CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
kaius
Got it.
The textfrom Acelynn flashed across my phone’s screen. Two simple words typed fast enough that she hadn’t wasted time with punctuation. She had successfully obtained the Muze.
Not that I hadn’t already known.
The tracker I had planted beneath the driver’s seat had told me everything I needed tonight. Every turn she’d taken, every unnecessary stop, every time she hesitated for longer than I liked. Her path lit up for me like a thread through the dark. If she’d been compromised, if she’d even thought about betraying me, I’d have known long before this message.
Still, seeing her words, raw and real, untied something in me I hadn’t realized was knotted. She’d pulled it off. She was safe. And she was coming back.
The Queen’s Table hummed with its usual nightly buzz around me. Vince sat near the end of the bar, slouched but alert, fingers tracing the lip of his glass without ever taking a drink. His eyes weren’t really here—lost somewhere far and cold, like always—but he noticed everything. Astoria leaned over the counter, bright laughter snapping like sparks as she teased Josie, who flicked lime juice at her in retaliation. Nolan stood sentinel, back to the wall, arms folded across his chest, scanning the room with the unyielding stare that had earned him the reputation among the Knights.
It was ordinary, in the way nights in our world ever could be. Familiar. Steady.
Then the doors slammed open.
The music died on a strangled note. The chatter cut to silence so thick you could hear the hum of the beer cooler behind the bar. Every head turned.
Detective Parsons filled the doorway like a bad omen, his badge flashing gold under the dim lights. His smirk was wolfish and hungry, flanked by a tide of uniforms that spilled in behind him. Detective Watson trailed just a step back, not grinning, not smirking, just grim, his eyes cataloging the room with quiet calculation. The air shifted instantly, heavy as a storm about to break.
“Evening, folks,” Parsons called, spreading his arms like he owned the place. “Why don’t we all make this easy? Line up nice and pretty against that wall.”
No one moved at first. My Knights didn’t bow to anyone.
Then one of the uniforms snapped the action of his rifle with exaggerated menace. The sound cracked the silence. Patrons muttered, cursed under their breath, and chairs scraped across the floor. Slowly, uneasily, bodies shuffled toward the wall.
I didn’t move until I had to.
Two officers closed in, postures stiff, weapons at the ready, like they were herding a wolf into a cage. They weren’t wrong.
“Against the wall,” one barked, voice breaking with nerves.
I stood, smooth, deliberate, swirling the last of my drink before setting the glass down with a quiet clink. I didn’t look at them. I looked at Parsons. And when his smirk widened, I knew exactly what this was.
The pat-downs began, rough, impersonal. But Parsons didn’t delegate Astoria. His hands skimmed her waist, too slow, too deliberate. His fingers pressed into the curve of her hip, lingering, sliding lower than protocol demanded. Astoria stiffened, lips peeling back from her teeth in a soundless snarl. Beside her, Josie flinched as another officer shoved too close, searching places he didn’t need to search.
Nolan broke.
“Get your filthy hands off them,” he snapped, stepping forward with a suddenness that made the room jolt. His shoulder rammed Parsons back a step, shoving the man’s grin askew. Everything detonated at once.
Guns lifted. Officers shouted. The bar erupted with panicked movement, a half-scream from one of the patrons, Astoria cursing loud enough to cut glass.
Parsons staggered, then laughed. Actually laughed, like this was the game he’d been hoping for. “What’s the matter, Knight? Don’t like a little police work?”
“Police work?” Nolan’s voice was sharp enough to draw blood. “That’s what you call putting your hands on women who never asked for it?”
His fists curled, knuckles whitening until the sound of his bones popping carried over the noise. I saw the moment Parsons decided. His grin widened, and he snapped his fingers. “Arrest him.”
Officers swarmed Nolan, grabbing his arms, wrenching them behind his back. He didn’t resist at first, not until they slammed him face-first into the floor. Then he roared, thrashing like a chained animal, boots kicking hard enough to shake the floorboards. Astoria screamed his name. Josie shoved against the officer holding her, desperation in her voice. Vince didn’t move, didn’t blink, but I saw the twitch of his jaw, the way his hand flexed like he was inches from pulling a blade.
I stepped forward, and the word that left me was quiet, but it ripped through the chaos like a lone bullet. “Enough.”
Half the room froze. The rest caught the tension a beat later, silence folding in on itself until all that remained was ragged breathing, Nolan’s snarls, and Parsons’s ugly laughter. The detective turned toward me, smug as sin.
“Your boy assaulted an officer,” he said smoothly. “That’s jail time.”
