Page 26 of Hunter

As we’re all directed into separate police cars, Connor clears his throat to get all our attention. “No comment,” he says simply before we are all taken away for questioning.

***

“No comment,” I say again to the officer across from me.

“Mr. Devane, unlawful gambling was clearly taking place on your premises tonight. It would be much easier for you to admit the crime so we can move forward.”

“No comment.” My ass aches in the cheap plastic chair I’ve been sitting on. Harrison sits silently beside me as we attempt to wait out the insanity. He’s scribbling furiously on a notepad, fuck knows what, because I haven’t said anything, and my interrogator seems to be getting weary. Eventually, the officer ends the interview and leaves the room.

“Where is Damon?” I ask Harrison.

“Russell is representing him. He and Connor were released when we arrived.”

“How?”

“A technicality,” he says with a shrug. “You know what they’re like, or maybe Menzies couldn’t be bothered with them. It’s always been you and Damon he wants.”

“Is it still twenty-four hours I can be held?” I ask him.

“Thirty-six, if a senior officer allows it.”

“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, and he glances at me.

“Somewhere to be?”

“I want to go home.”

“Someone waiting for you?” His mouth twists into a knowing smile. “Me too. Just stick with no comment, and they should release you. But it won’t be the end of it. You’ll need to stop your events for now…”

I cross my arms over my chest and huff audibly. Harrison rolls his eyes at my pettiness. My refusal to stop some of my more public practices when things heat up is a constant headache for him. But I keep him in a job which he is well paid for—plus deep down, he loves the morally gray bullshit we get involved in. I remember how excited he was on our first stakeout; I think he thought he was in an action-hero movie.

The officer returns, his demeanor subdued. He comes to stand beside us and stares down, his expression impassive. His mobile phone is clasped between his palms as he flips it over and over, clearly uncomfortable.

“You’re free to go,” he says bluntly. We both look up at him in surprise. “But don’t go far; there will be more questions.” The words are said in what I think is meant to be an ominous tone, but sound like a little boy trying to mimic his father.

I push myself up to stand, the chair scraping noisily over the tiled floor.

“Of that, Officer, I have no doubt.” I extend a hand to shake his, and he narrows his eyes and ignores the gesture. Harrison rises beside me, and we both leave the interview room to wait in the reception area, where we find Connor dozing in another cheap plastic chair. I walk over and then crouch down in front of him. He doesn’t feel my presence before I clap my hands loudly beneath his nose.

Connor jumps out of his seat as I step backward. His eyes fly around the room, furiously searching for the source of his upset. They eventually land on me, and I reward him with a beaming smile.

“What the actual fuck, Devane,” he roars before turning to the police staff member behind the reception desk. “Take him fucking back. Throw him in a cell.” He points dramatically at me as Harrison and I bend double, laughing. Even the lady behind the desk seems amused.

“Are you causing chaos?” Damon’s voice asks as he and Russell arrive to join us.

“Oh, you’re out,” I say. “There was me thinking they were throwing away the key.”

“Well, I’m not a fucking apparition.” He rubs at his forehead with his hand, then looks at the old, white clock on the wall. Daylight is bursting through the dirty windows; it’s already one in the afternoon. “Emma’s going to kill me. I won’t make it to jail.”

Our little group laughs, but we all know it’s true. After the last time Damon returned with a cracked nose and two black eyes, she demanded that he stop fighting competitively. And if her scene in the ring was anything to go by, there will be more bruises on his body before today ends.

“Fuck,” he says, almost to himself. “Let’s go home.”

As we all walk out of the door, a familiar voice we all hate calls across the room.

“Mr. McKinney,” it says, and Damon turns to face Menzies. “Don’t leave town. I’ll be back with a warrant.” My friend glowers, gives him the finger, then turns and walks away.

Upon arriving home, I’m met with the beat of dance music pumping out across the ground floor of my house. I follow the noise in search of the source. Perhaps Isabella’s housekeeper likes to dance while she works. What I find isnotwhat I expect, and rage courses through every vein as I storm across the room, jumping over my coffee table in the process.

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