WREN
Banging and crashing pulls me out of a deep sleep. I’m groggy and barely conscious when the bedroom door bursts open. Men file in, and fear dumps into my veins in a rush.
What the hell?
I blink, lifting my head to chastise them. “There better be an emergency.”
“Miss Delaney. You’re coming with us.”
A gong goes off between my ears, tuning out the rest of what they say. Cold breaches up my legs as one of the goons wrenches me from the bed, jarring my arms behind my back, and slams cuffs around my wrists. I’m in nothing more than Saint’s t-shirt-turned-night-dress. It doesn’t even reach my knees. I’ve only got panties on underneath.
As they drag me out the door without regard for my comfort or decency, I’m numb, stumbling up the steps under someone’s strong hand.
Escorted outside to the dirt has me flashing back to stumbling here on my bare feet not long ago.
I catch flashes of Saint’s face in the whirling lights as they try to blind me. His face is lined in worry. He’s not stopping them.
That has panic battling with the numbness.
Surely, he’ll take care of this. Right? I’m his wife. He’ll get me out.
“Don’t say anything without a lawyer present.”
Okay. Alright. Good advice. Yes. Will he follow behind? Is he getting arrested, too?
Doc is trying to push his way toward me, but two other police officers keeping him back, grabbing him by his vest. That doesn’t sit right either. He’s usually careful. Calm.
Raising his voice, Sheriff Knox recites, “You’re under arrest for conspiracy, and aiding and abetting—don’t make this harder.”
No. No, this is wrong.
I’m jerked around again, shoved toward the back of a cruiser. They’re being too rough with me. The cars…they’re positioned differently. Oh shit. This is staged. If this was real, they’d read me my rights. If this was real, Saint wouldn’t be shouting my name like that.
I’m pushed into the back seat of the cop car. The door slams shut, closing me in. Musk, sweat, and rank jerky fills the cabin, making me gag.
I struggle to breathe, eyes unfocused as the panic hits full force. It spreads through my chest, burrowing in my gut. My head ispounding and the flashing lights whip past, sending sharp pangs to the back of my brain.
Two men take their seats up front, and the engine roars to life.
I lean over my knees, counting my breaths. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. In, two, three, four. Out…
Slowly I come to, and things are not lining up. They take a turnawayfrom the highway that leads to the station. That leads toanywhere.
There’s no radio chatter. No dash cam light.
Knox’s man in the passenger seat keeps checking his phone. The other keeps glancing in the rearview mirror.
This doesn’t feel right. Shouldn’t they have called us in. Why do they seem so on edge? I’m not dangerous.
I catch movement in the mirror—more than the man’s nervous glances. It’s a single headlight. One light shining in the dark. Not a car. Not flashing. Just steady.
I know that light, the dim section at the top that he’s waiting on a new part to fix. That’s Sin’s bike.
Sin. He’s coming after me. Even after I saw him at his worst. After he pushed me away. He’s still coming to get me.
I hold onto that—the only thing keeping me from dropping back into a blind panic. I can almostfeelhim behind us, closing in.
But Knox’s men see it, too. The one in the passenger seat starts making calls. “We’ve got a tail. Yeah, it’s him. The quiet one.”
