Page 76 of Double Down
We step into the main living room. They’re already making themselves at home. Two uniforms—one tall, scanning everything like he’s memorizing the layout, cataloging every single item. The other shorter, stockier, with the kind of posture that says he’s been waiting for a chance to throw his weight around.
The shorter man reeks of small-dick energy.
He’s the kind of guy who picks a fight with a bigger man and then fights dirty just to feel important.
My gut tightens when his predatory smile tracks up and down my body. This isn’t a casual visit; this fucker is spoiling for a fight, and I’m the biggest opponent in the goddamn room.
Conrad steps forward. “Gentlemen. You’re in our private suite and have refused to wait for our counsel, which means you’ve already overstepped because there’s not an arrest being made. What exactly do you need?”
The tall one doesn’t answer directly but tugs at his sleeves. “We need everyone present.”
“Everyone?” I echo.
“Everyone,” his partner repeats. “All of your little boy band—and the girl.”
“The girl?” Conrad’s voice takes on a hard edge.
“Yes. Phoenix Jones. She’s been seen with you for the last few weeks. We have a source that says she lives here.”
That hits my gut wrong. All of this feels wrong. “A source, huh? Who might that be, and why do you need to speak with Phoenix?”
“We’ll ask the questions, and we’ll talk when she’s here,” the shorter one says. “Assuming she’s still alive. Or maybe you’ve gotten tired of her body already?”
The line stings with asnaplike a too-taut rubberband as he crosses right over it. “What the actual fuck is that supposed to mean?” I take a step before I register it.
“Calm down?—”
His hand lands on his gun. “It means we need to see all of you—and the girl. Get her. Now.”
His eyes flick to my hands, then back to my face. “I would take a step back if I were you.”
Neither me or Conrad shift an inch. “We’re perfectly calm, and not the one with our hands on our gun in a private citizen’s residence,” Conrad says, his tone biting. The officers share a look; the thinner one’s is definitely a warning to the shorter man. The short one reluctantly pulls his hand back. “That’s right. Now, I’d like an explanation before my lawyer gets here and turns your ass into my new vacation home.”
They keep it up—circling, hinting, refusing to actually answer anything or ask any sort of real goddamn question.
Every time I think they’ll get to the point, they redirect.
My patience erodes. Conrad texts our lawyers, who are still dealing with the mess downstairs.
Storm joins us, but we’re still waiting on Atticus and Phoenix.
Conrad pretends to play diplomat, voice steady and measured. “You want to question us. Fine. That doesn’t mean you get to waste our time. Ask whatever questions you like. We have otherobligations. But know that if you cross a line, I’m going to sic my fucking lawyers on you and you’ll have a civil suit slapped on your ass so hard that you’ll be calling me sir for the rest of your goddamn lives.”
The short one scoffs something about rich pricks under his breath, then turns to me instead. “You seem tense.”
I let out a short, unfriendly laugh. “Genuine talent for observation. It’s been a long day. I’d like to get this over with so that I can get to fucking bed. But you insist on wasting our time.”
“Back up a step,” he says, stepping forward—little man trying to feel important.
I don’t move. “I’m standing still.”
“Nah. You’re too close. Like you might take a swing at me. You’re making me uncomfortable.”
“You came into my space,” I say evenly. He glances at his partner, and they share a look before both body cams blink off.
“Gentlemen—” Con starts, but it doesn’t matter.
The little fucker moves fast. He yanks my arm and uses my weight to lock my wrists behind my back, his voice in my ear telling me to get on the floor.
