Page 57 of Pulse

“Fuck,” she spat amidst the sounds of rustling clothing. “I’ll meet you at the station. If you get a chance, record the interaction.”

“I’ll try.”

“Pulse… be safe.”

The line went dead. He signaled right and began to slow his speed. He fucking hated this shit. What made it so much worse was how he used to be law enforcement. To see the system abused in such a way enraged him.

As soon as he came to a stop, he killed the engine and dropped the kickstand.

The cop car screeched to a halt behind him. Two seconds later, a deep voice boomed. “Off the bike. Hands in the fucking air.”

He raised his arms in a position of surrender—so much for having time to record the interaction.

The squeal of tires announced the arrival of the second and third cruisers.

Pulse had lived through some scary shit in his life. Hell, he’d spent four years pretending to be a high-level cartel member. At any point, if he’d blown his cover, he’d have been killed in a nasty way. He knew fear. He understood the taste of it on his tongue and the sickness in his gut—the way it took over all the senses and made breathing a challenge.

He felt that now along with profound helplessness, and nothing pissed him off more than being helpless.

There was nothing to do but obey, so he swung his leg off his bike and turned to face the officers.

“I said hands in the fucking air,” the cop shouted despite Pulse’s hands being up by his head.

He couldn’t make out who the officer was. Their headlights shined a blinding path from their cruisers. Others joined him, all positioned behind their open car doors with guns at the ready.

Fucking ridiculous.

“Turn around. Drop to your knees. Keep your hands up!”

There wasn’t anything he wanted to do less than give his back to these untrustworthy assholes, but what choices did he have?

“Is your body cam on?” he shouted.

“I said, turn the fuck around!”

He did, slowly, so as not to give them the impression he planned to run or reach for a weapon. Then he sank to his knees, hands in the air. The road bit into his kneecaps beneath his jeans. Man, he’d had much more fun the last time he’d been on his knees between Talia’s gorgeous legs.

“I gave you a lawful order. Turn around now!”

What? He’d already turned.

“We have given you a lawful order. If you continue to resist, you will be tased.”

Fucking hell. So that’s how they were going to play this? No way in hell did any of these cops have their body cams on—maybe the audio, but not the video. In court, they’d plead technical malfunction, then play this bullshit audio to make him look like a disobedient maniac.

“Last chance, asshole,” a cop shouted. “Get on the fucking ground.”

This would be the perfect time for Spec or anyone from his club to appear. But they wouldn’t because he’d been keeping secrets from the men who had his back—secrets that would turn his people against him in his greatest hour of need.

On his knees in the dark, illuminated only by the shine of police cruisers, as the cops continued to shout about his disobedience, he tried to prepare himself for what came next.

The sharp barb embedded itself in his upper arm. They knew where to aim the taser. His leather cut would have prevented the darts from entering his skin.

The electricity hit like a viper’s strike, sinking into his flesh with a sudden, merciless jolt. His muscles seized, locking in place as every nerve caught in a net of raw, crackling energy. The fire-hot rush of pain reached every corner of his body, penetrating his bones and holding him hostage.

He screamed through clenched teeth as time-warped, stretching each heartbeat to an eternity. Every second became a landslide of paralyzed weakness. There were no thoughts, no reasoning, just a primal, animal sense of survival trapped under the weight of pure voltage. His world narrowed to a buzzing cage of static and fear, an unrelenting throb that refused to let go. He pitched forward. The ground rushed toward his face at a furious velocity. Without control of his extremities, he could do nothing to stop his face from colliding with the rough road.

And then, as quickly as it began, it released. Muscles slackened, and limbs sagged as heavy as lead on the side of the highway. Feet pounded the pavement as the cops rushed to him. He tried to push onto all fours, but the electricity left a profound fatigue and weakness.

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