“Don’t touch my tools,” I say simply, placing my hands behind my back as two RCMP surge forward and grab me by the arms, then slap handcuffs on me.
Kurt steps out from the office behind John, one eyebrow cocked at me.
John stops in front of me, looking up with that self-satisfied smirk he’s worn since the day he rolled into town.
I look down at him, smirking at the little asshole with the big man syndrome. “Hi, Johnny.”
“Are you a fucking idiot?” he snaps. “What are you trying to prove here, Roy?”
I furrow my brow as I glance around at the chaos. “What amItrying to prove? Johnny boy, you’re the one storming in here and swinging your little dick around, tearing through my garage like you think you’re going to find something. How often do we need to tell you and your men…” I lean down until I’m eye-to-eye with him. One of the Mounties presses on my shoulder to push me back, but I stay right where I am. “We’re just a motorcycle club and a mechanic shop. And don’t. Touch. My. Tools.”
His face hardens, and he jerks his chin toward the cruisers outside. “Take him in.”
I straighten and slap on a smile. “I think you just like having me around. You know, Johnny, you could just ask to hang out.”
He just turns and heads straight for his car, as the two Mounties push me towards another one.
“But, John, you haven’t finished your raid!” I call after him. Then I snicker and look at one of the officers to my right. “See, he just wants me. Knew it.”
“You fucking idiot,” Donnie mutters, shoving one officer aside so he can take my arm himself. He grips tight, steering me to his car. “He’s not letting this, or you, go. Not until he gets something that sticks.”
“Then get me my north-facing cell,” I tell him flatly, staring him down as he pushes me into the backseat of the car.
Donnie sighs, pausing with his hand on the door as he glances back at Kurt. He’s standing in one of the bay doors, watching me with his arms crossed, and a look that clearly says ‘don’t fuck this up’.
When Donnie looks back at me, he lets out another exasperated sigh. “Guess it’s just you carrying this one.”
“Guess so.” I shrug, settling back against the seat.
He shuts the door and walks over to Kurt, and I watch as they trade low words. By the time Donnie slides behind the wheel, Kurt’s got his phone to his ear with his gaze still fixed on the car.
“Kurt’s calling your lawyer now,” Donnie mutters as he starts the engine.
I lean my head back against the seat with a nod. Yvette’s a fucking shark. She’s pulled us out of worse fires than this, plus John has nothing, and he knows it. I’ll spend a day or two, max, in a cell for breaking some idiot’s nose. And I’ll be back fixing up bikes and fucking my professor in no time.
A water pipe ticks behind the wall as I stare up at the ceiling, the soft sound seeming loud in this quiet space. I shift on the too-short bed, with the thin-as-fuck mattress and a pillow that feels like a sheet of cardboard shoved into a case. Not that I expect comfort in a holding cell, but for fuck’s sake, some people are taller than six feet, and one flat pillow is a joke with the punchline aimed at my neck.
But at least my cell is north-facing.
“Alder.”
Donnie’s voice cuts through the quiet as he rounds the corner. I turn my head to look at him as he leans casually against the bars, though the solemn set of his face tells me this is not a casual visit.
“What?” I ask, sitting up on the edge of the bed.
“You have a visitor.”
“Alright,” I answer slowly. “And Kurt is pissed, I’m assuming? You know I can handle that. He’s my uncle, and I’m not some fragile piece of shit.”
He shakes his head with a slow exhale. “Frank Becker.”
That name has me on my feet in an instant, crossing the cell until I’m standing in front of him at the bars. “What?”
Why thefuckis the president of the Dominion Sons here…
Donnie only nods. “Want me to send him away?”
“No,” I say sharply. “Send that fucker in.” Then I narrow my eyes at him. “And how exactly does he know I’m in here?”
