She’s shaking, trembling from head to toe, and I’m crushed because I can’t do anything to make things okay for her. So, I nod and place my forehead against the window when the police slam my door closed.
Patience places her hands against the glass, tears trailing down her face. “I love you,” she sobs.
I shake my head at her. “Don’t. Not like this,” I reply.
Because I love her too, but I won’t be declaring it while I’m in the back of a police car. She deserves better than that.
I tear my gaze away from her as several cars pull up next me. Maxwell’s bright red Ferrari and God’s Escalade screech to a stop. I hang my head in shame as my father gets out. It’s then I notice my other brothers have arrived and are gathering around to find out what’s happened.
My father looks exasperated. This is the last thing he needs right now with Sabella missing.
Fuck…Sabella. I still don’t know where she is.
I want to tell him I’m sorry. I want to explain what happened, because for the first time in a long time, perhaps ever, I don’t want him to hate me. But I don’t say anything. Instead, I sit there in silence, feeling sick with guilt and shame.
For some reason, it bothers me that he looks one hundred years old. He drags a hand through his short hair, and I realize that’s where I get the same gesture from. He begins barking orders for them to get me out of the cuffs when a police officer intervenes, telling him what I’m being arrested for. His stare turns hard and cold as he listens, and then it’s like he can’t even bear to look at me. He shakes his head and steps back, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. He says something to the officer, walks back to his car, and climbs in. And even though we hate one another, and I’ve never wanted or needed his help in my life—even when I’ve never given a shit what he thinks of me—I still feel something break inside as he gets back in his car and drives away.
His message is loud and clear: he’s finally done with me.
It doesn’t feel like I expected it to, like the biggest win of my life. It’s painful, like driving a nail into an open wound and then pouring acid inside. I feel numb, empty, and so fucking alone, I can barely breathe.
“Samuel!” Pride’s voice booms from outside the car, and I look up sharply at him. He’s standing with the rest of my Elite brothers, each of them wearing the same grim expression on their faces. They know I traded in my coin and they don’t know how to get me out of this mess.
God nods at me. “I’ll handle it,” he says, and I nod back.
I want to believe he can do something about this, but doubt pours over any hope I have. This is an attempted murder charge, and one I’m not even going to deny. Why would I? If Patience hadn’t stopped me, I would have killed him, and then I would have taken out my cock and pissed over his fucking corpse.
God’s father is one of the richest men in the world, but I doubt even he can make something like this disappear.
The police officer climbs in the front seat and starts the engine as Pride comes toward the car. He says something to Patience, and she nods at him and starts to cry all over again, her words tumbling from her mouth, fast and furious.
Pride’s hard gaze meets mine. “We’ll sort this, brother,” he says as the car starts to pull away.
I nod, my gaze narrowing in on Sebastian, who’s practically hiding behind the rest of my Elite brothers. His expression is calm, but cold. The sickness I’ve been feeling intensifies, making me dizzy from the anger and hate I feel.
I nod at him as I sit back, the metal of the cuffs biting my skin even more painfully. I hold his stare as I speak to him like I’m fucking telepathic and he can hear my thoughts. And maybe he does, because his features blanch.
I give him a warning.
A threat.
A motherfucking promise.
I am fucking coming for him.
The sound of my cell door rolling open has me cracking my eyes open as much as I can. It stands to reason I got into a fight as soon as I got here. I am Wrath, after all. My given sin is still haunting me even in my incarceration. It’s almost laughable. At least it would be if I didn’t think I have broken a rib.
“Gunner, you’ve got a visitor,” the guard barks out. I roll onto my side and sit up. He chuckles darkly. “Looking rough there, son. You pick a fight with a wall?”
I stand up and crack my head from side to side, the sound of crunching coming from my neck as I stalk forward. My arm is still wrapped around my middle, but I’m standing tall—all six-foot-five of me—as I stare him down. Stupid motherfucker looks worried, but not worried enough. That’s a huge mistake. I’m a man who’s lost everything and everyone I’ve ever cared about. They can lock me up and throw away the key for all I care. I have nothing left to lose and a gut full of rage begging to get out.
I won’t even blink at kicking this sorry son of a bitch’s ass.
Another guard shoulders up to the first one. “Prescott, I’ll deal with this,” he says, and the first guard sneers and walks away. I make a mental note of his name. I always make a point of remembering my enemies’ names. The second guard, who’s name badge reads Michaels, takes a deep breath and looks at me. “Hands through the bars. Clasp them together, Gunner.”
I glare at him, unmoving, more than ready to tear him apart, limb from motherfucking limb. I have no desire to see whoever is out there. Probably a lawyer The Elite got for me. He’d get me off so long as I admit I was in the wrong, and I won’t do it again—or maybe it’s Maxwell coming to tell me he’s done with me again.
It’s all bullshit, and I don’t give a shit. I certainly don’t need to see his smug face again. I saw all I needed to when he listened to those cops and walked away, not even giving me a chance to explain.
