Page 99 of Rules

Holly's eyes grew large. "Oh, those little bastards."

"The man that Ruth knocked out, is he here?" I asked before taking another sip.

"No, the doctor released him to our custody last night. Sang booked him in. He's in a cell."

One of the men who tried to hurt Ruth was in my jail. My jail, my territory. Something dark and primal inside me flared to life. I needed to see him. Needed to look into the eyes of someone who thought hurting Ruth was acceptable.

Gently, I released her hand and stood, stretching cramped muscles. Ruth didn't stir. I bent and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, careful to avoid her injuries.

"Let's go." I said to Holly. "And stop that stupid smiling."

Chapter 34

Tobias

On the short ride home, my mind kept replaying the image of Ruth in that hospital bed. She was bruised, broken, and unconscious. And all because of me. Because I'd pushed her away instead of keeping her close. My truck announced Tim's call, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Hey son."

"We heard about Blossoms. Was Ruth hurt? Dianna tried calling her when we heard but she didn't answer."

"She's in the hospital but the doctor said she would be alright."

"Dad," Dianna's voice came across my speakers. "Dad, I'm sorry. I can't have these things going on and you thinking I'm mad at you. I'm not, not anymore. You need to live your life your way."

"It's okay, Dianna, you had every right to be angry. I was stupid but I'm going to try and make it better."

There was silence for a moment. "Just be yourself, Dad. That's who she cares about, just be honest and open. No matter how hard that second part is."

I smiled while pulling into my driveway. "Thanks honey. I have to go."

"We love you," Dianna said while Tim told me to be safe and they ended the call.

Once home, I stripped off my clothes and stepped into a scalding shower. The hot water couldn't wash away the guilt, but at least it eased some of the stiffness from my muscles. I'd spent the night in that uncomfortable chair, but I'd have done it for a week if it meant Ruth wasn't alone.

I dressed quickly in a fresh uniform. Attaching my badge, my utility belt and lastly my gun. For what was next, I needed to be the serious, no-nonsense Sheriff Trenton. The one I was good at playing; later I'd be the one I was still learning.

Before I went to work, I needed to see the damage for myself. The crime scene tape still stretched across the front of Blossoms, fluttering in the morning breeze. I ducked underneath, glad to be here on my own. Wearing this badge I’ve seen a lot but nothing could have prepared me for the devastation. The large front windows were completely shattered, glass scattered across the floor like malicious diamonds catching the early light. Display stands had been toppled, ceramic pots smashed to pieces.

Unforgettably, my years as sheriff allowed my mind's eye to re-enact everything that had happened here. I saw the men move through the shop with malicious intent. I glanced at the back door where Joey would have emerged from. I saw Ruth appear, hell-bent on saving Joey. I saw the bucket laying on its side in a pool of water. They must have backed her into this workstation. Peering down, I saw blood close to where the bucket laid. Then blood where I guessed Ruth's face and the floor met. Iclosed my eyes and saw her lying motionless in the hospital bed. Unconsciously my hands balled into fists and my breathing came rapidly. Someone was going to pay for what they had done here. Even if Ruth rejects me and never speaks to me again. Someone is going to pay.

Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the station parking lot. People nodded as I entered, but I didn't stop to chat. I headed straight for the stairs that led down to the holding cells.

Sang was coming up the hallway towards me. "Sheriff? I thought you were at the capital."

"Keys," I said, extending my hand.

His eyes widened slightly, but he handed over the key ring without question.

"The guy from last night. Which cell?"

"End of the hall on the right. He's as tight-lipped as the other one."

I nodded. Before getting to the door, I grabbed a chair from the breakroom and brought it with me. The holding area consisted of six cells, though we rarely had more than one or two occupied at once. Today, I only cared about one of the cells. As I approached, I took in a shorter heavily muscled man who appeared to be in his thirties with a shaved head and a bandage on his temple. I could see Los Angeles gang-related tattoos on his arms and the marks that show the gangs he's killed before on his face. He sat on the edge of his bunk, elbows resting on his knees.

This man was in Ruth's shop. This man hurt Ruth and Joey. I should shoot him where he sits, but as much of a good idea as that sounds, I won't. I believe in the process of the law. While I won't shoot him, I'll call in every favor I have to make sure he rots in prison.

He looked up as I approached, recognition and then wariness crossing his features. I positioned the chair about three feet outin front of his cell, turned it around, and straddled it, resting my arms across the back. Then I simply stared at him.

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