Page 22 of Beautiful Ruins
Chapter Six
ROWAN
Ifollowed Iron into the station. The ceiling fan squeaked in lazy circles, a sign it was on its last legs. Much like everything else in this town—paint peeling, stale coffee, and the smell of old leather clinging to the air.
Then there was Chief Cooper’s little puppet, Shane Elliot. Every word of his fucking phone call at the front desk could be heard throughout the entire front entrance.
“Fine. I’ll book it,” he said, his gaze narrowing on me as we walked past.
Didn’t know who he was talking to and didn’t care much either. He may have done as he was told, but instead of working for the chief, he was hellbent on biting the hand that fed him. Not that I blamed him. John was as corrupt as they came.
He slammed the phone down on the holder, mumbling something under his breath about “sisters.” I didn’t know the feeling considering all I had was a brother, and well, I no longer had one.
Shane stared—at me, mostly—with that look, the one thatsaid he was waiting for one wrong move to arrest me. I should have told him to hold his breath.
Instead, I threw him a wink, dipping my chin. “Elliot.”
He scowled, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “Knight.” He continued to stare after us as we disappeared down the small hallway to the chief’s office at the back of the station.
There were no formalities when it came to Iron and the chief. Iron didn’t even knock. Just pushed the door open like he owned the place.
John glanced up, his pen frozen mid-signature. His shoulders stiffened, eyes hardening like he’d just bitten down on something bitter. Iron dropped into the chair opposite him.
I hung back by the door, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over my chest as I stared him down. His mouth twitched before settling into a hard line. He was weighing something. Maybe whether this conversation was going to end in a handshake. Or a war.
John held up a hand and exhaled sharply. “Before you say anything, yes, I’m aware three bikes were stripped and torched last night. And no, I have no idea who did it.” He paused, glancing between us.
He was daring us to call bullshit on him.
Iron didn’t flinch. He leaned back in the chair, crossing an ankle over his opposite knee. “Is that so? And what have you done to find out who’s dumb enough to attack the club?”
John sighed, like we were wasting his precious time, and scrubbed a hand over his face, past the grey creeping in at his temples. “I’ve got a bloody murder-suicide on my desk and one of my own officers is up my arse, watching every move I make. How about the club handles club business for once.” He raised an eyebrow, flicking his gaze up to me for a split second.
Since when had John grown a pair? Acting like the chaos wasn’t his, like we were just dirt under his nails. He must haveforgotten who called the shots in this town, and it sure as shit wasn’t him.
I’d heard about the murders a week or so ago. Apparently, the Stone girl—Zara, I think her name was—murdered her family, then killed herself. Pretty fucking brutal, if you asked me.
Iron nodded, tapping a slow rhythm on the arm of the chair—a countdown John didn’t even know he was on.
“That sounds like a you, problem, Chief,” I said, tilting my head. “It’ll be in your best interests, as well as the town’s, that whoever is running around stealing club motorcycles be dealt with.”
Iron remained tight-lipped, but that held more weight than anything I’d said.
John’s glare settled on me for a long, hard second. I could practically see the wheels turning in his head. He knew this wouldn’t end well, and by the look on his face, he didn’t give a shit. Typical bastard. He was always more interested in what got him further up the food chain than dealing with the fallout in town.
Just like when Snake was out of control the previous year, racking up a mountain of fines for fighting, and John sat back with his feet up. Just like every other time this godforsaken town was about to burn, and he was too busy enjoying it to care.
I wondered how he felt about Sadie being back because she was hellbent on lighting a fire to burn my arse. Had she done the same to him?
Iron sniffed, leaning forward, the first show of his control slipping. “Rowan’s right, John. Whatever the cult’s doing, it’s not our concern. I don’t care if you’ve got a fucking tiger nipping at your heels. I want to know who is stupid enough to steal from us. And that means everyone jumps on board.”
John’s cheeks hollowed, the sour expression practically dripping off him. It had been a while since we’d shown up at his door demanding he do his fucking job.
“Look,” he said. “I’ve got the Stone kid asking questions, telling me his kid sister wouldn’t be capable of such an act. I have a murder weapon and a note that says otherwise. Unless you can bring me something—anything—I can work with, then I’m fresh out of fucks to give right now.” He dropped his pen onto the table and leaned back in his chair, his upper body deflating like a man who really was on the verge of packing it all in.
Iron shook his head. He didn’t want to hear John’s excuses. This was nothing more than a game of cat and mouse for him. He loved it when things were chaotic because it meant he could let his leash on John run long and then yank it back when he needed to. It was the only time Iron still looked alive.
He allowed the seconds to pass, letting John believe he had the upper hand. He didn’t.
