Koz is already behind me, while King keeps his arm around me when he shakes Koz’s hand.
“Of course,” I murmur, leaning against Dad and breathing him in. Dad’s scent is so ingrained in me, I swear some nights in my sleep I catch the barest whiff and wake up. His unique scent of cigarette smoke, bourbon and motor oil is settling even when his aura is a little manic.
“We’re having issues with those pricks at the Bureau of Making my Life Fucking Hard again. Last night they thought they should do a raid on my fucking strip joint to check our liquor license. Last week they raided the chop shops, dragging the fucking environmental cunts down to check on how we dispose our grease. They’re grasping at fucking straws.”
Koz grunts, his hand wavering up as he gets caught up knowing what he wants, warring with what’s right. He’d never pull me away from Dad, but he’s also always said he won’t share me with anyone. Makes for fun times.
“They’ve been riding my ass too, desperate for an opening,” Koz says under his breath as he slings his arm over my shoulder to hold me against his chest.
Koz’s confidence is like being in front of a warm heater. His intuition is also never wrong.
“Something doesn’t feel right,” he snaps, grabbing my hand. “King, no one followed you, did they?”
Famous last words.
ChapterTwelve
RANEY
King and Koz freeze.
Perhaps they both picked up the exact moment when things weren’t right. Barely a second later we’re completely surrounded, ready to fight mind you, as agents from Central Bureau of Investigation and Justice swarm the place.
And it’s no wonder there’s bad blood between the divide of good and evil in our society. CBIJ have zero manners and a tonne of aggression. Of course, the Fallen are reactive. Koz is still, which is far scarier.
He holds me against his chest; I can feel the tension rolling off him. I use my body against his as a grounding tool for the both of us. The noise around us is at fever pitch level and continues to grow, matching the unease of trouble brewing. And there’s nothing I can do to stop the rising tension feeding my panic, I just hope I can keep Koz from going off.
After what happened, it’s no surprise that some noises and sounds, or sudden movements can trigger me. Aggression is another thing that locks me up. People being up close in my space is another. The person standing in front of me, with his face hidden by his mask and glasses gets so close I can see the brand he’s wearing, makes me scared. I can see his mouth moving, but my fear is making it hard for me to understand what it is he is saying.
Koz’s hand on my hip is like an anchor and it’s the way we work together; he helps me, I help him.
I manage to keep it together, but King goes off. He shoves the guy away before following through with a wicked jab to keep the guy at a safer distance. There is not even a second to think before the three of us are slammed to the floor.
“Identification check. Do not fucking move until we tell you to. We will get your ID out. If you don’t have ID we will escort you back to the department to sort out who the fuck you are.”
“Get your fucking ape to take his foot off my daughter’s back.” King’s words are accompanied by an unspoken threat. I go to turn my head, but a hand gets slapped against my head, pinning me down.
I start talking loud enough for King and Koz to hear. “I’m okay. I’m okay,” I repeat over and over again.
“I’ll say it again, so we all understand each other, don’t move until we tell you to move. You don’t do anything until I say so. We are armed, we have jurisdiction to use whatever force necessary. And I decide what force that is. Right now, you all have officers on you. Each of them are being spotted by more agents and each of them have their weapons out, safety switched off. We are not playing for candy today.”
I keep still and watch the boots step in a march in front of me.
“Raise your right foot if you work in this fine establishment,” the head agent patronises. Around us there’s a small shuffle of movement as those that do work at Deluge identify themselves.
They get hauled to their feet and led out. I try to figure out who the agent is going to target next, when the man suddenly squats in front of me.
“So, I’ve got the President of the Fallen about to go postal, and a man we all fucking know as a lawyered-up cunt, about to go feral… which makes me all sorts of intrigued as to who you are?”
“My identification is in my purse.” Although it comes out all garbled because my head is still being pinned by someone. And yeah, they’re roughing me up.
The agent tsks sardonically before he drops his head to my level. His shit-coloured eyes flare as he looks at me, not hiding either his mock or derision. This man is full of hatred, and right now he’s focusing it all my way. He leans down and talks softly, sarcasm rolling off each syllable. “That wasn’t the question, sweetheart. I asked who you are?”
Next to me, Koz releases a guttural noise in warning. It doesn’t take much imagination to know that he’s been forcibly restrained, making it near impossible for him to use his words.
“I told you already, Agent Fuckface, she is my daughter,” King barks.
“Dad, I’m okay,” I reply. It’s hard to not reply to Koz, but he’s spent a lot of time coaching me for when we run into a situation like this. Keeping my focus on the man in front of me, I try to exude a different level of confidence to the way I feel. I also try not to think about spitting in his face because I think shit will really get ugly then.
