Page 17 of Sinful Deeds
Several sets of footsteps trudge past me and their voices fade as they clammer down the stairs. I let out a heavy sigh. The Krymson Destroyers may have saved me this time, but what about the next? He’s already taken everything in my life, my freedom and my trust. I finally let the loss consume me as tears roll down my face, the saltiness lingering on my lips. As long as I’m breathing, he’ll never stop looking.
Chapter 12
Chainz
It’s agonizing howslowly the time passes while these asshole cops tear our clubhouse apart. My heart rages in my chest, fury ripping through my body. The minutes keep ticking by, reminding me I’m helpless to protect Raven right now. The handcuffs dig into my wrist and my knees ache from pressing against the concrete floor. That’s nothing compared to the pain I’m going to cause him if he lays a hand on Raven. When the agents return without Raven, I breathe a sigh of relief.
“I want this one.” The agent in charge with the bloodied, broken nose glares at me. I meet his dead eyes with the same dark stare. “Cut the rest loose.”
The agent’s hand wraps around the cuffs on my wrists and yanks upwards. With my lower body strength, I rock back on my heels and spring up in a rushed force. I can’t see the mother fucker, but I can feel him jerk back, so I can’t connect with his face again. I shoot a wink at my brothers as the agents lead me out the door.
With his hand pressed against the back of my head, the agent forces me into the back seat of an unmarked car. The black paint job and tinted windows screams Fed, but the dirty clothes and empty bottles of scotch laying on the rear floorboard screams rogue. I study his face in the rear-view mirror. The hard lines around his eyes bunch together and the corner of his lip is twitching. The way he keeps swiping his hand across his nose, he’s jonesing hard for something to relieve the pain from the headbutt.
The agent parks the car in front of the local police station and yanks open the rear door. Tightening the handcuffs around my wrist as he drags me from the car and inside the station. The station is empty except for the agents and two beat cops.
“Where’s Chief Davis?” The local officers turn their heads to avoid eye contact.
The Chief and I have an understanding. He keeps his officers on a tight leash and I line their wallets with cash.
The agent snickers, “Vacation,” he shoves me further into the station, “He can’t help you out of this one.”
Apparently not enough cash to keep ATF off our backs. I’m led to a holding cell where the handcuffs are removed. The steel bars clang shut, and I settle in for a long night on the hard wooden bench, scrubbing my hands down my face.
The incessant snoring from the local drunk sleeping it off across from me makes it impossible to catch any z’s. By the time the sun creeps through the small window across from the cell, I’m a miserable son of a bitch. I watch the clock on the wall tick away until half-past nine when I’m cuffed again and led toward a room as small as the cell. The cop removes the handcuffs and motions towards a chair. I never sit with my back to the room, so I plop my ass onto the chair at the far end of the table, keeping my eyes on the door.
I’m no stranger to an interrogation room or this tactic. Fear causes the weak to talk, but I’m not weak and there’s not an ounce of fear inside me. This is bullshit, we both know it. I wait out the clock until the door in front of me opens. The same agent from the compound walks in looking like he slept in his suit. He slams the door closed behind him. “Jude Scott, I’m special agent Adam Ward with ATF.”
I guess we’re skipping the good cop, bad cop routine, since he’s alone this time. He stands as tall as me with a muscular build and an arrogant smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. We’re not much different, we both have the same dead eyes and too much arrogance to yield control of the situation.
Slowly pulling the chair away from the table, the agent takes a seat on the opposite side of the table. Placing a folder in front of him, he taps his stumpy fingers... tap, tap, tap. “Do you know what this is?”
He waits for an answer, but I don’t give him one. He flips open the folder and thumbs through the pages. “This is just one file ATF has compiled on the Kyrmson Destroyers,” he spreads several pictures of my club out in front of me. “Gun running, drug dealings. Prime suspects in several missing persons cases and now let’s add harboring a fugitive to the growing list of charges.” He slaps a picture in front of me of a girl with long blonde hair and familiar eyes that draw me in and trap me there. Raven’s hazel eyes swirling with secrets stare up from the page. The agent jabs his fingers at the image... tap, tap, tap. I want to snap his finger in half. “Tessa Jameson is wanted for murder.”
Tessa...
A chill runs down my spine at the way he bites out her name as if it was poison on his tongue. I roll her name around in my head. My eyes wander, landing everywhere but on him. He doesn’t deserve one ounce of my attention. I’ve seen this interrogation tactic before, he’s trying to rattle me. I lean back in the chair, folding my arms across my chest. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
