counsel, I need to tell you that this is a bad idea.”
“Noted.”
“Then I’ll see what I can do.”
• • •
They put me in a holding cell at the far end of the hall—enough distance that the deputy supervising could pretend he hadn’t heard anything. According to his uniform, his last name was Graves and he looked nervous, but determined.
“Wait in here,” he said under his breath. “Two transfer officers will bring him in. We’ll give you about ten minutes, then I’ll notice the transfer officers made a mistake and come take you back out again. As far as we’re concerned, they got the wrong door and didn’t realize you were in there. You can’t kill him or cause new damage to his face, and if anyone asks it was self-defense.”
I nodded, wondering how much Coales had paid him. Graves might be doing it for free. He certainly had the motivation—law enforcement was a brotherhood, too. Stretching my neck, I paced the cell until I heard footsteps coming down the hallway, more than one set this time. Then the door opened and Marsh Jackson stumbled through, arms and legs chained for transfer. Nice touch, although I felt a little hurt that they thought I’d need the advantage.
“Hey, Marsh,” I said. He looked like shit, and not just because he’d sobered up. His nose was swollen, with bruising under both eyes. Probably broken. One of his hands was cut up, too, but beyond that he didn’t seem injured. Kind of surprised me—I’d have thought he’d go down fighting, and jacked up like that he’d be tough to take. On the other hand, they were the ones with the Tasers . . .
“Cooper,” he growled. He’d had enough time to come down off his high now, but not enough to rest and recover. Marsh Jackson was not a happy camper. “You talk to anyone else yet? They kept me in solitary all night. The Nighthawks should’ve sent a lawyer by now—they’d better have a good fucking excuse.”
“Yeah, about that,” I said, walking slowly toward him. “There’s gonna be a problem.”
Marsh’s eyes narrowed. “What the fuck? Did you talk to Talia? She’ll fix shit, you just have to give her the right orders.”
“Nope,” I told him, flexing my fingers. “But we got another issue. More important.”
“Nothing’s more important, you fucking—”
I slammed him into the concrete block wall, one arm across his throat, knocking the breath right out of his body. Then I let him choke out for a few seconds. Wanted to be sure he was paying attention.
“Time to listen up,” I said, my voice low. “You fucked up. You stole from the Reapers, and we don’t like that. Not even a little bit.”
“What?” he asked, rage flickering in his eyes. Wasn’t sure he quite understood the situation just yet, but he was pissed.
“My name is Gage. I’m a member of the Reapers MC and we’ve been watching you for a while. Here’s what happens next. First I’m gonna hurt you. I’d like to do more, but that would fuck up step two, which is the part where I walk out of here a free man while you sit and rot. Then I’ll go join the rest of my brothers and we’ll take back our town. Good story, isn’t it? I particularly like the happy ending.”
Marsh rattled the chains, glaring at me. “Big bad Reaper, beating up a man who can’t fight back. Nice.”
Then he spat in my face.
I blinked, offering a slow smile.
“Did Sadie fight back?” I asked softly. “Or was that one unfair, too?”
With that, I brought my knee up hard, slamming it into his crotch. Marsh bellowed in pain and I let him drop, enjoying the sight of him rolling around the floor. I stepped to the side and used the back of my hand to wipe the spit off my face. Then I kicked him in the lower back—kidney shot—and his body arched the other way. They’d said not to cause serious damage, but I wasn’t wearing my boots. He should be fine.
Or not.
Either way, I’d be out of here before they figured it out, and Coales could blackmail the guards into keeping their mouths shut. Gotta love the American justice system. I leaned back against the wall, relaxing but still alert in case he recovered. After long minutes, Marsh turned his head toward me, hatred burning deep and hot in his eyes.
Fair enough—the feeling was mutual.
“You’ll pay for this,” he spat out, blood on his lips. “You. The Nighthawks.