Johnny chuckled, only feeling a tiny bit guilty that he was leaving Taylor in the hands of Amil. He’d given the omega a whole handover package on what to do when Taylor lost the plot, complete with nail paints and a bracelet-making kit. But Amil, being Amil, had just wrinkled his nose, thrown the whole lot into a drawer and said he preferred to use the bolt cutters instead.
“W-wha?” Taylor grunted, a string of drool dripping down his chin.
Amil threw some balled-up paper at him, hitting him on the forehead. “Heard that okay, did you?”
Taylor rubbed his eyes. “You just talk so fucking loud, dude. Voice like a foghorn.”
Johnny realised then that Amil was going to be able to handle Taylor just fine.
Isla put her head in her hands. “Please don’t leave me, John-Paul. I don’t think I can cope with these two on my own.”
Johnny chuckled, turning his eyes back to the road. “Sorry, Sarge.”
“No, you aren’t.” Isla snorted, elbowing his arm.
Johnny smiled, slowing the van as they rounded a sharp corner. “No, I’m not.”
“Anyway,” Isla continued. “The governor said they’ve moved Ru off the psych ward and back in with the general populace. The other three are there too, and I’m worried they’ve been whispering in his ear again.”
“You’d think they’d separate them,” Johnny replied. “Given that he hasn’t been sentenced yet.”
Isla sighed. “I know, but the prisons are full, and what does the governor care about one omega potentially serving a life sentence?”
“Well, they’re about to care a whole lot more,” Amil replied.
Johnny nodded. The Omega Rights Bill had been sanctioned only a week before, and the cynical side of him wondered if it was more than a coincidence that the prison had authorised Ru’s interview amidst the turmoil. More than likely a government PR strategy.
They turned off the main road, following a tiny grey sign with an Edwardian crown and the prison insignia. The crowds weren’t letting up, only growing as Johnny wound the unmarked van around the lanes. People had placards slung over their shoulders and camping gear strapped to their backs.
Someone banged the side window, another threw a paper cup at the windscreen, making them all sit straight. Isla’s hand twitched at her hip, over the PAVA concealed in her pocket, andJohnny found he was becoming increasingly worried about what they’d find when they got to the prison.
Warmth seeped across his chest, the muscles in his shoulders relaxing a little as he realised Taylor was pushing reassurance across the bond. He’d gotten good at that over the last couple of weeks, and Johnny had gotten better at not holding back his emotions.
“Here we go,” Isla murmured as small groups of shifted wolves appeared around the next corner. They were stalking up and down the road, guarding the perimeter and warding off anyone who drifted too close to the security gate. “All hell’s gonna break loose when the protestors realise we’re the ones here to interview Ru, so be ready.”
Johnny heard the clunk and scrape as Amil extended his baton, and the crack of Taylor’s knuckles. Wendy let out a shaky breath and Johnny wished they hadn’t brought her out for one last hurrah.
A breeze rolled through the trees, blowing leaves across the road as the high grey walls of the prison entryway came into view. There were people everywhere, some shifted, others still in human form. They held candles and flowers, and some people were singing as though holding a vigil.
“Dear God,” Johnny whispered, slowly turning the van onto the long, gated driveway and towards the massive security barriers.
“Make sure your windows are up,” Isla said, glancing over her shoulder.
People in the crowds turned, pointing and waving in their direction. Suddenly they were swarmed as two dozen protestors closed in, shaking their placards and banging the van bonnet. Johnny growled low in his belly, turning on the wipers to flick away anyone that tried to smack the windscreen.
“Please don’t run anyone over,” Isla said, her voice tight and back ramrod straight. “I can’t deal with the paperwork.”
“Wasn’t planning on it, Sarge.”
Johnny pulsed the washers to deter a few more grabby hands, and eventually they made it to the security lodge. “ID please,” the guard said, looking at them through the tiny sliding window. “Ah, DS Wilson from Dingly, is it?”
Isla withered.
“They’re here!” someone in the crowd screamed. “It’s them! They’re here for Ru!”
The guard blanched, quickly pressing the button to open the gate. “Go!” he said, and Johnny slammed his foot on the accelerator as people closed in around them.
More guards came running out of the prison brandishing shock shields and batons. The van was ushered through an archway, barely squeezing through the narrow gap that had clearly been meant for horses once upon a time.
