RONAN
Iwish I could say this was the first time I’d ever been arrested.
Honestly, I wish I could even say it was the first time I’d been booked by the Las Vegas Police.
It was, however, the first time I’d ever had to trust someone else completely to do the right thing to get me out of the wrong one. Especially when that person had come so close to seeing me do something even worse.
My first call and only call after being taken to the local Seattle precinct was to Liam.
“Get Mac,” I’d told him. “He’ll know what to do.”
That was the last I’d heard from anyone after being taken immediately to Paine Airfield, where I was accompanied by a Federal Air Marshal until I was delivered into the hands of the Vegas Metro immediately after stepping off the plane.
My wrists still ached from the handcuffs. It would be a long time before I asked Laney to play with those again. If I ever got the chance.
The thought stung. Hard.
And so, I’d sat in my cell, staring at my hands, contemplating my soul while I waited to see if my gamble had paid off.
It was nearly forty-eight hours before a police officer named Wallace called my name.
“Black. You’re being released.”
I looked up, grungy in the suit I’d now been wearing for almost three days straight, and grinned. “Well, that’s too bad. We’ll never know if you can actually kick my ass in chess, Wally.”
Wallace rolled his eyes as he unlocked the door to the cell, but he had to laugh. No, there had never actually been a chess game. Not in a jail where I had shared a cell with two pimps, three dealers, a few wise guys (all named Paul), and five different waiters who were nabbed for unlicensed sex work. But one of my superpowers was finding the one thing I had in common with any man of the law and capitalizing on it. Wally and I both happened to enjoy a good game of chess.
I followed him out to the reception desk, where I found Liam waiting while Mac signed his own release paperwork. The big man had been transported to Vegas himself soon after I had, though not, I hoped, before he had given directions to the people who needed them.
“Good news?” I asked as I signed the documents in front of me and accepted the clear plastic bag containing the few belongings I had with me when I was booked.
Liam shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Depends on how you see things.”
Mac grunted.
I gave them both a side eye, but didn’t ask for more information. Not here.
“See ya, Wally,” I told the guard. Then, followed Liam and Mac out into the blazing Nevada sunshine. “So, what happened? Did you pull it off?”
“If he did, he didn’t tell me.” Mac looked around the parking lot with open suspicion, like he was expecting another couple of undercover cops to jump out from behind a cactus and cart us back inside.
“Well, I—” Liam started.
“Liam didn’t. But I did.”
We both whirled to where Shea, of all people, was stepping out of a big black Mercedes.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Mac’s expression was a thundercloud, and just like that, his tree trunk body had transformed into a very tightly wound spring.
Shea ignored him as she skipped toward me and threw her arms around my shoulders. “You’re good? Everyone good? No offense, big brother, but you kind of smell.”
“I’ve been in a cell with ten other men for the last two days. I could use a drink, a smoke, and a shower, not necessarily in that order.” I was unsure how to deal with this sudden display of sisterly affection. Shea and I got along all right, sure, but she wasn’t usually the “big brother” type. “Look, not that I’m unhappy you’re here or anything, but?—”
“I am,” Mac cut in. “Very unhappy you’re here.”
Shea rolled her eyes, then tossed her dark red hair over one shoulder. “Honestly. You’d think gratitude would be more in order for springing you from the joint, you big grump.” She turned to me. “Liam called me when Mac was arrested, too.”
“You called her?” Even I was surprised by that one. My money would have been on Brendan. Maybe even Liza. But not Shea.
