Page 8 of Lily's Eagle

One of the tables bears my name. I etched it in with a hair pin when I was sixteen and they kept me there for hours, thinking they could pressure me into giving up things on my father. As if. We may not always agree, in fact, we mostly don’t, but I would never betray him or his MC brothers in any way.

I think the cops in this town, and those two FBI agents they once brought to talk to me, know that by now, so I’m really hoping they won’t try anything like that again tonight. I kind of just want to curl up on one of those hard plastic benches in the holding cell and be sad that I failed.

But it’s not the interrogation cells they’re taking me to, I realize as we cross a poorly-lit, open plan room with mostly empty desks. We’re headed for the office at the end of the room. The light is on in there, and I can see the chief looking at us through the glass half of the door. Looking at me, more like. Lewdly, disgustingly, the way he has done since we first met when I was sixteen. I don’t like being alone with him.

Putting on that show with the handcuffs was a mistake. Just one of many I’ve made tonight. Like not letting Eagle persuade me to give up the fight.

No, not that. I would never do that do. And the fact that he thought I would just goes to show some more why we totally can’t ever be more than casual friends. He may know me better than most, but he doesn’t really understand me. And being mad at him in my head makes it easier to face the lecherous chief, who is now smiling at me like he expects a lap dance and not a conversation from me. He’s getting neither.

“Lily, Lily, Lily,” he says with a sigh as the woman officer leads me into his office. “Aren’t you getting a little old for these stunts?”

I hate everything about him, from the bald spot on top of his tanned head that’s gleaming under the fluorescent lights, to his full cherry red lips overpowering his grey-streaked mustache and the way he’s sucking in his gut to make his chest puff out more. His face is tight from the effort of doing it.

I just glare at him, not saying anything, since what the hell do I even say to that. Of course today’s protest wasn’t pointless. Just futile.

“You can take her cuffs off,” he says to the officer, while smiling at me. “We’re just going to chat.”

I don’t like the way he says the word, nor the smile on his face that’s turning lewder and lewder with every second. His light blue eyes are unfocused and opaque, like dirty water in a glass.

The cuffs are off and just as I think that I absolutely don’t want to be alone with this man, the door clicks shut behind the officers that brought me here.

“Charge me with something, or let me go,” I say, echoing Josh’s words.

“You’re not going anywhere tonight,” he says and it sounds like a threat, even though he’s still smiling and his eyes are still dreamily opaque.

He points at one of the two maroon leather upholstered chairs by his desk.

“Take a seat,” he says.

“I’d rather not,” I counter. His eyes flash for a moment, in anger, like sun glinting off metal.

“Sit,” he barks and I do, because I’m sensing it’s pointless to argue. I’ve gotten into shouting matches with this guy before and he always seemed to enjoy that way too much.

He walks to the desk and leans against it right next to me. He’s so close I can smell the alcohol on his breath, heady and strong. He must’ve just taken a swig.

“A beautiful girl like you has no business spending the night at the police station,” he says, the familiar tone slithering down my back like a snake. “I’ve told you this so many times before. Yet you won’t learn.”

“Learn?” I say scathingly. I’m not intimidated by this man, and I’m not scared of him. I’d just so much rather not be in the same room with him. “I wasn’t trying to learn anything. I am trying to keep the rec center open.”

He grins at me. “I wonder what your father has to say about all this, I really do.”

He always brings Cross into our conversations, but never this quickly. I get the distinct feeling he has a plan, an agenda all figured out. But I think that mainly because he’s never before brought me to his office. It could just be that I’m in here because there are no cameras here. And that is a scary thought.

I don’t even bother to answer, just give him one of those piercing looks my father and I are famous for and stand up, moving away from him and back to the door. The look cows people, and he’s no exception. He clears his throat and looks down at his shoes as he peels away from the table and approaches me.

I back away from him instinctively, until I feel the coolness of the glass on my back and the door knob hits me in the lower back. I’m not a short woman, but he’s head and shoulders taller than me and I don’t like how he’s clearly using his size against me.

“Like I said, you’re a very beautiful woman,” he says. “And the way we keep meeting like this makes me think it’s because you want to meet.”

What the hell is he saying? Is he insane? His breath reeks of booze and he must be drunk indeed if that’s how he’s reading this situation.

“This is harassment,” I hiss at him refusing to give up any more ground to him, while at the same time certain he’ll try to kiss me next. “Take me back to the cell.”

He chuckles and reaches for my face, and I flinch despite myself and my determination not to be intimidated by him. He runs a lock of my hair through his fingers, leaning even closer. I hate him touching my hair, and I hate that I can smell his dinner on his breath now too, meat of some sort, probably burger.

“You’re not so pretty when you’re angry,” he says. “And someone has to teach you a lesson. Maybe then you’ll learn your place.”

So many things I want to say. So many things I want to do. Starting with scratching out his eyes. So why am I speechless?

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