“You’re sad.”
I turn my head towards him, but Alder just keeps staring at the ceiling.
“What?” I ask. But it comes out quieter than I intended.
He rolls his head towards me to meet my eyes. “You’re going to tell me that’s not true?”
I hold his gaze, but no words come out.
Alder shrugs, turning back to the ceiling. “Well, you didn’t look too sad with your cock in my ass. So… whatever works for you, Doc.”
My eyes return to the painted clouds as well, and I try to ignore the weight pressing down on my chest.
Because he’s right about two things.
One, I already know.
The other… I don’t know what the fuck to do with.
TWENTY
“Hands up!”
Here we fucking go.
My wrench hits the concrete as I push up from the Harley Davidson I’m working on and lift my hands in the air with a sigh. RCMP and local police flood the garage and office with guns aimed at us as they shout and bang on doors, making a fuckingentrance.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter when one of them sweeps his arm across my bench, sending tools and bike parts crashing to the floor. He doesn’t even look at me, but I catch the smirk tugging at his lips.
Fucker.
Donnie appears from the office, and I narrow my eyes at him.
“So what is it this time?” I ask in a low voice as he walks over to me.
He sighs, glancing over his shoulder toward the front office where his sergeant is rifling through receipts like a man possessed. “John got a tip about a 2022 Bentley moved up here from Connecticut.” His gaze finds mine, heavy with the weight of what that means. We both know that car sold over the weekend, straight into the hands of one of New Brunswick’s untouchableelites. “He won’t say where this information came from, but he says the name Basin Kings came up.”
My eyes slide past Donnie to John as he slams down a pile of paper, sending receipts scattering across the desk, and fucking everything up. Those receipts are legit, from our regular customers we serve in this town for oil changes, repairs, and sales. Nothing dirty ever touches that desk. We don’t have a paper trail for anything auction-related, and even if we did, it sure as fuck wouldn’t be sitting out in the main office for him to paw through. We’re not fucking idiots.
“So he’s looking for something he knows he won’t find,” I say.
Donnie exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “No. He’s looking foranything. A wrong invoice, a missing signature… any excuse to get you in cuffs. He’s done waiting. You and Kurt are both coming in today so he can dig deeper.”
“Make sure I get a north-facing cell this time,” I say, still glaring at John. Fucker put me in a west-facing cell a couple months ago. Worst sleep of my life because the bed was facing the wrong way, so my dreams were all wrong. And for some reason they bolt the beds to the floor. Idiots.
Donnie furrows his brow and shakes his head, watching some officers pat down Caz, Dom, and Cory. “Not a hotel, Roy.”
“Fuck you, then,” I murmur, shifting my gaze back through the office window. Kurt’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching John tear through our paperwork.
Kurt meets my eyes through the glass, and I tap my wrist as I continue to hold my hands over my head, signalling that cuffs are coming.
He gives me a small nod before turning back to John to wait out the storm.
But fuck that. I’m not just going to stand here and watch them rip apart our garage again. Last week, it took hours to puteverything back together. And who knows what they’re doing to the clubhouse out back.
So I step forward, grab one of the RCMP officers by the front of his shirt, and punch him in the face.
“Fuck!” the Mountie yells, clutching his nose as blood pours down his face.
