Page 25 of Hunter

Isabella and Emma chat between themselves while I mingle with my guests and the subsequent fight begins. Russell and Connor are dealing with the pissed-off punters who bet on Damon’s match and are now at the desk demanding refunds. If the debacle hadn’t been so amusing, I would have been furious at the lost money.

Connor is handing out another round of beers when a gunshot sounds from the back of the hall. The glasses smash off the floor, and everyone grabs their weapon of choice. Most people here will have something to protect themselves with. Another shot, and people drop to the floor. It’s then I see dozens of policemen bursting through the doors.

“Oh fuck,” Russell grumbles, moving straight to his desk and throwing all evidence into a backpack. His brother collapses the chalkboards to the floor and quickly rubs away the scribbles. The sea of men scurrying between exits gives us time to remove what we can.

“Emma,” I hiss. “Take Isabella and go out the back door. Through the changing rooms.” I signal to a well-hidden doorway behind the ring. My hand drops into my pocket, and I throw her my car keys then pass her my knife. “It’s parked out the back, and take everyone’s guns. The last thing we need is the police finding illegal firearms.”

Emma collects the weapons as instructed, stuffing them into deep coat pockets. Isabella grabs my hands, her terrified eyes darting between me and the impending police.

“Will you be okay?” she asks, barely audible in the insanity. I touch her cheek, then drop my lips to hers momentarily. The touch is all I need for my heart to beat like a drum. I’m sent back to my teen years, when a kiss from her was enough to make life bearable for a few more months until I saw her again.

“Oh, Bella,” I tell her. “I’ve survived worse, and to know you’re waiting for me will be all I need to survive it again.”

Before she can reply, Emma grabs her hand and pulls her off into the crowd. The two women disappear into the chaos until I see one head of blonde hair and one dark leave through the door as instructed. I turn to my three friends, all of us standing our ground, waiting to deal with whatever shit is about to fall on our plate.

As I look up, a familiar face walks through the crowd toward us. His focus is firmly on Damon, and the two men glare at one another before he reaches us.

“You’re having a fucking laugh,” Damon mutters as the man comes to a stop.

“Constable Menzies,” I say politely, stepping forward and placing my body between them. “How can I help you this evening?”

“It’s Sergeant now, Mr. Devane,” he says with a scowl. He puffs his chest out, obviously pleased at being able to correct me as to his status. What a dick.

“Apologies, Sergeant Menzies. As I said, what brings you to my gym this evening? You’ve trespassed onto a private event. Do you have a warrant?” His hand disappears into his pocket and pulls out a folded paper. Russell steps forward and takes it from him. He studies the document then nods to me.

Menzies was a thorn in Damon’s side while still in the police. He enthusiastically ran intelligence, attempting to find information that would force Damon to leave. In the end, it was discovered he was actively sitting on information about the murder of Damon’s wife. The day Damon cleared his desk, Menzies threatened that this wouldn’t be the end. He was out to get us all.

“The four of you will need to accompany me to the station,” Menzies says as three officers come up behind us. “We have questions.”

“Are we under arrest?” Connor asks, morphing into lawyer mode.

“Not yet, but I suspect I have enough evidence from tonight to create some charges.”

“This is a fun event between friends,” Russell tells him smoothly. “Unless having fun is now a crime, I don’t think you will have much to charge us for.”

“I assume you have the relevant licenses in place, Mr. Devane?” Menzies turns to me, ignoring Russell completely. “Betting and gambling unlawfully are a criminal offense. I need copies of your operating, personal management, and premises licenses.”

I gesture to Russell and Connor.

“Speak to them. They’re my lawyers.”

“I have reason to believe Mr. and Mr. Chase are also involved,” he replies with a snigger. “So, I would suggest that perhaps you appoint someone else.”

“Phone Waite,” I mutter to Russell, who pulls his phone out of his pocket. Harrison is going to love this. Not only have we been caught, but he’s getting pulled from his wife’s side in the middle of the night. His pregnant, hormonal wife to add insult to injury. Russell walks away to make the phone call, and Menzies’ attention turns to Damon.

“As for you, Mr. McKinney.” He emphasizes the “Mr.” enjoying the fact that Damon is no longer considered an officer of the law. “The man you attacked wants to press charges for assault. Please turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

The officer closest to Damon slams the cuffs on and begins to read him his rights. Menzies sidles over to my friend, and I look at Connor for guidance. He signals to me to stay calm and let them do their job. Russell reappears, his nose still in his phone.

“Harrison will meet us at the station,” he says, then he glances up and sees Damon in handcuffs.

“What the fuck…” Connor jabs his brother in the ribs to stop any more words from leaving his lips. The last thing we need is for one of his detonations to happen. One person in handcuffs is enough.

Menzies walks around Damon, standing rigidly in the center of the circle of officers. His body is tense with rage. I’ve seen him lose his temper before, and today, he’s on the brink.

“I always promised you would get to wear these,” Menzies goads him, pulling at the restraints. My friend closes his eyes, and I can almost hear him counting in his head to distract himself. “And today is the day.” He turns to his staff. “Take him away, and you three follow me.”

Other officers have cleared the gym, and we follow the little bastard across the space which is now littered with spilled drinks and bottles like fucking ducklings. As we step outside, the freezing winter air hits my nostrils, and I’m acutely aware that I’m only wearing my shirt on this cold London morning. My tuxedo jacket was discarded somewhere in the gym. The sun hasn’t started to rise yet, but I can hear vans and lorries going about their business, getting ready for the day ahead.

---