I look toward the entrance of the lot, and that’s when I see Sheriff Caldwell’s truck pull in.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I consider how I’m gonna get out of this clusterfuck. I glance up at the cameras that cover the exterior of Maren’s store. And I wonder, if something goes down here, will Maren share the footage with the cops or my brothers?
Havoc would laugh his fucking ass off if he knew I was thinking that my tongue was so fucking magic, it would make Maren see sense and be on the club’s side.
Caldwell hasn’t seen me yet, but there’s no way out except asking him to move his truck. Plus, I haven’t built my reputation by running away from a fight. So, I sit where I am, right in his line of sight, and pull a cigarette from the packet in my cut pocket. Takes me a second to light it in the wind, but I know the moment Caldwell sees me because he switches on the red and blue lights above his truck.
I’m sure he thinks that’s intimidating.
He steps out, hand poised over his weapon. “Put your hands on your head.”
Just to fuck with him, I do it, then lower the one holding my cigarette to my mouth to take a long draw before moving it back.
“Why are you here?” he asks.
“Storm-damage check,” I answer.
Caldwell puts his hands on his hips; someone ought to tell him that his shirt is about two sizes too small because the buttonholes are clinging on for dear life. “This early in the morning?”
“I’m an early riser.” I think about the way my cock rose for Maren and bite down the grin that’s forming.
“Did you sleep here?” He overenunciates every word.
“Did you?” I tip my chin in the direction of the police truck.
“You slept here in my daughter’s bed.” The words are a statement.
I meet his gaze. “You got an official reason to be asking me that question? And if you do, what is it?”
His face blooms red, like one of those kids who find it funny to pinch their nose and puff out their cheeks until you think their eyeballs are gonna pop out.
I give up on the farce of holding my hands over my head and suck in another long draw of nicotine, praying it evens my keel.
“Ah, right,” I say when he doesn’t answer, then blow the smoke out. “You’re one of those weirdo dads who wants to know who their twenty-eight-year-old daughter is fucking.”
His breath comes out so fast, it’s almost like a snort. “And are you? Fucking my daughter?”
I meet his gaze. I don’t smile. I don’t deny it. “Maybe she’s not your little girl anymore. Maybe she wants someone new to callDaddy.”
Caldwell steps towards me, but not so close that I could reach him. The coward knows I’d win in a fight. “You think this is funny?”
“What I think is it’s none of your business where I dip my wick.”
His eyes flash. “It is when a member of a criminal enterprise spends the night under my roof.”
I glance up at the building. “Pretty sure it’s her roof.”
His jaw flexes, and I see the controlled anger just below the surface. “You don’t use her to get to me.”
I take in the polished badge and crisp, pressed uniform. “If I wanted to get to you, I wouldn’t use your daughter to do it.”
My words hang there between us, but Caldwell’s gaze doesn’t waver.
“You think you’re clever,” he says finally. “You think you can take whatever you want in this town without consequence. Ruining everything you touch.”
I flick ash into the flooded gravel, but the wind picks it up and blows it onto the hem of Caldwell’s brown pants. He splashes around, trying to kick it off. Pity his polyester pants didn’t go up in flames.
“I don’t think, Caldwell…I know. You don’t like me. I fucking hate you. But you don’t get to dictate who your daughter spends her time with.”
