Page 33 of Red Queen (Red Thorns Crew 3)

“Keep going,” I said.

The driver nodded. “You want to head back to that precinct?”

I shook my head. “No. I’ve got one more place I want you to take me. Is that all right?”

“Long as you got a way to pay, I ain’t askin’ questions.”

“I appreciate that, thank you.”

Even in my panicked state, I had a growing hunch. Well, more like a last resort, really. I gave the cab driver the address for the bar and slid down into the seat. I couldn't even see the world passing by, and my only saving grace was this courteous driver who didn’t have the kind of curiosity my parents did. I closed my eyes and drew in a few deep breaths. This place had to be okay. It just had to be.

I didn’t know where the guys would be if they weren’t here.

“I don’t know about this place, either,” the driver said.

I didn’t even have to look up to see the flashing lights illuminating the inside of the cab.

“Bastards,” I hissed.

I peeked over the edge of the seat and saw police dragging leather-jacketed men out in handcuffs. Tears rushed my eyes as I ducked back down, mindlessly telling the driver to keep going. My stomach felt sick. It grew hard to catch my breath. I pressed my hand to my heart and felt it racing out of control against my palm. The house w

as gone. Men were being arrested in the bar. What did that mean for Max? And John? And Rupert? What did this mean for the crew?

What does this mean for me?

“Sure you don’t want to go to the precinct now?” the driver asked.

I felt hopeless. “I don’t know, really.”

And the truth of the matter was, I didn’t.

I didn’t know what the hell to do now.

11

Max

I jiggled my wrists, watching as my cuffs clanked against the table. They were threaded through a metal ring mounted to the table in front of me, which was bolted to the damn floor. It forced me to keep my hands on the table. Not that I wouldn't have had I not been cuffed in the first damn place. But, apparently, I looked like a man who needed cuffs.

So I had cuffs.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been sitting there. Or how long it would take for someone to get in here and start talking to me. All I knew was that I needed a phone call to contact Rupert. Or John. Anyone that might have been running the guys at this point. I needed to tell them to stand down. I needed to give the code word to tell them to disperse. They were in danger. In the pit of my gut, I knew they were.

And it made me sick to think about.

The door behind me opened and I sighed. Finally. Someone to come relieve me of my boredom. I didn’t bother craning my neck around. I didn’t care who was actually coming in. All I cared about was the one phone call I should’ve already been afforded.

Guess guys like me don’t have rights.

I watched a woman sit across the table from me before she lifted a briefcase onto the table. She popped it open before pulling out some paper, then slammed it shut. Her poorly-tailored tan suit almost matched her rust-colored hair, though I noticed gray coming through at the roots. She looked fairly young, though. In her face, at least. No crow’s feet. No frown lines. No wrinkles in her brow.

What gives with the gray roots, then?

I watched as she tried to organize herself. She shoved her briefcase off to the side, and I watched it almost slide off the damn table. She placed the folder down and flipped it open, and I saw my mugshot paperclipped to the corner. Which made me even more curious.

“Who are you?”

Her eyes whipped up to mine. “Sorry. Just trying to get my ducks in a row first.”

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