“Don’t walk away from me!” she hissed.
“Shutup,” I snapped, rounding on her. Her mouth dropped open, and her hand hovered to shield her face.
“You can report it to the police when we get there.”
It was enough to make her pause.
“I’m wanted for murder,” I announced. “For killing an Omega.”
I didn’t think it was possible for her to turn paler.
Her lips flapped a few times, but nothing came out.
Thank God, she was too much for me to process right now. I stormed over to the car and slid inside, turning the key. Demi hurried into the passenger seat.
“I’m not letting you steal my car, murderer,” she hissed.
“Whatever, just don’t talk.”
“If you don’t want me to talk, you shouldn’t have?—”
I whipped my head around, a warning in my glare.
She went even paler somehow and huddled against the door. “Psycho bitch.”
Now all we could hear was the engine. I followed the road Kyan took all the way to the main freeway. From here, I would continue on the I-5. So damn odd. My Scent Matches had been living a half hour away from me. It boggled my mind.
Fortunately, Demi didn’t speak the entire drive, offering me some peace to think about what I was doing.
Turning myself in had been an option playing in my head, but fear had forced others to the forefront. If I went in, I wouldn’t leave. I knew it, deep in my bones. It would be my death sentence. Just as anyone else who’d murdered an Omega.
Maybe I could find help from the ORD, but with a Bourne in charge, I doubted any true help would come of it.
If the circumstances were different—if I were to receive a fair trial—I might have been able to state my case, but the problem was, I doubted I would get one. There were too many ‘ifs.’
I rubbed my hands on the steering wheel. A calmness settled over me. This was my last day outside a cell.
. . . but it had been weeks now since I’d been free.
I slid into a parking space, put the car in park, and tossed the keys into her lap.
“Are you going back?” She straightened, like she was going to start another rant. “Never mind.” I put my hand up to stop her talking, but she flinched. She was laying the drama on thick; I wasn’t even within distance to land a hit. “I hope you’re happy with them.”
I slammed the door shut, ignoring her muffled shouts. I yanked the handle of the police station’s door open. A rush of cold air wafted out of the air-conditioned lobby. An officer sat behind the glass bulletproof pane. He looked up, and his eyebrow raised at my approach.
He reached forward to flip the speaker switch. “Take a seat. I’ll be right with you.” The mic fizzed, and he pulled away.
“I’m here to turn myself in.” I didn’t cower from his gaze. “Briar Rivera.”
His eyes flitted to the side, looking at something that I couldn’t see. He lifted his radio to his mouth, but again, I couldn’t hear what he said.
In the next moment, the front door buzzed. I gasped from the suddenness and swung to look at him, but he was gone. There was no need to lock it, I was here of my own will.
The side door opened, and three officers spilled inside.
“Turn around,” one barked, hand on his belt near his gun.
I bit back my scoff and did as he asked. Another officer stepped behind me.
