Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 61723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Sheriff finally decided to show up. As much money as the Kings pour into the district he should come when we call and a hell of a lot faster than this.
“Looks like someone called it in,” I share.
Lucy stiffens. “The police?”
“Probably sheriff’s deputy. He’ll see a drunk asshole in the road and hear whatever story dipshit and Roger tries to tell him.”
Her eyes widen. “Am I in trouble?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you were in your home and he wasn’t invited. Because half the road probably heard him yelling. Because if the deputy around here is half awake, he already knows who the problem is. And because I’m a King and he knows what is expected.”
She chews her bottom lip. I try not to notice.
“You still need to talk to him,” I state. “Tell the truth. Keep it simple.”
She nods once, then frowns. “What about your prospect?”
“He’ll disappear before the deputy makes it to the porch. His only job is to make sure Roger is secured in cuffs in the back of the car first.”
“Can he do that?”
“He better.”
That nearly gets another laugh out of her. The knock comes a second later.
I stand. “Stay here.”
She opens her mouth like she wants to argue, then seems to remember the last ten minutes and wisely doesn’t. I open the door to find Deputy Mills on the stoop, belly hanging over his belt, flashlight clipped at his shoulder though the porch light’s doing all the work. He glances at me, then past me into the house.
“Well,” he greets. “Looks like I’m late to the party.”
“No party,” I reply dryly.
His gaze flicks toward the street where Roger, has managed to sit up against the curb, swearing at the night while he fights the cuffs. Prospect is nowhere in sight. Good.
Mills sighs. “That him?”
“Unfortunately.”
Lucy steps up beside me before I can answer, robe wrapped tight and face pale but steady. I drape my arm around her shoulders pulling her against me.
“He came to my door drunk,” she begins. “I told him to leave. He wouldn’t.”
Mills nods like none of this surprises him. “Ma’am, you want to press trespass?”
Lucy hesitates. I can feel it. Years of second-guessing. Of minimizing. Of wondering whether it’s worth making things worse. Then her chin lifts. “Yes.”
Good girl.
Mills pulls out a small pad and starts scribbling. “I’ll have a word with him. Might cool his heels overnight.”
“Sounds restful,” I mutter.
Mills gives me a tired look. “You wanna tell me why he’s in the street instead of on the porch?”
“Not particularly.”
Lucy makes a strangled sound that might be a laugh.
Mills ignores me on principle. “Ma’am, you all right?”
“Yes.”
He studies her another second, then nods. “All right. Stay inside. I’ll sort it.”
He heads back down the steps, and I close the door again once he’s gone.
Lucy turns to me slowly. “You really just said not particularly to a cop. Tucker, I don’t think that’s legal.”
“First, I live by a code, not a man made law. Second, I didn’t lie because I don’t lie. Sometimes the truth hurts. If I gave him the truth, the next trespass order might be against me. I was wrong, I worked that shit out with you. But I don’t need a cop with time on his hands reading into some shit or Roger having an attorney dig in and find some shit that fucks up the legalities of what is about to happen to the drunk asshole on the curb.”
Her eyes close briefly like she’s deciding whether to be appalled or amused. “Unbelievable.”
“I’ve been called worse.” That gets me a real look.
And in it, I catch the moment the edge of terror finally starts to wear off. Not all the way. She’s still shaken. Still pale. But the worst of it passed somewhere between me checking on Quinn and her hearing me admit she had every right to be pissed.
I move back toward the chair but don’t sit this time. “Now the trash has been taken out,” I say quietly. “You can rest easy.”
She lets out a breath that sounds almost like defeat. “I don’t even know what that means anymore.”
The honesty in it hits hard. I lean one shoulder against the wall, giving her space and not enough space all at once. “Means tonight’s over.”
“What about tomorrow?”
“We deal with tomorrow, when tomorrow comes.” She looks up at me.
“You say that like it’s simple.”
“It can be.”
She gives me a stern look. “For you maybe.”
“No.” I shake my head. “For you too.”
She studies me, doubtful.
I don’t blame her. There’s a lot she doesn’t know about me. About the club. About what we can do when we decide someone’s become a problem. And I’m not about to dump all that on her tonight.
Instead, I go with the truth she needs most.
“Roger doesn’t get to show up drunk and scare you in your own home. Not anymore.”