Page 106 of Brazen Criminals

I stand up, Walker holding me back, keeping me from getting within an arm’s reach of Bryce. “Drop the charges against Archibald and I won’t go to the police,” I say. And I won’t. The cops are going to fucking come to him.

“You set me up?” Bryce roars, reaching for me.

But before he gets too close, some prey part of him kicks in, telling him he’s grossly outnumbered. It’s not just me this time. And I’m not the little girl he taught to cower. Not anymore.

My beast is uncaged, and I don’t want to lock her back up. Not for him.

“Drop the charges.” I hand him my burner phone.

He shakes his head.

“Do it. Are you absolutely sure you deleted all the kiddie porn off your computer? Are you positive?”

“You fucking bitch,” he growls, grabbing the phone and making the call. Once he’s done, I motion RJ over. He verifies the number for me. It’s legit.

“Go. You’re not welcome here anymore,” I say and leave the room, knowing the guys will show my pedo stalker out.

I’m free.

Chapter 52

Trips

Ifuckingcannotkeepmy eyes open. God—what time did I get up yesterday? Seven? Six thirty? Where is my dad’s lawyer? Did Clara not call him?

The drunks were released first thing this morning. They fucking slept like babies. I, however, watched the door, waiting.

I’m not going to sleep here—I’m going to sleep in my own fucking bed. Not that I sleep well there, but it’s better than I would get in this dump.

The door opens, and I’m on my feet, holding onto the wall so I don’t fall on my face, my heart lazy as it pumps the blood where it ought to be.

“Archibald Westerhouse?” A uniformed officer looks in the cell. I’m the only fucker here, so I don’t know what he’s asking about.

“Yeah.”

“Against the wall.”

I stand in position—it sucks that this is getting to be routine. My arms are yanked behind me, my shoulders tight from tension and lack of sleep as the officer snaps on the cuffs. If they think this will intimidate me, they obviously didn’t grow up in the Westerhouse family. This shit isn’t worth a sniffle of anxiety.

I’m dumped into an interrogation room and kept waiting. I lean back, trying to keep my eyes open. If I close them, I might sleep, and I’m not doing that here. I need to get back home. Where is my bail? Where is my lawyer? What the fuck, Clara?

Officer Tom Reed struts in, all righteous arrogance. Fuck cops, especially honest ones.

I wait to see what tact he’s going to take. I’m not going to say anything without my lawyer, and he knows it. I’ll listen. It might keep me awake until my bail comes through.

“So, Archibald, let’s clear the air,” Officer Reed says.

I tilt my chin, letting him know I’m listening.

“I know you’ve done some shit. Bad shit. Dangerous shit. And very illegal shit. I know it, and you know it.”

Where the fuck is a lawyer when you need one?

“I think you’re a dangerous man and I want you to spend the rest of your life in a cage.”

Those damn honest cops, I tell you. They think they have the answer—hide all the little dust bunnies under the rug, lock up the nuisances. Meanwhile, fucking corporate garbage trucks dump all the trash on the front lawn, perfectly legal-like. Someday soon, I’m going to light up the fucking garbage trucks with Molotov cocktails, holding up the drivers with nothing but my smile, my fingers pinching their wallets as a bonus for a hard day’s work. I’ve got plans.

I might be a dust bunny today, but I won’t be for long.

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