Page 68 of Bastard Prince
I raged inside as Sheriff Ralph Bradford cuffed first one, then the other of my wrists, jerking them behind me aggressively before shoving me hard against the car.
“Well, shit, Bradford,” I said, my tone mocking. “If that’s what you were into, you should have said something. Unfortunately, I’m a married man now, so I’ll have to decline.”
That earned me a quick punch to the ribs, the sound of Francesca’s cry coming from in the car as she witnessed it, but I thought it was worth it.
“Garcia,” Bradford called to his rookie partner. “Cuff the bitch.”
“What the fuck, Bradford?” I said, struggling as he dragged me toward the SUV. I twisted in his grip, trying to see Francesca as she was hauled out of the passenger seat by the rookie. Thankfully, he seemed to be much less aggressive than his boss, turning Francesca and simply asking her to place her hands behind her back. She complied, but as she met my eyes across the distance, I could tell she was just as pissed as I was. “Leave her alone, you asshole. She has nothing to do with this.”
“Oh, no, son. See? That’s where you’re wrong.” Bradford opened the back door of his cruiser, shoving me in one side just as Garcia helped Francesca in the other. As we both sat there, cuffed and helpless, the Sheriff looked from me to Francesca, and for the first time, I felt more than just anger.
I felt fear.
“She haseverythingto do with this.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Francesca
Why was everything so completely fucked?
Sitting next to Enzo, hands cuffed behind my back for the second time this year, I thought about how much my life had changed since the first time I was arrested.
That night, having just watched my whole life fall apart around me, I was basically flying by the seat of my pants. When I was blindsided by Eric, I was left scrambling, trying desperately to figure out which way was up, while at the same time, maintaining some semblance of control, at least on the outside.
This time, I felt like I was prepared. I figured I’d spend some more time in a stifling interrogation room, suffer under the glare of this paunchy Sheriff who seriously needed to ease off on the macho power trip he found himself on. He’d rant and rave about some bullshit or another and finally, when we refused to talk and they still had nothing on us that would actually stick, we’d be on our way.
Easy, right?
I really should have known better.
As the Sheriff drove us farther and farther from the city, I started to realize that this was going to be nothing like the last time I had been arrested.
Catching Enzo’s eye, I could see he was thinking the same thing, but neither of us spoke as the vehicle pulled up to what looked like an abandoned farm, the rutted road leading from the main highway carrying us to a series of outbuildings that looked like they had at one time been used for storing equipment, their metal prefab frames and roll up bay doors a clear indication of their intended purpose. Bouncing along on the shitty road, there was not another vehicle or building in sight, and I seriously started to doubt our ability to get out of this situation in one piece.
I mean, the Sheriff wasn’t going to be driving us out here if he wasn’t going to kill us, right?
He parked in front of one of the buildings, its garage style door down, but the man-door to the right of it open and blowing in the wind. Once we were all out of the vehicle, Sheriff Bradford grabbed Enzo’s arm in one meaty hand and mine in the other. Enzo struggled against the hold, spitting curse words like a fountain until Bradford dropped my arm and spun, punching Enzo in the gut, hard. I watched, furious, as Enzo bent in half, wheezing.
“You’re a real tough guy, aren’t you, Sheriff,” I seethed, my eyes on Enzo, who, if looks could kill, would be burying the Sheriff six feet under already.
Bradford looked at me, his disgusting tongue running over his teeth like he could already taste me. “You got a pretty face, girl. Be a shame if I had to fuck it up.”
I narrowed my eyes, but shut my mouth.
“Garcia,” Bradford called, starting us toward the darkened door way. “I left the keys in the ignition. You can take it back now.”
“Sir?” Garcia asked, obviously confused; I guess he was absent the day the academy covered the chapter on police brutality. “Shouldn’t I stay with you?”
Bradford turned, leveling the kid with a glare. “Did I ask for your help, Garcia?”
“No, sir.”
“That’s right. Ididask you to get your ass in that truck and drive it back to your patrol route, though. Drive around and check in like I told ya. I’ll be back before you clock out. Now, get gone, Garcia.”
The kid tossed me an apologetic look, then scrambled back to the driver’s side door, climbed in and took off, heading back down the road we had come in by, leaving nothing but dust behind him.
“Well,” I said, sighing dramatically. “Alone at last.”
