The gooey liquid swirled with crimson as it smeared down the window. Then I turned and looked back at him. “Did I hurt your feelings or some shit?”
This time he laid a punch, right in my ribs. I barely flinched, holding my muscles tight while I could see his face becoming redder and redder, frustrated that I wasn’t more broken. I was holding back fury of my own, knowing that I needed to keep calm and not be thrown off by these assholes.
I hadn’t done anything wrong, hadn’t touched that fucker, Davenport.
I had faith that my brothers would find the evidence that they needed. There had to be something in the clubhouse that pointed to me being there that night, and not at his place shooting him dead. No doubt, they were already on the phone to Sugar to get her to come in and make a statement—it was her I’d been with all night.
When we pulled up to the police station, my brothers weren’t far behind us, pulling their bikes up to the curb and jumping off. The cruiser door opened and I climbed out, Optimus taking one look at my split lip and turning his anger on Chapman.
“Ten fucking minutes in the car and he climbs out bleeding. Better have a good explanation.”
Chapman opened his mouth to defend himself as Matthew, the club lawyer, appeared, walking down the police steps.
“I second that,” he said sternly, looking at me for an answer.
I grinned. “I just asked him a question.”
Matthew rolled his eyes as Morris shoved me toward the station.
“Get this shit sorted,” I heard Optimus say from behind me.
“I’ll figure out what’s going on and let you know,” Matthew assured him.
The police station was reasonably empty as they booked me in at the front desk and then led me through to one of the interview rooms that I knew so well. They un-cuffed me before pressing on my shoulders and forcing me into a rickety old chair. I huffed in annoyance and rubbed at the red marks around my wrists.
Matthew took a seat beside me, his briefcase landing on the table with a loud thump. “I’d like to see the warrant.”
The officer standing by the door placed some papers on the table and Matthew grabbed hold of the papers, dragging them over to his side of the desk. Both Morris and Chapman took seats at the table, lounging casually as Matthew scanned the papers.
After a few minutes, he finally spoke, placing the papers down on the table. “Okay, so you say there was reasonable evidence? What is it?”
Morris turned his gaze to mine. “You ever been to Peter Davenport’s house, Mr. Taylor?”
I clenched my jaw and pursed my lips. “Yeah, once.”
“When was this?” he asked, picking up a pen and scribbling on the notepad in front of him.
“Last week,” I answered honestly. “He was harassing my woman. I went around with my president and VP to tell him to back off.”
More scribbling.
“Did you just barge right on in?” Chapman jumped in, drawing my eyes to him.
“No. I was polite as fuck and knocked,” I told him seriously.
“And what did you say to him after he presumably opened the door?”
I rolled my eyes. “What I just fucking told you… to back the fuck off my girl and leave her alone.”
Chapman smirked. “You mean his wife, right? Annabelle Sullivan?”
“I think we all know exactly who’s being discuss here,” Matthew interjected impatiently. “Make your damn point.”
Morris looked over at the officer standing by the door and gave him a nod. The officer ducked out of the room. “So you didn’t touch the door at all, other than to knock,” Morris stated, turning his stupid smug face back to us.
“No. I knocked, he opened it, we had our say then he slammed the door in my face. Happy?”
The door opened again, and a large evidence bag was placed on the table in front of us. I leaned forward, trying to figure out what the hell was inside.