Page 15 of The Wayward Sons & The Vampires of Fortune
“Out now.” The officer I punched was named Fitzgerald, and his partner was Harris. Fitzgerald was pissed.Understandably so.I’d hit him for no reason and refused to answer his questions. I didn’t even blame him for being a little rough around the edges as I climbed out of the vehicle. I remained silent through processing and cooperated at every stage, even when Fitzgerald pushed and poked to instigate shit. I got it. He was mad and wanted a reason to retaliate, but I wasn’t stupid enough to give him one.
Before leaving the hotel room, I’d taken out my wallet and left it behind. I’d made sure I didn’t have a single identifying item on me.
“He’s got no prints,” Harris said. He roughly grabbed my hand, inspecting my fingers. They wouldn’t find a damn thing. I’d paid a witch good money to get rid of my fingerprints a long time ago. Better safe than sorry.
“What?” Fitzgerald frowned as he came closer.And me?I said nothing. “Try again.”
“Try what again?” he demanded. “There’s no prints! His fingertips are smooth.”
“What the hell did you do to your fingers?”
Again, I didn’t say a damn word. The less I gave, the better. I just wanted to move through the system and be done with it. It was the only option I had at this point. I planned to plead guilty and make it easy to avoid an unnecessary amount of time in court. The less time outside, the better.Safer.
“I asked you a question,” Fitzgerald snapped. “What the hell did you do to your fingers?”
Again, nothing.
“Maybe he’s mute,” Harris offered. The look Fitzgerald leveled him with was hostile, as was the swirl of anger that seeped into my pores.
“He’s not a damn mute,” he retorted. “Run his mug shot through the system. Someone somewhere knows who the hell he is.”
I bit back a sigh. I’d weighed that option but had hoped they wouldn’t, even if it made sense why they would. I didn’t have any magical precautions to protect me from facial scans.
“You,” Fitzgerald growled. “Let’s go.”
At least he wasn’t talkative as he walked me down a hall to the precinct’s holding cells. They had three in total. My heart dropped at the number of people in all of them, making them nothing more than festering hellholes of volatile emotion. Fuck, I hated this.
For Gray.
I kept that singular thought on repeat as Fitzgerald uncuffed me and left me alone in a cell with four men who had obvious temper problems. Remaining silent, I sat in the farthest corner possible to put as much distance between me and them as possible. Not that it’d last long.
It was them or the vampires.
And in that light, they were the favorable option.
I sighed, and my head tipped back against the concrete wall as I steeled myself for a long few hours.
CHAPTER 11
Iwas running on no sleep and two cups of coffee. Per Riley’s updated instructions, I sat at the back of a vibrant little café and waited for someone from his team to show up. Who? I didn’t have a fucking clue. All I knew was that someone would find me and give me the rundown of what they were going to do.
As I sipped my way through a third cup, I struggled with this plan. How could I trust someone I didn’t know to save Ryder? Not that I had a better plan. My way involved just tearing through everything and everyone with my power until I got him out of there. Except I knew it wasn’t an option. I couldn’t kill half of Phoenix just to save Ryder—though, I was real damn tempted to do just that.
I knew Ryder trusted Riley, so I was trying to lean into that. Trying to make that work for me.
But when that café door opened, I didn’t expect to see a face from the past—especially not Sam fucking West. The dick who got me sent to jail.And yeah, I could’ve said something, but Iwas just a lovesick puppy back then.Lovesick puppies didn’t fight back.
Pissed off ex-boyfriends though? We had no problem with that.
We also had no right noticing just how goddamn hot he was either.Unfortunately, I did notice just that.
Nearly two decades had done him good. His chestnut hair was neatly cut and windswept across his forehead, making those vivid blue eyes of his stand out. A thick beard framed that million-dollar smile of his, and his skin was a golden tan as if he spent time outside. A navy sweater was tailored to fit his broad shoulders and tapered waist while jeans hugged muscular thighs and probably made his ass look fantastic.
Yup, Sam West had no right looking that goddamn good.
There was some part of me that hoped this was all some wild coincidence—that the kid in Chicago hadn’t sent my ex-boyfriend to help me rescue Ryder. However, that hope was dashed the second Sam veered away from the checkout counter and straight toward me.
“No,” I snapped when he was in earshot.
