Page 722 of The Tempted
Chapter Eighteen
Cracking mu knuckles, I step away from my bike and climb the steps of the precinct, throwing on my game face as I reach the top step. These fucking pigs want to play with us then bitch we’re going to play. I roll my neck, working out the stiffness as I prepare myself to face officer douchebag, Greg Brantley—the motherfucker who has a hard on for me since the day he first laid eyes on my first wife, Christine.
I push open the doors and stride into the police department, waiting for the bells and whistles to go off signaling my arrival but that shit doesn’t happen. I ignore the cop pushing paper at the front desk as my eyes scan the room searching out Brantley, knowing for sure he’s the one behind this bullshit.
“Can I help you?”
“Where’s Brantley?” I clip, pulling my shades down as my eyes drill holes into the female officer in front of me. She licked licks her lips as she stares at me for a moment,girl my people and your people don’t play nice together.
“I’ve got this, Bailey,” dickface croons as he makes his way toward me. “What’s the matter? Parrish having a mental breakdown so he sent you to bail his boys out?”
I flash him a smirk as I glance around the room.
“Everyone with a badge has a pair of balls,” I say, turning to Officer Bailey. “I’m sure even she has a set hidden somewhere,” I accuse before pinning my eyes back to Brantley. “Why don’t you bend over and show her where you tuck yours away.”
The grin on my face widens as a gasp escapes Bailey’s mouth and Brantley grounds his teeth.
“What’s the matter, Officer Bailey, you didn’t know Brantley over here is a pussy dressed in blue?”
“Keep talking, Petra and I’ll throw your ass in a cell too,” Brantley threatens.
“On the same fabricated charges you cuffed my brothers on?”
“We have a witness placing five men wearing the Satan’s Knights patch robbing J & G liquor store, nothing fabricated.”
I narrow my eyes, taking a step closer to him as I grind my teeth.
“You came charging into the Dog Pound and arrested five of my guys on petty larceny?”
I was two seconds away from snapping this motherfucker’s neck in front of the whole fucking precinct. Brantley smiled at me as he reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone. I debate popping a cap in the back of his head as he turns around and takes the call.
“Petra,” I hear Jones call and peel my eyes away from Brantley’s head and the vision of his brains splattered on the floor. I shake my head as I close the distance between me and Jones and I grab the front of his uniform.
“What the fuck, Jones?”
He glances over my shoulder and I followed his gaze toward Brantley, watching as he hurries out the front door of the precinct. I look back at Jones and shove him back, releasing my hold on him.
“I don’t give a fuck about that cunt. Now, I’m going to repeat the question one more fucking time,” I tell him, dropping my voice down to a whisper. “Club pays your ass a lot of money for things like this not to happen, so again…what the fuck, Jones?”
“I was on a domestic call when it came over the radio. I couldn’t fucking leave the call I was on to go to the clubhouse they’d fucking know I was in your pocket. I came here as soon as I could. He brought them in on bullshit charges, he keeps saying he’s got a witness but I’ve searched every fucking interrogation room and haven’t found anyone. I don’t know what he’s up to, but he’s up to something,” he mutters, taking another sweep of the busy room before tipping his chin toward the hallway. “Follow me and I’ll take you down to the holding cell before he gets back.”
I follow him down the narrow hallway, down three flights of stairs to the rat infested basement where the holding cells are. Before we even round the corner I hear them; Pipe, Wolf, Riggs, Bosco and another voice I couldn’t place.
“This is a bunch of bullshit, when I get out of here I’m suing the city,” Pipe hollers.
“Brantley you fuck, tell your mother to get the lube ready because I’m going to fuck her six ways to Sunday when I get out of here,” Wolf adds.
“Let me out! I’m not part of the cult. I don’t even have a tattoo. I’ve never owned a leather jacket in my life,” the unfamiliar voice whines.
“Keep talking. I’m going to tie this bitch up,” Riggs grunts.
“Ignore him,” Bosco mutters.
“Man, I’m itching to hit something so be careful who’s side you choose,” Riggs warns.
We round the corner, and I clear my throat, making my presence known to my men as my eyes zero in on the only one of the five that didn’t belong to me.
“What the fuck is he doing here?”
