Page 9 of God of War

This isn’t happening. I shouldn’t have let her in. I shouldn’t have let her stay.

Equal parts terrified and enraged, I stalk around the table and grab her arm, hauling her little body to her feet.

“Go out the back,” I say, shoving her in the right direction. “Don’t ever come back.”

“B-but—”

“Now.” Delaney flinches back like I’ve hit her, but does as I say, scurrying down the hall and to the back door. Once I hear the screen door squeal closed, I move.

Deputy Jackson, Delaney’s father, is on the front porch and there’s a patrol car on my fucking lawn. Jackson’s not in uniform, just wearing jeans and a t-shirt, but he’s got his badge clipped to his belt and his gun in his hand like he’s ready to use it.

“Where’s my fucking kid?” he growls when I step outside.

I let my face go blank. “What kid?”

There are two uniformed deputies by the car, eyeing the scene, but I stay focused on Jackson.

“Someone called in,” he says. “Heard a scream, looked out their window and saw my fucking kid going into your house, you piece of shit.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I reply. I step back, ready to swing the door closed. “Unless you’ve got a warrant—”

Deputy Jackson lurches forward. He grabs my throat and shoves me hard, propelling me into the house. I hit the wall, my head cracking hard against the plaster.

“I’ve got probable cause, you sick fuck,” he spits in my face. He looks past me. “Delaney? You in here?”

“She’s not here. Told you.”

God, I want to hit him. Badly. My hands curl into fists at my sides, but I force them to relax.

The other two deputies walk in and Deputy Jackson jerks his head at them.

“Check the house.”

They follow orders and stride past me. I’m sure Jackson can feel my pulse pounding under his hand as he tightens his grip around my throat. His eyes narrow on mine.

“I knew you were scum. But I was willing to let it slide, some biker trash living so close to me and my family. Live and let live, they say.” He leans in close. I can smell his sour breath. “But now you’ve touched what’s mine, Warner, and I don’t take kindly to another man touching what’s mine.”

A chill ripples down my spine.

This isn’t right. None of this is right.

“She’s. Not. Here,” I grind out.

“Jackson?”

One of the deputies leans into the hallway. Deputy Jackson looks over and I see his eyes darken. His fingers flex against my throat.

“You’re under arrest, you piece of shit,” he says as he turns me face first against the wall. My hands are dragged roughly behind my back and I feel the painful bite of the cuffs as he ratchets them closed.

With my cheek pressed against the wall, I’m facing the other deputy. The one leaning in from the kitchen.

There’s something bright in the deputy’s hand. Pink.

It’s Delaney’s bookmark, her fucking initials bright as day in sparkly bubble letters.

Fuck.

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