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Keeping my focus on the sheriff, he motions to the cops behind me. Placing my hands behind my back, I wait for them to cuff me.
They don’t keep me waiting long, and as I listen to the metal cuffs clink and lock into place, I feel nothing, knowing I’m doing the right thing.
“Thomas…” I tune out as the sheriff spews my rights, and make eye contact with Cas.
He’s pissed, and I don’t blame him. I’d be the same if one of them did what I just did. But when it comes to my patch, I will do whatever has to be done. Winking, Cas solemnly shakes his head, and eventually calls for silence.
I’m telling him to trust me, and he has enough respect for me to let me do this.
“Put him in the car,” the sheriff orders. Taking hold of my arms, two cops walk me to the nearest cruiser and throw me into the back.
Looking over at my brothers, I lean against the window to get a better look of my club and smirk. This has been my home for longer than I thought possible, and fuck me, if it hasn’t been the ride of my life. I’ve loved every minute, and I wouldn’t change a fucking thing.
* * *
The police station hasn’t been modernised in three decades, and strangely, it’s comforting. I certainly haven’t been modernised, and I have no intention of dipping into the new world where shit changes on a daily basis.
I’m booked and led to a cell. My cuffs are unshackled, and then I’m alone, left wondering how to play this. I guess I’ll find out soon enough when they haul me in for an interview.
Making myself comfortable on the cot, I rest my hands under my head and cross my feet. It’s going to be a long wait. But the longer this takes, the more time the club will have to handle shit on their end.
When you join the club, it isn’t just willingness to die for the patch. You have to be willing to do anything to save and protect the club. I’ve fought for my patch, and have nearly died a few times for it. I’ve had a long run, longer than any other fucker. Fuck knows where this Knowles business will land us, but I’ll do what I have to do in order to stop it from blowing back on the club.
Closing my eyes I go back to my Sally. Death comes for us all, but it never got to me before her.
I fucking hate hospitals. If my Sal doesn’t walk out of here, I’m killing every motherfucker in reach. She had a heart attack. One minute, she was cooking our dinner, and then the next, she was on the floor. I’d never been so scared.
“Do you know what I’m most scared of about dying?”
I look up to see Sal’s eyes are open, and I thank God. Reaching for her hand, I’m careful of all the wires as I say, “You’re not going to die, sweetheart.”
Ignoring me, as usual, she carries on. “It scares me to leave you alone. I know you, Thomas. If this is my time to go, it’s going to take what little humanity you have.”
“Listen to me, woman, you’re not…”
Weakly, and failing to lift her arm to shut me up, I close my mouth and listen.
“There are so few people you respect enough to take orders from and abide, but—”
“Sweetheart,” I growl. I can’t hear this.
“What I’m trying to tell you, Thomas, is that if this is it for me, you can’t shut down. Kyla will still need her dad, and Ricky… That boy is like a son to us. And our grandchildren, they love you so much. We both know you’ve got more to live for than we ever thought you get. They need you.”
“But I need you.”
A cop bangs on the bars, making me jump. “Your lawyer is here.”
Cuffed and led through the station, I’m shoved into an interview room where Banksy is seated. Another comforting sight. He’s as old as me, and a permanent fixture in my world. The cop locks my cuffs to the bar on the table, and once we’re alone, Banksy says, “Cas said to tell you you’re a son of a bitch, but he’s going to get you out.”
“Isn’t that your job?”
“We both know our ways are not the same.”
I smirk. Banksy ain’t so bad. Leaning forward, I say, “Tell me everything you know about this charge so far, and you tell Cas to let it run its course. Tell him to move the club forward.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Cas
