Page 4 of Exhale
The police officers who’d shoved him down didn’t give a shit about the Pegasus emblem that blazed on the front of his tactical vest.
Detective Cane Reed, the lead detective who worked at the Lancaster, California, station, stood by not doing a damned thing.
In fact, it had been Reed who had given the order to detain him.
Owen could have easily fucked them all up. He was a walking weapon with his military background. Plus, the job he did for Pegasus kept him in top physical shape.
But he refrained, just barely.
Reed had his hand on the butt of the nine-millimeter tucked into a holster at his waist, like he was some cowboy from back in the day and this was a Doc Holiday movie.
I’ll be your fucking Huckleberry, Owen thought, and twisted when one of the cops tried to put a pair of handcuffs around his wrists.
Instead, Owen turned the tables, and the cop found himself handcuffed instead.
“You fuck!” The outraged officer glared and held out his hands for his buddy to unlock the cuffs.
Owen rolled to his feet and brushed off the dirt from his shirt and jeans. He didn’t bother rubbing at his face because there wasn’t only dirt there. Scrapes along his cheek stung, so he knew the gravel had cut him.
They surrounded him, he couldn’t find any protection to put at his back, but he wasn’t too concerned.
Theyshould be more concerned. He hadn’t lost his temper…yet.
If Reed valued his job, then the man wouldn’t push him too much. Not that Owen had any pull in this area, but he sure knew a fuck ton of people who did. One of them being the former Secretary of Defense, not to mention his big brother and boss, Cohen “Ace” Gray.
“If you want to handcuff someone, get a fucking room,” Owen told the cop with a derisive curl to his lip.
That earned him a baton to the back of his upper right shoulder. At the blow, he spun and gripped the black stick at one end. The cop holding it glared and yanked, but Owen wasn’t budging.
Movement sounded behind him, and Owen turned, pulled the cop holding the stick, and shoved him into his place.
The next blow cracked onto the side of the cop’s shoulder.
“Ow! God damn it, Baxter, you fuck!” The cop released the black stick and cupped his hands on his shoulder, holding tight.
Armed with a weapon, Owen held it in his hands. They’d earlier taken his gun and the knife he’d strapped to his ankle.
The commotion was drawing quite a crowd in the quiet suburban area. Neighbors had at first darted glances between the gap in curtains, watching as the cops busted the occupantsof the nice-looking house at the end of the cul-de-sac. Now, though, they had grown brave and lined the streets.
“That’s police brutality,” one concerned citizen shouted.
“I’m filming this for my YouTube channel,” another one said, with his phone recording.
The YouTuber wasn’t the only one holding a cell phone.
Great, Owen grimaced, that was all he needed…to be on tonight’s news. He would bet money that several of them were recording live already.
He pulled his own cell phone from his pocket and glanced at the screen to the text message he’d sent some twenty-ish minutes ago.
His brother had responded.
Stay put, we are on the way.
Owen sighed and shoved his phone away. If he was not mistaken, his brother should be there any minute.
He hefted the baton, and the cops closest to him pulled their weapons.
Damn it, he wouldn’t even be in this predicament if not for Ace. But his brother had insisted on putting him in charge of the Araya case.
