“We need to call the cops,” she chokes out, already fumbling for her phone.
“Baby, wait.” I catch her wrist gently. “My club can handle this. We’ve got resources, connections. We’ll find them?—”
“The COPS, Caleb!” she shouts, wrenching away from me. “This is all your fault! You were supposed to be watching them! I trusted you with my sons!”
Her words hit me like a fucking sledgehammer to the chest, and all the air is knocked out of my lungs.
Fuck. She’s right.
This is on me. If I hadn’t taken my eyes off of them, they’d be here now.
“Baby,” my voice cracks. “I’m sorry?—”
“Don’t!” She backs away, dialing 911 with shaking hands. “Just don’t.”
I stand here, useless, as she makes the call. She won’t even look at me, and each second that passes is like a knife twisting in my gut.
Within minutes, the place is crawling with cops. They start questioning everyone, setting up a perimeter, taking statements. And through it all, Honey stands apart from me, her arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to hold the broken pieces together.
One of the cops, a stocky guy with thinning hair and a permanent scowl, eyes my cut with undisguised contempt.
“So you’re with the Saints,” he says, not bothering to hide his disgust. “And you were watching the kids when they disappeared.”
It’s not a question, but I answer him anyway. “Yes.”
“Not surprised,” he mumbles, writing something in his notebook.
I clench my fists at my sides, reminding myself that punching a cop would only make things worse right now.
I’m used to this shit—the looks, the assumptions. Been dealing with it since I patched in. But having Honey witness it, knowing she’s watching them treat me like I’m scum, makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
She deserves better than this. Better than me.
The thought sits like a stone in my gut as I give Tubby my statement.
“I was at the concession stand. The boys wanted to see the reindeer. They were right there, not twenty feet away.” My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears. “I turned to pay, and when I looked back, they were gone.”
“And you didn’t see who took them?” another cop asks as he walks up.
I shake my head. “Kid at the pen said they left with a man. By the time I got to the parking lot, I saw a black sedan hauling ass that way,” I point towards the road. “But I didn’t catch the plate.”
They take down all the details, though I can tell from their expressions they think I’m either lying or involved somehow.
They couldn’t be farther from the truth. Which isn’t saying much. The fucking pigs around here are worthless.
After way too long, the cops finally let us go, promising to put out an AMBER Alert and do everything they can to find the boys. One of them hands Honey a card, telling her to call if she remembers anything else.
As they walk away, I approach Honey cautiously. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her face pale from the fear of not knowing where her sons are.
“Honey,” I say, my voice low. “I’m so fucking sorry. But I promise you, I’m going to get them back.”
She looks up at me, and the hurt and disappointment in her eyes nearly brings me to my knees.
“Come with me to the clubhouse,” I plead. “My brothers can help. We’ve got resources the cops don’t.”
“I should stay here,” she whispers, looking around helplessly. “What if they find something? What if the boys?—”
“The cops have your number. They’ll call the second they know anything.” I reach for her hand, relieved when she doesn’t pull away. “Please, baby. Trust me on this.”
