My eyes catch on paramedics, who’re waiting outside the hotel room with wide eyes.
“You have to help her,” I say, pleading with them. “Please, she needs help?—“
“Keep it moving,” the alpha barks, dragging me down the hall.
I can hear Rage’s roar from the elevators before it cuts off abruptly.
Ash and Griffin are going to be so fucking pissed.
Let’s just hope this is all worth it. Whatever happens to me, as long as Mirabelle’s safe and alive, I think I can live with that.
The back of the cop car is just as uncomfortable as I imagined it would be.
I’ve imagined it plenty of times. I think part of me always thought I’d end up in one eventually, considering the family business and the fact I have literally nothing else going for me.
Everything is a fucking blur. I don’t even bother asking any questions. I know they won’t answer any.
It’s out of my hands now, I guess. The only thing I can do ispray that Mirabelle gets the medical care she needs and that Rage ends up okay.
God, I hope he didn’t lose his shit too badly.
“Rowan Mercer, you’re being charged as a conspirator to omega trafficking,” an older, squat alpha police officer says to me after my mugshots are taken.
“You—you know my name?” I say, my head jerking back in surprise.
“’Course we do. We took your father into custody weeks ago after your brother was found dead at a warehouse we raided,” the man sneers, getting in my face. “Now, you gonna talk about what you were doing with that poor omega found in that hotel room of yours?”
Well, I’m fucked.
They think I kidnapped her.
It’s an unsurprising deduction, but standing here in the police station, my hands cuffed behind my back as half a dozen jacked alpha cops glare at me, definitely makes the whole situation a hell of a lot more serious.
Me saying this is a misunderstanding, that she wanted to be with us, isn’t going to go over well. Especially if Mirabelle is still out of commission from those crazy seizures and her heat from hell. She won’t be able to confirm what I’m saying until she gets the help she needs.
“I think—I think I need a lawyer.”
The cop in charge here narrows his eyes on me and snarls like he’s sad he didn’t get to interrogate me himself.
“Fine then,” he says with a wave.
The cop still gripping my arm like he’s afraid I’m going to try bolting any minute, starts marching me towards another part of the police station. This place is fancy.
He wordlessly chains me to the chair in a small, empty interrogation room.
“Don’t I get a call, or something?” I mumble, when he movesto stand.
He shoots me a nasty look over his shoulder.
“No. Scum like you don’t get a call until you’re locked away. Wouldn’t want to risk you letting whatever network you’re working with know what’s going on.”
“I’m not working with a network.”
“Save it for the judge,” he says with a roll of his eyes before he slams the door shut.
And then I wait.
And wait.
