The guy tried to move when he saw her with the phone at the barn door.
“No, you don’t, you piece of shit.” I kicked the gun out of his hand, and it slid across the barn.
“Yes. Roberts Crescent, please hurry. There’s an intruder here. Yes, he has a gun.” Amber was on the phone with the cops.
I kicked the Las Balas gang member in the teeth. I watched as his face ricocheted, and blood shot out of his mouth from the blunt force trauma of my cowboy boot. His face slumped to the ground, and his eyes began to roll.
“Son of a bitch shot my horse,” I murmured. I didn’t dare turn around. I yelled to Amber at the barn door, and she knew not to come any closer to the scene. “Amber, I need you to go to the first aid kit in the house and bring it here. Call my father. The number is on the fridge. Don’t worry, baby.”
“Okay, Colt.” Terror reigned in her voice. I heard the quick pace of her feet. I knew she was running to the house as fast as she could.
A pool of thick blood was running from the man’s ankle. I looked at the wound. I could see the meat of his ankle. I’d shattered it. Served the turd right.
I kicked him in it for good measure. He yelled out like a baby. “Please, spare my life. Don’t kill me.”
“Shut the fuck up!” I spat with anger. “I should have killed you the first time, but you’re going to die a slow and painful death in jail. Oh yeah, because I got some boys that are going to play real nice with you inside. How about that?” I got down close to his ear. “Congratulations, you’re about to become somebody’s bitch.”
It took the cops a whole eight minutes to reach us, and a crew of six cops came into the barn with their guns raised.
“Step back from him, Colt. We got it from here.”
The boys in blue took in the scene, slapping the cuffs on the Spanish guy, but not before bandaging up his leg.
I lowered my gun. Another officer signaled for it. “Hand it over, Colt.”
Limp armed, I handed over the gun to him. He had gloves on and put it into a plastic bag. I guessed for evidence.
“Colt, we need you to come down to the station with us for questioning. The cuffs can go on, or they can stay off. Up to you.”
Twenty-Six
Amber
My feet were incapable of movement. I saw the flashing lights, I saw the men in blue, but I couldn’t physically move. I found myself staring past everyone. They were blurred out, and my head was whirring.
“Ms. Atwood! We need you to come down to the police station for questioning.”
My eyes were glazed over, and my mouth dry like cotton. I still managed to reply, “Ah, yes, of course, Officer.”
The older officer, ironically, was one that I’d seen in passing. I don’t know why I recognized him out of all the others. I looked across to Colt, and our eyes met. He gave me a rueful look. I’d been happy on the way over, wanting to have a conversation to discuss our future together, but now my life seemed to be ruined. What would they say? Colt could go back to jail. There would be a trial. A rival gang member against another one. I would lose my job. So many thoughts ran rampant through my head. All in one breath, I felt like meeting Colt was a cross to bear. I rode in the back of the cop car, and now I was in the position that many of the men I fought for were in. I let out a breath as we rode silently to the police station for questioning.
We were questioned separately at the Merced police station. I hoped that my calling the police would exonerate Colt and me. My hands were shaking as I was taken in for questioning. All I remembered was this man’s ankle being shattered. I heard the gunfire.
An officer sat across from me with a tape recorder. “Do you understand your rights, ma’am?”
“Yes, I do,” I said solemnly.
The interview process began. The officer sitting across from me was an unassuming, conservative looking man. I waited for him to start.
“Can you tell me your account of what happened, Amber?”
“I was visiting Colt’s house, as we are friends, and he invited me to dinner.” I felt all sides of my face turning red.
“Friends?” The officer looked at the paperwork in front of him. “Isn’t Charlie Winters your client?”
I coughed. “Yes, he is. But his case has been closed for some time, as he has now regained custody over his daughter.” A slight lie, but I hoped it would slide through.
He nodded his head as if he understood. It was just me, him, and the tape recorder. “Were you visiting for dinner while you were taking care of Colt’s case? Just curious.” The conservative brown-haired cop stared at me, watching my movements carefully.
