Page 58 of Pulse

The first boot to his ribs sent a shockwave of agony screaming through his side. He’d have fought if he could, but another kick had him retching.

“Still fucking resisting,” one of the cops shouted.

“Get him cuffed,” another yelled. “We’ll drag him to my cruiser.”

They yanked his arms behind his back without an ounce of care. He winced at the burn in his shoulders. His cheek scrapedagainst the ground with a painful tearing sensation as they hauled him around. Cuffs were slapped on him next, so tight they bit into his wrists. If Spec got word of this, he’d lose his fucking mind and go on the warpath with his bloodthirst for vengeance.

But how would Pulse explain any of it?

“You have the right to remain silent, motherfucker…”

He zoned out during the Miranda warning he knew by heart. It meant nothing to these cops beyond a formality. A check in the box so he couldn’t claim they never mirandized him. Not that it mattered. None of this would ever see a courtroom. Most likely, they’d hand him over to the DEA, and he’d fall off the face of the earth from there.

The cops hauled him to his feet by his aching shoulders. Thankfully, he could get his feet under him and remain standing without support.

“Not so tough without your little bike buddies, are you?” Officer Newton, a cop he’d dealt with before, sneered. “Nothing more than a buncha fucking thugs. We’re gonna take you down one by one.”

Newton was older than Pulse, at least he looked it, but probably not by more than a decade. Years on the job driving around in a patrol car, meeting at the local cop bar, and most likely chowing down on donuts each morning had him on the heftier side. If it wasn’t for the gun and five other officers, Pulse could have outrun him with ease. Instead, he was ushered to the car andguidedinto it. Newton smacked Pulse’s head on the door frame as he tossed him into the back seat.

“Now’s when the real fun begins, asshole,” Newton said as he filled the door frame with his ruddy face. Running the fifty feet from his squad car to where he’d tased Pulse took a lot out of the man.

“You seem a little winded. Might wanna hit the gym once in a while, Officer Newt. You know, to work on that cardiovascular endurance. Wouldn’t want people escaping their unlawful arrests, would you?”

“Youdidn’t escape.”

Touché.

“What’d you do to piss off the feds?” Newton asked. “You’ll be our guest tonight, but tomorrow, we got a suit from DC coming to claim you. You’ll be their problem then, and there’ll be one less biker polluting our town.”

Pulse mashed his teeth together. Talia warned him to cooperate. She was the only reason he didn’t blast this asshole the way he craved.

To think he and Newton had once been on the same side made him sick, though they’d never really been on the same side. Newton was a dirty piece of shit who didn’t deserve to wear the uniform. Pulse had never gone against his oath to serve and protect. Well, not until the day he told them all to fuck off and walked away.

Newton chuckled. “Keep your secrets. Don’t matter to me none.” He slammed the door and then shuffled around to the driver’s side. “Think I’ll take myself out to a nice steak dinner tomorrow night,” he said as he stuffed himself into his seat. “Oh, shit, sorry. That was kinda cruel, huh? Seeing as how you won’t be eatin’ one of those anytime soon.” He laughed again as he started the squad car.

Pulse turned away, staring out the window at the short, slender cop strolling their way—Newton’s partner. She pulled the door open and dropped into her seat. “Nice work, partner,” she said as she held out a fist to Newton, who grinned and bumped it with his own.

What a load of horseshit.

Pulse shut his eyes. After a few attempts to further insult him, they got the message that he couldn’t be baited and finished the drive in silence. Thank God. His face stung, and his left ribs ached like a son of a bitch. All he wanted was a stiff drink and a soft bed.

Maybe one with Talia in it. Yeah, he could get behind that. Her soft, warm, and sated while they lay entangled, sharing a whisky between them.

Damn, that’d be nice.

Too bad for him he’d be sleeping on a prison cot tonight and possibly in a pine box after that.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

SHE’D NEVER APPEARED so unprofessional in her career, and she couldn’t have cared less.

Talia barged into the police station wearing gray cotton sleep shorts, an oversized black hoodie, and flip-flops. Her hair was piled in a sloppy bun, and her face didn’t have a stitch of makeup. She had only her keys, wallet, and phone stuffed in her kangaroo pocket and enough blazing fury to burn the building to the ground.

A familiar face sat behind the front counter—Officer Blasetto, the annoying desk jockey who’d previously given her the runaround. Just what she needed—a misogynist cop to make this night worse.

Her flip-flops slapped against the linoleum as she marched over to the desk. “Excuse me,” she said when she arrived.

Blasetto wrenched his gaze from whatever had him riveted to his computer—probably another rousing game of solitaire or an Andrew Tate YouTube video.

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