Page 9 of Clubs

Grumbling, I did so. “Don’t tell Declan. Last thing we need is him killing a cop while he’s under investigation for murder.”

Emory snorted a laugh at that, the closest the two of us got to bonding. “My lips are sealed.”

As I found myself doing so often tonight, I took one more deep breath. Then, I put my assets to work.

CHAPTER THREE

DECLAN

Suspicion of murder.

I had been arrested for suspicion of murder. On the car ride here, through the metal grate, I had asked, “So who did I kill again?”

Detective Grant Tyler had clarified then that they’d only arrested me under the pretense of suspicion of murder. I thanked him for the explanation and smart mouthed for the following twenty minutes to the local police station.

That’s where I was now. Sitting at a metal table, on a metal chair, looking at a mirrored window. I smelled and heard four people on the other side. One was Tyler, and the other three—two more men and one woman—I didn’t recognize.

The room was cold and grey, no furniture besides the metal chairs and table I was cuffed to. The fluorescent lights were harsh, and seemed to flicker at just the right frequency to make detainees develop headaches. The first few minutes I was left alone seemed to stretch for hours, but I knew it couldn’t have been that long.

I had been in rooms like this before, never for anything this serious, so it wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. I knew the boredom and discomfort was supposed to get to me, supposed to feed my nerves. But I couldn’t say I was surprised by any of this. Detective Tyler and I went way back. Or rather, Detective Tyler and my father went way back. As much as I loved my dad, and as much as I hated that he was dead, he was a dick, and the cops had plenty of reasons to hate him. He had something of a motorcycle club, which dismantled upon his death. They hadn’t been known for being upstanding citizens though, and Dad was the worst of them all.

He’d had a drinking problem, gambling problem, and the occasional drug problem. With addiction came chaos. There were frequent fights at his bar—now my bar, Spades—which resulted in regular visits from the authorities. Tacked onto the typical bullshit that came with the clientele of a biker bar, Dad had dabbled in the sale of illegal substances. Everything from weed to heroin at some point or another. That’s what’d landed him in jail several times when I was growing up.

Mom took over Spades when Dad died, and although some shit had caused problems over the years, Spades was calmer than it’d been. Drugs weren’t my thing, so when I’d taken over, the place remained stable. But it was a bar, a supernatural bar at that. So yeah. Shit happened on occasion.

And every time something did, Detective Tyler was there, waiting for the day he could hit me with all the charges he’d never been able to stick on my dad.

I had no doubt that’s what was happening here. There had been a dozen cops around the back of my bar when they’d loaded me into the car. That must’ve been where they’d found a body. I owned the place, so I was the first suspect. Or, at least, that was how they were spinning it.

I didn’t know whose body it was, or why it was there, but I had nothing to do with it. Was I a killer? Sure. I was a Werewolf, and shit happened. But I hadn’t killed anyone lately. I would never kill a woman, either. Whoever they had found, it didn’t have shit to do with me.

Door hinges squealed to my right. Walking into the interrogation room, Tyler nodded to my cuffs. “Those too tight?”

“Can’t complain.” I leaned back in my seat. Once he was in his, I stifled a yawn. “Look, I don’t know what you found, but I didn’t do it.”

“Pretty sure a body found outside your bar’s got something to do with you.”

Confirmed my suspicions. “When was this?”

“Got an anonymous tip about an hour ago.” Tyler propped his elbows on the table, leaning in with narrowed blue eyes. “They said to look at the dumpster behind Spades. So we did. And sure enough, there’s a body there.”

Cocking my head to the side, I choked on a laugh. “And you think I did it?”

“I think you’re the first person I should look at.”

“Why would I kill someone and dump them behind my own bar?”

“I don’t know. Why’d your daddy kill Harry Thompson in that same parking lot fifteen years ago?”

According to Mom, he’d tried to rip Dad off on an ounce of blow. “Don’t think he was ever convicted of that.”

“But we both know he did it.”

“Hey, your word’s better than mine. What was I when that happened? Ten?”

“Something like that.” Tyler leaned in closer. “That’s the cycle, isn’t it? Kid sees his daddy killing people, selling drugs, so when he grows up, what does he do?”

“Well, I don’t sell drugs, and have yet to commit a murder, so the apple must’ve fallen pretty far from the tree,” I said. “We both know I didn’t do this. Ask your questions and let me go.”

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