Page 54 of Blood Illusions

I brushed past him, my mind a whirlwind of anger and confusion. The thought of our father, possibly in the hands of those monsters, and now Damon’s arrest? It was too much. I understood Justice had to help his wounded team, but the only thing I cared about was my dad.

I stepped out into the crisp air, the flashing lights of a police car painting the scene in stark blue strokes. Another officer stepped toward me, holding up his hand. “Hold on. We need a word with you,” he stated firmly.

For the next fifteen agonizing minutes, we were peppered with questions. It wasn’t only me and Tim. Dr. Gould and Justice were under the same scrutiny, their faces etched with concern and frustration.

As the officer took down my last response, my gaze lingered on the police car taking Damon away. The weight of the situation settled in, heavy and cold. Our father was still missing, and now, Damon was in custody. The road ahead seemed more daunting than ever.

The police officer’s voice was gentle as he spoke to me, but I couldn’t seem to focus. Tears blurred my vision, and a knot formed in the back of my throat.

“Miss, I said you were free to go,” the officer repeated softly. “You look pale. Are you all right?”

I blinked. “Sorry. What did you say?”

“I asked if you were okay.”

“Yes, I’m fine.” I opened the car door and slid into the passenger side.

Tim got into the driver’s seat and raised his bushy white eyebrows. “Sawyer? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” I stared directly ahead. “Let’s go. Damon needs us.”

Tim started the engine. “That’s the understatement of the year.”

In the rearview mirror, Justice stood watching us pull away.

“Tim, do you think Dad’s dead?” My voice was barely a whisper as I stared at my hands.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles going white. “We deal with one crisis at a time. Right now, priority one is springing your brother from the slammer, assuming that idjit hasn’t made things worse for himself.”

In less than fifteen minutes, we were at the police station.

“Let’s see if we can get Jughead out on bail.” Tim parked the car.

I got out and followed Tim into the police station. There was an officer behind a glass partition. He looked up from his computer. “Can I help you?”

I cleared my throat. “My brother was taken into custody. Damon Grant? He was arrested at Brewed Awakening?”

The officer clicked on his computer. “He’s been booked.” His tone was flat and emotionless.

My heart sank at the lack of urgency in his response.

Tim leaned forward slightly, his demeanor calm yet authoritative, much like Bobby Singer’s when dealing with bureaucratic red tape. “All right, let’s cut to the chase. We’re here to post bail for Damon Grant. What’s the damage?”

The officer glanced at his screen, typing a few keystrokes before responding. “Bail’s been set at five thousand dollars.”

I bit my lip. Crap, five thousand dollars? It might as well have been a million. The Grant family trust fund was all dried up.

“It’s going to be a few hours before he can be released. You might as well have a seat. I’ll let you know when you can pay at the cashier’s window down the hall.”

“Come on,” Tim urged. “Let’s grab some seats.”

I clasped his arm, a silent gesture telling him to slow down. “Wait, Tim. Officer, can you tell us what charges my brother’s facing?”

The officer scrolled through his computer. “Charges are disorderly conduct and assault. There’s a hearing scheduled for next Thursday.”

Tim and I sat down. I rubbed my sweaty forehead. “Tim, where am I going to get five thousand dollars? We don’t have any money like that.”

He patted my knee. “We’ll think of something.”

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