Page 101 of Dirty Mechanic
And there they are.
Mike and Rick Bishop. Two smug, polished fuckers swaggering like they just won the goddamn lottery. Two officers from a neighboring county flank them like prom dates.
I step in front of Annabelle, instinct on autopilot.
Eric and Emma aren’t here. Blake’s by the cider booth.
Mike holds up a manila folder like it’s a weapon, the kind of paper sword cowards swing when they can’t win with their fists.
“There’s something everyone should hear before yesterday’s race is official!” he shouts.
Sheriff Simon steps out of the shadows, jaw clenched tight. Blake’s right behind him, eyes sharp, scanning the incoming threat like a soldier.
“Derek Fields. Annabelle Waters,” one officer says. “Please step forward. We’ve been asked to hold you until the sheriff from San Jacinto County arrives tomorrow morning.”
“Hold us?” Annabelle’s voice cuts sharp, incredulous. “What the hell does that mean?”
One of the officers steps toward her. “We have reason to believe you submitted forged legal documents to the State of California.”
The world tilts.
My lungs forget how to work.
Annabelle’s hand clamps around mine, tight and trembling.
Mike raises the folder like he’s just played the ace of spades. “It’s a felony. Oh, and he tampered with my race vehicle. And my brother’s. I have him on tape. Clear as day. He shouldn’t even be allowed to compete.”
“No,” I snap. “You’ve got no jurisdiction here. You don’t even?—”
“Actually,” the taller cop says, stepping forward, “we do. Your actions impacted a cross-state licensing agreement. Charges were filed an hour ago. And these gentlemen—” he jerks his chin toward the brothers “—have filed a civil claim as well.”
Annabelle goes pale. Her lips move, but no sound comes out.
I grab her hand. “Hey. Don’t say anything. We’ll call someone. I’ll fix this.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
And that cuts deeper than anything Mike Bishop could ever say.
Sheriff Simon steps in, voice tight as a drum. “Hold on. If anyone’s got jurisdiction in Lords Valley, it’s me. And according to our constitution, and last time I checked, the state’s and the country’s, these two are innocent until proven guilty. They’ll spend the night in my jail, and legal counsel can handle the rest in the morning.”
I look at him like he just handed us oxygen. A second chance. A goddamn miracle.
The cuffs are cold when they snap around my wrists, but at least I’m not being dragged into Bishop’s town like some pawn on his revenge tour.
I hear the second set click shut on Annabelle.
She doesn’t flinch. But her fingers are still in mine, and they don’t let go.
We’re marched through the stunned crowd toward the cruiser, the new one I remodeled last fall. Because irony’s a bitch.
Rain starts just as Sheriff Simon shuts the door behind us, sealing us into the backseat. Lightning flashes. Thunder cracks overhead.
And for the first time in my life, I don’t give a damn about the consequences—because she’s still beside me.
Even in the back of a fucking cruiser I could strip to the frame in under ten minutes.
But I’d never run.
