Dark Guardian (Black Hoods MC #3) - Avelyn Paige Page 0,28
his cowboy boots echoing off the ceramic tile floor.
Son of a bitch.
I move toward the bed, and that’s when I notice a man lying on the top bunk. We make eye contact for a brief second, but neither one of us says a word. Laying down on the bottom cot, I stare at the bunk above me.
Why the fuck had they come in with guns drawn like that? That’s not typical police procedure. And why did that asshole seem to be so close to Grace? Why the fuck do I even care?
“What I wouldn’t give for a beer, right?” the guy above me states.
The last thing I want to do is get into a round of small talk with some asshole in lockup, so I don’t respond.
“These fuckers would get a lot more cooperation from me if they offered that on their menu.”
Draping my arm across my eyes, I try to calm myself down.
“Oh, I get it. We’re playing the ‘I’m a tough guy, and I’m going to ignore this asshole’ game. Okay. Got it.”
“Jesus, man. Can you not take a fucking hint?”
Chuckling, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and jumps down.
“Look, I’ve been in here three times in the last two weeks. I’m bored out of my fucking mind, and I would rather think about anything else besides what I have going on in my life right now. So yeah, I can take a hint. But I don’t fucking want to.”
There’s nothing menacing in the way he’s holding himself, but lying down while he looms over me makes me uncomfortable. Yet one thing he said has kind of got me wondering.
Sitting up on the edge of the bed, I scowl over at him. He’s tall. Almost as tall as Karma, who measures well over six and a half feet. His eyes are dark and bloodshot, and his hair is a straggly mess.
“What the fuck could you have done to get your ass in this cell three times in two weeks?” This is just a holding cell. It’s not like this is county lockup. Whatever he’s done isn’t big enough to warrant a stint in there, but has surely pissed someone off enough to have him rotting away in here for a few days.
“Contempt of court, and harassing a couple of public officials will do that to ya.” He reaches out his hand, the word SOUL tattooed across his knuckles. “Ty. Ty Jackson.”
I grip his hand in mine. “Judge.”
Ty nods and glances at the patch on my cut as I stand. “Prez of the MC, huh? Pretty sweet gig.”
I snort as I wander over to the door. I can see the officers talking on the other side of a glass wall, but there’s no sign of Officer Dickhead, or of my lawyer.
“Yeah. If you call babysitting a bunch of toddlers with tattoos and biceps a sweet gig, then I guess it is.”
We spend the next twenty minutes shooting the shit. I’m not one to share my entire life’s story, and I’m thankful he isn’t, either. We talk about motorcycles and women, and our favorite BBQ joints to grab a decent steak.
And that’s when Officer Fuckface opens the door to our cozy little getaway. “Come on, Grant. We have some questions for you.”
I glower at him as he cuffs me. Fucking pussy.
He leads me down a long hall and through a couple of different bullet-proof doors before finally turning into a room with one-way glass and a table in the middle. Grace is already seated at the table with her briefcase at her side.
She stands as I enter, and I can’t help but notice the stray strands of hair that have escaped that tightly wound bun on top of her head. It looks wild and unkempt. It looks sexy as hell.
Fuckface shoves me down into a hard metal chair across from her and leans his ass against the table.
“What do you know about Randall McDade?” This fucker is clueless. Aren’t they trained at some school for tight-asses to form a false friendship with their suspects? Since when do they cut right to the chase?
I feign ignorance. “Who?”
He leans in closer. “Randall McDade. He was the legal guardian of those kids. But lo-and-behold, he’s missing.”
“Aaron,” Grace chides from behind him, but he ignores her.
“How did you get involved in this, Grant? How did you come into possession of two teenage kids with a dead addict for a mother, and an uncle who’s suddenly MIA?”
I glare at him, but