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I felt and heard the crowd building on the sidewalk as people sensed trouble and began to gawk. A quick glance reassured me that at least one of them would get word back to Cyrus. “Fine.” I got off the motorcycle. “Happy?”
“Your pack.” He indicated for me to hand it over.
My stomach soured as my gaze landed on the diner. On the people sitting in the window booth. Grace, Matthew, and Faith.
On her wide, shocked eyes as she took in what was happening.
I sucked in a breath.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Turning back to the officer, a spurt of white-hot anger raced through me. At the unfairness of what I had to do because of the human stain milking the town dry. Of what I was losing, right now, second by second. “I don’t think so, asshole.”
He reared back. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
This pissed him off, and he turned a nice shade of beefy red. “We’ll just have to see what your parole officer has to say about that.”
I shook my head, silently telling him to fuck off.
Not a good idea.
“Turn around.”
I lifted a brow.
He yanked my arm and spun me around, kneeing one of my legs at the same time, disabling me as I fell to the ground. He then snapped my other arm to the back and cuffed me in one smooth move.
Déjà vu slammed into me. The same mortification. The same sick dread. The same woman that I loved witnessing every sickening moment of it. I’d died a little that day six years ago, and this day felt like it might finish the job.
“Should’ve just listened,” the officer murmured under his breath.
“Better show this way,” I hissed through gritted teeth as I turned my face away, staring into the street with my cheek pressed into the pavement.
I felt Faith’s presence before I heard her. “Stop!” she cried. “What’s happening?”
“Step back, ma’am,” the officer said.
“Adam!” she yelled, that fierceness I loved so much about her taking over, breaking me a little more. “Adam, tell him it’s a mistake! Tell him!”
He unzipped my pack and the wrapped packages of drugs spilled out for all to see. Probably right at her feet. The collective gasp echoed in my ears. The officer stood and spoke into his shoulder radio before looking down at me. “You’re under arrest, Bishop.”
Don’t look. Don’t turn.
Don’t.
I took a breath and turned my head, my cheek stinging as it scraped cement. Faith was there, just a few feet away, tears staining her face, staring down at the packages on the ground. Stiff. Like moving might shatter her. Grace and Matthew came up behind her to flank her sides, and her gaze slid to mine.
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered, her voice tremulous. “I don’t—” A sob choked her words. “I don’t believe it.”
It hit me like a wrecking ball that her heart was fighting for me, and everything in me wanted to scream Yes! Listen to that! This isn’t real!
But I couldn’t. Not right now. Because in order for this to work, she had to believe it, too.
So, as I watched those beautiful eyes fill with new tears, I saw the reluctant realization wash over her, swallowing her in what her gut had already known.
Last night was about more than an I love you. It was a goodbye.
