Page 84 of Ink's Devil

“A fraying, old bag?” I scoff.

“Thieves could have needed something to carry stuff away in.”

I pace again, thoughts flying through my head. Suddenly, I stop. “That could work. They couldn’t disprove it. Sure, we hadn’t reported it then, but who’d care about a rucksack worth nothing?” I begin to feel lighter thinking perhaps I could get away with this after all. Simple enough to remember if I just stick to the plain facts. Better than the story I was concocting about throwing it out with the trash. One worry eased, my mind settles on another—my brother and whether he’s dead or alive. I wave toward the phone I’ve barely put down since we’d returned to the house. “I keep trying to call him, Mom. I’m worried about him.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “I’m worried too about whether he’s okay, and also, well, what do we do if he does make contact? What if he wants the other packages delivered somewhere? Are we going to pretend they’re still here?”

We’re talking about Connor as if he’s alive, and again, believing that puts me in a quandary. If he’s unharmed, it means he cares nothing about me.It could be me in jail and Connor would have been responsible.

If he’s alive, he’ll want the rest of the heroin. He knows me and Mom, knows now we know what he left in our unknowing care we’ll want shot of them. He’ll be so angry to find them gone.

I can’t imagine there’s any excuse to explain Connor’s behaviour. I may not have been arrested, but Ink has. And that’s all down to my brother. I swallow rapidly when I think of the man I lost, the man who, quite rightly, now hates me.

“There must be something I can do for Ink.” I feel so helpless and useless. Giving myself up would be easier than doing nothing at all. The possible loss of my freedom means little to me, the pain in my heart hurts far worse.I’d found the man perfect for me.Right now, he’s sitting in a cell, cursing my name and that we ever met.

“I’m sure there is, will be. But right now, I don’t know what.” Mom’s holding her head as if it hurts.

“I’ll be upstairs if anything happens,” I tell her. I just need some time on my own. Something I haven’t had since Ink was arrested, and I was taken back to the MC.

I don’t blame Ink’s brothers for being suspicious of me and my involvement in the events of last night. When you think about it, my story is pretty lame. If I’d had more time to think, I might have done things differently. But I’d had none. Connor had made sure of that. On purpose? Or at gunpoint? Whatever, the result wouldn’t have changed.

My hands cover my face, and I blink rapidly to push back the tears. I’m done with crying, it doesn’t help. But the anguish I feel is all but paralysing.

I’d hoped to persuade Ink we could have a future. What would it have been like to make my life with him, like Mel has with Pyro? To have his baby like Mel’s pregnant with Ro’s?

I’d been unlucky in all my relationships, had all but given up searching for my one. Now that I realise Ink may well have been it, our chance has come and gone.

I sit on the bed rocking back and forth. Demon telling me Ink wanted nothing to do with me was perfectly understandable, but next saying he’d help protect me and Mom seemed at odds with that. Not that anyone’s come around as yet, maybe he’s already forgotten, or reconsidered, and our plight’s been washed off his hands?

Once again, I wonder why Ink had taken the bag out of my hands when he must have known what would happen. If I could wind back time, I wouldn’t have let him. Or, I’d have stayed by his side so I’d been able to explain. Despite my fight, my eyes again start leaking.

Vaguely, I become aware of a door being slammed, and loud voices from downstairs. The noises gradually filter through the sadness in my brain. Numbly wondering whether it’s Connor and he’s come in all guns blazing at Mom, I grab a tissue and wipe my eyes, and descend the stairs. The way I’m feeling right now, Connor’s lucky I don’t have a gun to hand.

But it’s not my brother. It’s worse.

Mom’s there, examining a piece of paper, and she’s surrounded by three cops.

She turns when she hears me approaching. “Bethany, the cops have got a warrant to search this house. Do you know anything about it?”

There’s a message in her eyes, I let mine widen. “Search this house? I’ve absolutely no idea.”

The two uniformed cops glance at each other and roll their eyes.

“You’re upset.” A plain-clothes detective approaches.

Again, wiping my reddened eyes, I ignore his observation. “What’s all this about? What are you looking for?”

“That warrant,” he takes it back from my mother and shows it to me, “gives us the right to search anywhere and everything. Is there anyone else in the house?” His eyes sharpen as though expecting me to lie.

“No. It’s just Mom and me. What is this all about?” I repeat my previous question, having gotten no answer before.

“Ms Bethany Foster?” another cop enters the front door and asks.

I nod, fear settling in my stomach. “I’ve been asked to take you in for questioning.”

“What on earth for?” I stare at him, my mouth dropping open, as beside me, my mom gasps.

He shakes his head. “We think you may have information which will help an ongoing investigation. Will you please come along with me now?”

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