stretched over wide, tense shoulders, his coat unbuttoned like he’d thrown it on in a hurry. His beard shadowed his clenched jaw, and his ice-blue eyes cut through the room like a blade.

“Where the fuck is he?”

The desk officer lady hardly had time to react before Zac was on her, slamming his hands on the counter.

“Christopher Landry?”

Without a word, like he’d heard some silent call, his head snapped toward me. His eyes locked on mine. The next moment, he was standing in front of me, gripping my face before his hands slid to my shoulders, holding tight.

“Jesus Christ, Chris.”

I swallowed, losing myself in the blueness of his eyes. “Hey.”

He stepped back, releasing me from his grip and exhaling. He shook his head and dragged a hand over his face. “What the hell happened?”

The cop who’d picked me up appeared from around the corner just in time to witness our interaction, his eyes darting from me to Zac. “Sir, your boyfriend was the victim of a robbery and possible aggravated assault. Per his testimony, he was walking alone in the park, and two offenders had ambushed him. He had already given his statement so he’s free to go. We have recovered his wallet and phone, but since they’re evidence, we need to hold onto them.”

Zac’s expression didn’t flicker at the cop’s assumption about us being a couple. He didn’t correct him, but his eyes hardened. Something dangerous moved behind them, like a fuse had been lit but not yet reached the explosive. Then, in the calmest, deadliest voice I’d ever heard from him, he said, “No, you don’t.”

“Sir—”

“That’s his property,” Zac cut in, voice like a razor. “And unless you’re charging him with something, you have no right to keep it.”

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