“Everyone step an arm’s width apart,” one officer yells, as the other two I couldn’t see earlier emerge from the back gate, nodding to the oldest officer.
The Sadists start sidestepping to spread out, but Ringo keeps me close, refusing to budge when I go to drop his hand. I cast a worried glance around, noticing a small group of bystanders across the road, phones raised, recording everything.
Are they allowed to do that?
“You hard of hearing?” the oldest officer snarls, and I stiffen at his abrupt tone, dragging my attention back to the cops, all staring at my husband.
“I heard you perfectly,” Ringo snaps back.
“Then why are you two still standing together?” The younger officer steps forward, puffing out his chest like he’s someone to be feared.
He’s barely a man given his scrawny physique.
“This is my wife,” Ringo says calmly. “Before I step away from her, I want assurances that you’ll be respectful when you search her.”
Every officer in front of us raises his brow at the request, but it’s the white blond officer, who looks like he uses a tub of gel in his hair every day, who responds.
“Not surprising that you know what comes next. So, you should also know what happens if you refuse.”
A low rumble vibrates in the back of Ringo’s throat as he glares at the cocky officer, so I tug on his arm.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, prying my hand from his and stepping sideways. “It’ll be fine.”
Reluctantly, he lets me move away, and I lift my chin and meet the cocky blond officer’s gaze.
“Since there’s no female officer present, I know any search of me will be professional and respectful since I’m sure you don’t want the news catching wind of anything less.”
I nod my head towards the bystanders across the street, and a couple of the officers glance that way, while the Southern Sadists chuckle quietly along the line.
The officer’s jaw ticks, and when he moves to step towards me, the older officer presses a hand to his chest and redirects him to the far end of the line.
Relief washes through me when a different officer steps forward to frisk me. I hold my arms out willingly, allowing him to search me for weapons, but the only thing he finds is my phone, which he places on the grass a few metres away.
Thank goodness I didn’t bring my knife with me inside the house. It’s actually tucked into the pocket of my leather jacket, draped over the seat of Ringo’s motorbike, so unless they insist on searching the bikes too, I should be okay.
I watch Ringo from the corner of my eye, sure he’s doing the same with me, and once the weapons search is done, the officers move on to names and identification.
Mine is tucked into my phone case, but I don’t want them to see it. I don’t want them to know who I am, because the name they’ll find is Abbey Delany, and I’m not her anymore.
“Got any ID on you?” the oldest officer asks me, and I shake my head, even as my eyes betray me and flick to my phone lying on the grass.
His eyes narrow, following my movement, and land on my phone.
Shit, Abbey! You just gave yourself away!
Bloody hell. I’ll never survive the underworld Ringo lives in if I can so easily give myself away like that.
With another narrowed look in my direction, the officer moves to my phone, bending to pick it up, and pops the phone case free, finding exactly what I was desperate to keep hidden.
“Shit,” I whisper.
“It’s okay, Angel,” Ringo rasps quietly, and I hold his gaze for a beat as the officer studies my identification.
He can see the worry in my eyes, but there isn’t a trace of it in his. He’s cool and unbothered, his lips kicking up beneath his beard.
God. This man really does have a way of making me feel better… Until his expression shifts, a faint frown tugging his brows as his gaze flicks down the line.
I snap my attention in the same direction and spot the officer holding my identification, showing it to a couple of the other officers, and then, one by one, their gazes shift to me.
