Page 89 of Surrender
Two uniformed officers moved in from either side, shoving Bishop and Hawk back while their hands stayed cautiously placed on their weapons as if any wrong move the boys or I made was going to result in a damn bullet in the chest.
“… if you cannot afford a lawyer…”
My arms were jerked back, and the cuffs clinked around my wrists, the cold metal biting my skin. It wasn’t unfamiliar. Not even uncomfortable. I wasn’t even angry about it because I knew exactly who would be waiting at the police station for me.
Parker Carrington.
The man who decided who and what to prosecute.
Hawk already had his phone pressed to his ear, pacing like a caged dog as I was shoved toward the nearest police cruiser.
Our lawyer, Dane, would likely beat us to the station.
He’d be waiting, ready to tear apart every bit of bullshit they threw at me.
Because that’s what we paid him for.
The charges wouldn’t stick.
I had witnesses. Receipts.
And I was sure Carrington knew as much, but it didn’t fucking matter.
Roxie was dead.
She’d become collateral damage in a war that wasn’t hers, all because that smug, coward in a suit wanted to send a message.
Well, message received.
And when I got these cuffs off, I was going to make him wish like hell he’d stuck to living off Mommy and her money.
Chapter Thirty-Two
BLUE
“Can we get the damn cuffs off?” Dane demanded as he stormed into the small interrogation room. The door swung shut behind him, but before it could click closed, a shiny, brown shoe wedged into the gap.
Just that one polished fucking shoe was enough to make my blood boil.
“Morning!” Carrington chirped, using his hip to nudge the door open and slither through. “It’s good to see—”
“Cut the crap,” Dane interrupted, rolling his eyes as he dropped his leather briefcase onto the table. “How about we skip your usual song and dance, and you tell me exactly what pointed you toward my client here as your murder suspect. That way, I can get to where I prove you’re wrong, and we can all get on with our day.”
Carrington let out a low chuckle and eased himself into the chair directly opposite me, lacing his fingers together on top of the table as if he were that student in the classroom that all the kids hated for being a brownnoser.
“Nathaniel Brooks. Thirty years old,” he rattled off, staring me directly in the eye. “Also known as Blue. Sergeant at Arms for the Exiled Eight Motorcycle Club.”
He’d memorized my details.
“I do love meeting my fans,” I replied with a shrug. “You want me to sign an autograph?”
Carrington’s jaw muscle twitched, but he quickly covered it by shaking his head. “You know,Mr. Brooks, I thought that title meant you were the club’s protector. You were meant to make sure everyone was kept safe.” He tilted his head. “Roxanna wasone of those people, wasn’t she?”
I clenched my fists, and the cuffs dug into my skin. I welcomed the burn because I needed something to distract me. Something to stop me from flipping this fucking table over and beating him with it.
“Is there a question here? Or do you just like the sound of your own voice?” Dane said dryly, tapping his pen on the table. “Or maybe you could explain why you’re here doing this interview and not the detective.”
Carrington smiled at Dane and flipped open the folder that the detective had left. “Since I was already looking into the club previously, Detective Samuels has allowed me to step in and use my wealth of knowledge for this interview.”
