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“Sir—”
“Drop it, Hart,” he repeated.
I stood there and stared at him. “No, sir,” I heard my mouth say.
Villanova looked up at me, his face surprised. “What the fuck did you just say?”
“I said no,” I repeated. “I’m not dropping a murder case with no good goddamn reason, even if the victim is a horrible cunt.”
“Hart, you will drop that case—”
“Or what,sir?”
He glared at me.
I glared right back.
I’d finally had it.
I’d been attacked, insulted, and threatened my whole goddamn career in this fucking city, and I was just done.
Raj was right—it was time for me to get the fuck out of the RPD. I wasn’t going to do what everyone expected and walk back in with my tail between my legs. And this time, I wasn’t going to move somewhere else and join another force where it would be more of the same bullshit with a different set of accents. I’d done that once—shame on me. I wasn’t fool enough to do it twice.
This wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t the first time I’d been asked to drop a case, and it wasn’t the worst case I’d been asked to drop. Faith Oldham was a horrible person. If her murderer wasn’t arrested, it probably wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world—although I was pretty sure she’d been killed by the Antiquus Ordo Arcanum, and they weren’t exactly my favorite people, either.
Understatement of the fucking century.
But the saying is that it’s a straw that broke the camel’s back, and this was my fucking straw.
Without another word, I pulled out my badge and my gun and set them on Villanova’s desk.
“Hart, what the—”
He clearly hadn’t been expecting that.
“With all due respect, captain, go fuck yourself.”
And I walked out.
* * *
The dirt poundedunder my feet, air rasping in my throat, the early spring rain soaking through my shirt and running leggings as the miles fell away behind me. I wasn’t running to run, though. I was running away.
Running from the fact that I couldn’t stop thinking about Taavi.
Running from the fact that my job was a corrupt shit-hole, and I’d just quit it rather abruptly, taken my shit, and walked the fuck out.
Running from myself.
I reached a fork in the trail and stopped to consider my options, bending over a little as the air heaved in and out of my lungs. The pause gave me a chance to figure out where I was—which was pretty damn far from home. Probably five miles. At about seven at night with twilight in full bloom.
I wasn’t going to get home before dark.
Not like it mattered. There was nobody waiting for me.
Realistically speaking, there never had been, because Taavi didn’t count. He’d been stuck as a dog and didn’t have a lot of say where he stayed if he wanted a roof over his head.
I really wished he were still at home waiting for me.
