Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Anger and sadness engulf me. I should have been smarter. Playing with fire, what did I expect but to get burned? I got too close to the damn flame, utterly dazzled by the glow.
This will leave a scar.
I’m so lost in thought that I don’t notice the car parked in the shadows of the trees until red and blue lights blast into the night, followed by a whooping sound. I whip around to see a police officer getting out of their car.
“Ma’am.” Dammit. This is the last thing I need.
It’s not either of the officers from earlier at the club. It’s a different, heavy-set guy with graying hair and dull eyes.
“I’m not doing anything wrong,” I defend before he says anything.
“Why are you out here alone?” He looks up the dark road and then back to me.
“Why are you out here?” I counter, Callan will lose it if he finds out they’re lurking around for people to start piling out the club. Most brothers have rooms or will crash wherever they fall by the end of the night. If this cop is hoping to catch drunk drivers with loose lips, he’s going to be disappointed. I subtly slip my phone from my pocket to text a warning to the club that cops are lurking, but my phone battery flashes a red signal and then dies. Great.
“Do you remember that some officers came to the clubhouse today?” He asks as he approaches, narrowing his gaze on me.
I nod in reply. My mouth feels sticky and dry. It’s a chore to speak. My fight or flight instincts are kicking in. This doesn’t feel right. My heart begins to race as I scan my surroundings and realize maybe I shouldn’t have left the club without a ride.
“It was Officer Spears you spoke with today. I’m Officer Larkin. I was hoping to ask you a few questions.” Shit. He looks in the direction of the club that’s completely obscured by trees in the distance before crossing the road to where I’m standing, his frame towering mine. It’s then I notice he’s not in uniform. He’s wearing jeans and a sweater and stinks of bourbon. He holds up a phone with an image grab of me on the screen. “This is you, right?”
“You waited out here for me?” I furrow my brow. Why does he have a screen grab of me on his phone?
“I know club whores get thrown out at dawn,” he spews, his hand outstretched with the phone, face screwed into a sneer. “Spears showed me his bodycam footage of you. I took a picture, so I’d know what you looked like.”
Grabbing my upper arm, he begins towing me toward his vehicle. I attempt to yank free, my stomach tightening in trepidation.
“What the hell are you doing? I’ve done nothing wrong.” His hold tightens, pinching my flesh to the point of pain. Bastard.
“Then you won’t mind answering some of my questions, will you?” He opens the back car door and flattens his meaty palm on my head, ducking me and shoving me inside with little effort. The door slams shut behind me and my nerves begin vibrating beneath my skin.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The asshole folds himself into his seat and turns the engine over. I grab the handle, but it’s locked. There’s a cage-type barrier between me and the front. If this fucker thinks he can get any answers to his questions from me, he’s going to be sorry he wasted both our time. This isn’t my first rodeo. Maybe it’s a good thing he thinks I’m just a club slut.
“This is harassment.” I smack my hand against the metal divide.
“Who are you going to complain to?” He guffaws, picking up a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels from the passenger seat and twisting the cap off with his teeth before guzzling the bottle like a baby would milk. I should have found Tim and gotten him to take me home
I squirm in the seat whenever his eyes clash with mine in the rearview mirror. We drive around silently for about five minutes past heavy brush and thick tree lines, the car straddling both lanes before pulling up to a dirt road. My throat tightens. A new wave of dread gnaws at me.
“This isn’t the way to the police station.” My pulse pounds in my ears when we pull to a stop. There’s stretches of gravel and dirt on all sides and nothing else but darkness. The hairs on the back of my neck rise in warning.
His eyes pin mine in the mirror, the margins of his lips twisting. “Observant whore, aren’t you?” He scoffs, exiting the car and pulling open the back door. I’ve been in enough situations and around many an asshole to know this prick isn’t going to be playing by the rules tonight.