Page 58 of Other Woman Drama


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My guess, Special Agent Moran was former Kilgore Police Department Officer Moran’s father.

“Sure, everyone’s does,” he countered and I heard something crunch.

I didn’t have to look over to know that it was my brand-new phone.

“Oh, whoopsie,” I heard Moran say.

This bitch.

“Well take me in, then, so I can call my lawyer,” I said.

I could feel my face aching from where they’d practically ground it into the concrete.

No doubt I’d have a bruise and some scratches tomorrow.

“Lawyer, right…” FBI douche number two snorted. “We’ll get you to the station and we’ll figure out the rest from there.”

Meaning, I’d be sitting there for a really long time.

Nice.

The final straw was watching them “accidentally” knocking over my bike and causing the cookies to spill out all over the ground.

Mother. Fucker.

My mouth did, however, twitch up into a smile when I heard bikes coming.

Apollo was the one to manage the security on my shop—as well as multiple other Truth Teller-owned businesses—he’d probably known within two minutes that something was going on at my place out of character.

“Oh, shit,” I heard one of them grumble. “Shane, call it in.”

Shane was actually douche number three.

He had his phone out and he was calling in backup within seconds.

Except my guys weren’t stupid.

Even though they could overwhelm these four imbeciles, they didn’t.

They chose to pull up to the side of my shop and watch.

Cakes, Cutter, and Copper.

All three of them stayed on their bikes, but watched as the FBI agents shoved me into the vehicle.

I felt the hot drip of blood run down the length of my cheek and growled out in frustration. “Call Malone.”

I should’ve also said “call Silver and tell her what happened” but I was roughly shoved into the back seat of the cruiser and the door slammed shut before I could.

I watched as the three FBI agents pointed at the angry bikers that I called friends, likely telling them that they needed to leave.

Except for none of them moved, their intentions clear.

They weren’t leaving, no matter what the agents said.

I also saw the bitch Moran standing up by the open bay doors and had a feeling that I needed to get one of them to close the doors.

With no other choice, I knocked on the glass with my forehead, smearing blood and sweat on the glass, catching my friends’ attention.