Page 8 of Knot My MC
I blink and my face contorts with frustration. Why aren’t they helping me? We’ve outrun the cops before.
Because they set you up.
No. That’s paranoia talking. I don’t think they’d do that. They’re my guys. We’ve been in plenty of trouble over the last few years, this is only different because I’m alone this time. The evil voice in the back of my mind tells me it’s all too convenient, but I’m not sure that voice can be trusted.
They’re not assholes. Maybe they truly are afraid to try and save me with the cop practically on top of me. The uniform is screaming at me to put my hands up, but I’m frozen, staring at the guys as they finally take off. Leaving me.
Alone.
Leaving me to rot in a cell.
Leaving without a goodbye wave. Leaving me without a spare glance.
I frown a little, not understanding what’s happening and why. They’ve never been rude to me, but the way they leave is almost cold and uncaring. It’s almost like they don’t even see me, but that’s virtually impossible. I’m right here, and they don’t even glance back to make sure I'm okay as they set off. Frustration and hurt swell inside my chest. This is all a misunderstanding. I’ll text them when I get home and they’ll explain what happened.
Something hits my neck and electricity surges through me. My body convulses and my knees give out. I glare at the cop who’s tasing me, wishing I could eviscerate him where he stands.
The distant growling of their motorcycle engines is like taunting laughter as the cop stomps over to me and slaps cuffs around my wrists.
I’m so screwed.
* * *
My back aches from sleeping on the jailhouse bed all night, but the officers dragging me toward a van that’s set to drive me to the convention center to meet my doom don’t give a damn. I try to jerk out of their grasp, even though I know it’s useless with my wrists cuffed and their iron grips around my arms.
“Seems like she wants to get tased again,” one douche with long, blond hair says, smirking at me.
“Don’t fuck around like that, Michaels.”
“Aw, come on, Riley. You’re always so by the book.”
Riley, the serious one, grinds to a stop and glares at the man over the top of my head.
“I’m not fucking around, Michaels. She’s not a toy.”
“Do you two need a room?” I ask, jerking my arms again. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not be late to my sentencing with Camila.”
Riley swings his gaze to meet mine. He’s an attractive older man. A low pack beta if the job and scent are anything to go by. One might think there’d be camaraderie between us since we’re both low pack, but guys like him hate Wrecker MC, and in turn, we hate them back.
“She’s right,” Riley says, pulling me along once again. “We can’t be late. Camila will pitch a fit.”
“Camila’s always pitching fits. She’s a bitch.”
Riley grunts, but doesn’t disagree. I don’t either. Camila makes Axel look like a kitten. She has the power to destroy me, and with the trouble I’ve gotten into, she just might do that.
I’m pushed into the back of a squad car and driven to the looming building situated in downtown Dolin. I’ve made a point to avoid this place ever since they put a tracker in me. Shit. The tracker.
I’d forgotten they noted the lack of one on me when they processed me last night. It’s technically illegal to tamper with the device, but I wasn’t about to leave that shit in my skin. The small scar on the inside of my wrist tingles with awareness, as if sensing my thoughts. Dad helped me remove the tracker, but they can’t prove that.
For all the Omega Council knows, I dug the small chip out of my skin and tucked it in my sock drawer for safe keeping.
Regardless of what they think, the fact remains that they know I’ve broken two laws and Camila isn’t going to be happy about that. She’d piss her pants if she knew about the stuff the guys and I got into.
The guys.
A hard frown pulls at my lips as I’m escorted into the convention center and toward the elevator. I need to talk to them. I thought I meant something to them, but the way they rode away last night gutted me. The rational part of my mind gets it; there was no escaping the cop once I ran into him. The other part of my mind, the one that aches for them, can’t help but feel betrayed. They didn’t even wave. They didn’t even shout anything to me before they drove off. They simply left.
And maybe that’s what bothers me most of all. It was as though it was just another night for them, but when we were together at the park, it hadn’t felt like just another night. It felt like more than that.
