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The desk cop he’d been handed off to—a cocky little shit with a fucking mustache—stood at the front desk laughing. “What’s wrong?” he asked with thick mocking in his tone. “Does the big, bad biker not like being locked up?” He sauntered over, grinning like this was better than Christmas morning.
Scott scowled. It was all he could do. His tongue had dried up, and his throat constricted. He’d rather be smothered in honey and left near a fire ant hill.
Officer Stache gripped the cell bars, giving them a rattle. “Better get used to it.”
The door to the police station opened, but Scott kept his attention on the cop.
“Heard you fucked Dante up good. Unprovoked as I hear it. Get comfy. You’re gonna be here for a—”
“Excuse me!” Olivia’s voice, full of superiority and disgust, broke through the cop’s rant. She stormed through the tiny lobby to where the officer stood. “Unprovoked? Did you just say unprovoked?”
Officer Stache shuffled his feet and stared at the floor. For the first time since the cell slammed shut, Scott’s lips quirked.
“Uh, ma’am, if you need to file a report, I can help you at the desk,” the cop said as he tried to usher her away from the cell.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” she seethed, stepping back. Her gaze flicked to him, concerned and furious before focusing back on the cop.
Scott almost felt bad for the guy. He’d been on the receiving end of her fury a time or two, but this seemed like another level. She was out for blood.
“Sorry, ma’am. Meant no disrespect.” The cop lifted his hands.
Olivia snorted. “That’s rich.” She jammed her hands on her hips then walked until she was an inch from the cop. He towered over her, so she had to tilt her head way back. “Who do I speak to, to get him out of there? You? Or someone higher ranking?”
Scott would’ve laughed if he wasn’t working so hard to keep the panic attack at bay. Officer Stache straightened and puffed out his chest. “I’m the only one here tonight, ma’am. But—"
“Great. Let him out,” she said. “Now.”
Clearly, the rookie cop had no idea how to handle the demanding female. “Uh, I can’t do that, ma’am. He’s been arrested for assault. He’ll have to be arraigned and have bail set.”
“Assault?” she practically shrieked. “You wanna talk about assault? This man saved my life tonight.” She gestured toward the cell with a wild arc of her arm. “That putrid piece of shit, Dante, attacked me. He put his hands on me. Under my shirt.” She placed her hands over her tits, and the cop’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Touching my body despite the fact I was fighting and screaming at him to stop. You understand what I’m saying? And do you know what that’s called, officer?”
“Um, yes, ma’am.” He shifted. “That’s sexual assault.”
Brooke quietly walked into the station and stayed by the doors. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of Olivia confronting the cop.
She stood with her hands on her slender hips and fire shooting from her eyes. “That’s right. It’s sexual assault. Scott is the only reason I wasn’t raped!” she screamed. “He shouldn’t have been arrested.”
“Fuck,” the cop said. “Um, are you willing to make an official statement?”
“I’m willing to do whatever the hell I have to do to get him out of that goddamn jail cell as fast as possible.”
“Follow me, please.” The cop walked over to the desk.
Scott met Olivia’s gaze. In the two weeks since she’d appeared at the clubhouse, he’d not once seen her in anything other than a coordinated outfit, pristine shoes, perfect hair, and flawless makeup. She always looked ready for a magazine shoot, no matter the time of day.
Except for tonight.
She wore olive green sweatpants and a Handlers’ T-shirt one of the guys must have given her. Her face had been scrubbed clean of its party makeup, and her hair sat high on her head in a sloppy bun.
She was a mess and the sexiest woman Scott had ever seen. Christ, she was gorgeous all done up, but like this? All natural? She was stunning. An air of vulnerability clung to her. One she obviously hated and worked to mask with the armor of impeccable style and attitude. But there, staring at him through the cell bars, he saw it. The soft underbelly she hid with sass and snobbery.
He hadn’t wanted her, anyone really, but her especially seeing him this way. Sweating, near shaking, exposed, and raw. She was too smart for her own good, and those damn shrewd eyes saw straight through his bullshit to the panic lying beneath. Fuck it, she knew he was hanging on by a thread, and she knew why.
Damn her.
“Go home, Olivia,” he rasped.
She cocked her head. “No.” Then she squared her shoulders and marched over to the cop’s desk. Scott couldn’t help the rush of pride that surged through him. She’d been through a lot tonight but rallied and now fought like hell for him. Much as he wanted her back at her apartment and away from his mess, he had to admit he admired the fuck out of the stubborn way she defended him.
