Page 77 of Double Down
It would be so easy to shove back, snap the cuffs, and watch him panic. But Conrad’s eyes meet mine across the room, and his message is clear:don’t make this worse.
He’s right. This fucker wants a reason to pull his gun.
So I sink to my knees, the carpet rough beneath them, every muscle in my back coiled. I focus on my breathing and think of cheesecake.
In for four. Hold for four. Out for four. In. Hold. Out.
The short cop plants himself just behind me, like he expects me to lunge. The tall one leans on the wall, arms folded, pretending he’s above it. Like it’s all routine.
Hell, for them it might be. We aren’t just any fucking college-age kids they can fuck with, though. They’re both going to learn a hard lesson before this is over.
Rage simmers in my gut—fueled by the smug asshole getting off on putting me down and every other piece of bullshit from the last few days.
It’s fine, though. I’ll deal with them later. I draw in air through my nose and draw boxes in the space before me…store the rage away where it can’t hurt me or anyone else.
Breathe in—two, three, four.
Hold—two, three, four.
Breathe out—two, three, four.
Hold—two, three, four.
It’s still Phoenix’s ten-year-old voice in my head, counting me through the exercise.
Minutes drag, and the tightness in my shoulders turns to a slow, throbbing burn. My jaw aches from keeping my mouth shut.
The breathing helps, but it isn’t enough.
When Atticus finally strolls in with Phoenix beside him, her hand tucked in his, I almost lose it.
He’s got that calm, put-together, just-been-fucked look—tie straight, hair perfect, self-satisfied curve to his mouth like he just won a bet. We’re waiting; I’m fucking handcuffed on the floor, and he leaves us like this so he can get off?
In that moment, I understand exactly why Storm sometimes wants to murder people.
Phoenix’s gaze drops to me on the floor. Her brows pull together. I shake my head once—silently telling her to keep her mouth shut. I motion with my eyes to the cops, and I watch her spine lengthen as her face slides into a pleasant lie.
“Oh, look,” Little Dick says at that moment. “Here’s one chick they haven’t killed yet.”
Phoenix’s spine straightens, and she stands a little taller, and I can’t help but feel proud before she ever opens her mouth. She’s a smart girl. She’s dealt with more assholes on power trips than I have. She smells what they are.
“I’m not going to pretend to understand the foolishness that just came out of your mouth,” she murmurs. “But I am going to warn you that we have a closed circuit of cameras in this penthouse. If you don’t back the fuck away from Maverick right now, I’ll make sure that every news outlet in the fucking country gets a copy of whatever the fuck I just walked in on.”
The tall cop hitches his pants. “Right. Now we can get to it. Do any of you know a woman named Sarah?”
The name hits like an icy trickle of water down my spine. Images flash: the shameless flirting when I intentionally called her by the wrong name, the way she practically begged to suck my cock, her determination when I told her to take lessons.
Her body falling on its side when we found her, the cold stare when we left her in the alley.
I say nothing.
If I admit to knowing her, I’m in the crosshairs. And from the way the short one watches me, I’d bet money they already know something.
The question is what. The room tilts toward the answer, everyone waiting for someone to speak. My pulse is a drum in my ears.
And all I can think is I haven’t had nearly enough whiskey—or sex—to deal with being their prime fucking suspect just because five-0 radiates tiny-dick energy and has a hard-on for big guys who happen to be rich and decent-looking.
I meet the short cop’s stare and know he’s already decided how this is going to play. He’ll do whatever it takes to bring me down.
