Page 73 of Strays
Jo leans over Luc again, shining her phone light into his eyes. “Pupils are reacting. Breathing’s steady. He’s gonna be fine.”
I hear sirens in the distance. The smell of grilled meat still hangs in the air, plates still sit on tables, but it all feels far away now. We’re not just Jo’s husbands at a barbecue anymore. We’re a pack of aegis who just punched a human in the face.
When the ambulance arrives, Jo gives the EMT a quick rundown on Luc’s condition, but I don’t pay attention. My mind’s already drifting toward the mess this fucker drags us into.
The EMTs are going to call the police. Luc’s unconscious. He’s injured. They’ll classify it as an assault, no matter what led to it.
We’ll try to explain that he was drunk, aggressive, and moving toward our mate. That we’ve got witnesses. That he smelled like coke from twenty feet away.
But it won’t matter. They’ll arrest us.
At work, we’ll get pulled into another Use-of-Force Review. Even off duty, we always have to prove it was justified. Administrative leave is automatic. And if Wilsbone or Captain Spilgen feel like making an example out of us, this is their perfect shot. Messy. Human victim.
And that’s the easy part.
We’ll be facing criminal charges too. And that’s when everything gets really fucked.
One of the EMTs speaks into the radio. “Male, mid-thirties, unconscious. Assault victim. Suspect still on scene. Requesting law enforcement.”
Exactly what I expect, down to the damn wording.
When the ambulance pulls away, lights flashing as it takes Luc to the hospital, Kacy follows right behind, driving his car.
Good. I’m glad they’re both gone.
This time, no one tries to talk. No one pretends nothing happened.
My brothers and I head to the front yard to wait for the police. I’m relieved Jo doesn’t follow. I don’t want her seeing us get cuffed. Fontes comes with usand steps up beside Jay.
My legs twitch with the urge to grab my brothers and run until we wear off at least half the tension and the thick scent of aggression around us dissipates. But we can’t, so we stand still and wait.
The cops show up a few minutes later. As soon as one of them steps out and spots us, his eyes narrow. He turns back to the cruiser, speaking into his radio, asking for backup. The second officer steps out, hand hovering near his holster.
“We got a report of an assault,” the first one says. “Where’s the suspect?”
I open my mouth to answer, but Fontes steps forward smoothly, voice calm and even. “Officer Fontes. Great Sky PD, High-Risk Unit. These are Officers Larsen. They’re with me.”
I freeze. So do my brothers.
The officers exchange a look. “What happened?” the second one asks.
Fontes doesn’t hesitate. “Private gathering. One guest, heavily intoxicated and belligerent, verbally threatened the homeowner, Officers Larsen’s wife. The subject was escalating. Jayson Larsen used minimal force. One punch. No weapons. No further action taken. Threat neutralized.”
My brain scrambles to catch up.
Fontes is shielding us.
Not just backing us, but protecting us. Using his human status, his badge, to block the wave of bias that would’ve hit us like a truck.
Because aegis don’t get the benefit of the doubt. Humans like to use our strength when it suits them — law enforcement, the military — but the moment we act without permission, we’re a dangerous liability. We’re not partners. We’re weapons.
The second cop shifts, uncomfortable. “Still a crime if someone ends up unconscious.”
“You’re looking at an off-duty officer who de-escalated a direct threat to his wife,” Fontes replies.
The first officer exhales and nods slowly. “No arrests at this time. But we’ll need statements. The case report’s already open.”
“You’ll have them through Great Sky’s chain of command,” Fontes says calmly. “I’ll file the preliminary myself.”
