Page 78 of Demanding Mob Boss

The man holding my arm says, "We need to ask you some questions about your association with Cian Doyle."

"No." Panic is clawing at my insides, but I don’t let it out. I have a lot of experience hiding my anxiety from my family and that makes it possible for me to keep my expression placid now.

Even though my heart feels like it's going to beat out of my chest.

"Are you sure that's the attitude you want to take, Anna?" the man still in possession of my arm asks.

"Who are you?" Aren't police supposed to announce themselves?

Okay, my only experience with law enforcement is what I've seen on television, but still. This feels wrong.

"Please, let go of me," I say.

"I'm Detective Grieves." Rather than releasing me, his hold tightens on my arm. "And that's my partner, Detective Samuels."

"We need to ask you a few questions," Detective Samuels says.

Detective Grieves starts dragging me toward a car parked in front of the bookstore. "Down at the station."

"Are you arresting me?" I ask as the panic swirls.

"Do we need to?" Detective Samuels asks.

"Because we can arrest you for obstruction of justice if that's what you want, but most folks want to keep their records clean."

I look around wildly, trying to find Tommy and Arlo. They'll know if these detectives can do what they are threatening. I see no sign of Arlo and Tommy is watching from a distance.

He has a phone to his ear, but he mouths, "It will be okay."

Now he uses his words? When they are very much the wrong ones, because they imply I should go with the detectives.

Somehow, I find myself shoved into the back of the detectives' car. There's no grill between the back and the front, like you see on television, but Detective Grieves gets in the back with me.

He leans across me and grabs the seatbelt, buckling me in. It's nothing like when Cian does it. Then I feel cared for and protected. Right now, it feels like I'm being confined.

His hand brushes over the apex of my thighs as he pulls away from me and I gasp. He laughs. "I bet Doyle enjoys how responsive you are."

"Detective Samuels?" I call out.

She ignores me, pulling into traffic.

"Don't expect my partner to worry about your sensibilities. If you didn't hang out with criminals, you wouldn't be in this situation. Are you one of his whores? Or is yours a private arrangement?"

Trying to scoot as close to the door as I can get and away from the odious man, I ignore his questions. Even if I wanted to answer him, I couldn't. The situation is taking every bit of my coping skills to manage.

The car smells funky, like dirty sweatsocks and puke that's been cleaned up but not well. The air conditioning is on, but I’m so hot I'm sweating. My hands feel cold though.

His hand is hot when it lands on my chest.

I squeak, and he laughs.

"Stop touching me," I force out of my mouth, even though making words is the last thing I feel capable of doing right now.

He doesn't listen. He shoves his hand down my top and grabs my boob. Hard. Pain shoots from all five points where his fingers dig in and radiates outward.

I scream and grab his wrist, trying to pull his hand away from me. "Please, Detective Samuels, make him stop."

But she doesn't. She ignores me.

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