“I didn’t breathe a word of what happened. To anyone,” I add before Noctis can accuse me again. He grits his teeth, butTempest loops her arm through mine, daring him to challenge me.
“I believe her,” Adrian says, drawing Noctis’s attention.
“She does seem to be telling the truth,” Bane muses, his gaze sharp as it seems to pry into every corner of my mind. “Dominic?”
“The two of them have insane chemistry,” Dominic says, titling his head as he purses his lips. “And I don’t think they’ve fucked yet, so I believe her.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Tempest mutters. “Now that you lot have pulled your heads out of your asses, can we focus on the problem at hand? How the hell are we going to save Erik, Mavros, and my brother?”
My heart thunders in my ears as I watch each of them dip their head. My palms start to sweat as the silence stretches, making it clear there are no easy answers here. No quick fixes that can put everything back together.
“Even if I post bail,” Noctis says finally, his shoulders slumping, “they don’t have alibis. The arresting officers who took them in broke half a dozen laws, and I know for a fact the scene’s been wiped clean, but they’re still being held. The judge already signed off on a transfer downtown tomorrow morning.”
His eyes find mine again, still looking like a shark stuck on a blood trail. I don’t flinch, letting him see the storm of anguish swirling inside of me. Tempest squeezes my hand, loaning me her strength as I roll back my shoulders.
“I have a plan.”
32
EVIE
Tempest wastes no time driving us to the precinct, despite the late hour. The hum of motorcycle engines trails close behind as we pull into the nearly vacant lot. A brick building stretches before us, framed by swaying palm trees. A gentle, foreboding breeze sends a chill down my spine as I step out of the car and into the night.
Silence descends when Noctis, Bane, Adrian, and Dominic join us at the concrete stairs, all of us staring up at the looming windows veiled by closed blinds.
“Are you sure about this?” Tempest asks, but we both know there’s no other option.
Without answering, I pad up the cracked steps and enter. Flickering fluorescent lights buzz overhead as I pass through the monotoned lobby toward the front desk, where two men are talking. A large screen with a rotating camera feed hangs on the wall behind them. I allow myself a moment to search, but find no trace of my demon among the holding cells.
The first man to look up is a middle-aged officer with a permanent sneer and a bald spot poorly concealed by a greasy combover. He nods along as the elderly man in front of himfinishes speaking. The man’s tailored black slacks and polished shoes spark a flicker of unease, tugging at something in the back of my mind.
“Father Michael?” I gasp, stomach twisting as recognition slams into me.
His sharp eyes snap to mine, shrewd and calculating. I wring my fingers as he rises, peering down at me. His once-dark hair has faded to grey around the temples, and his usual black jacket is replaced with a light blue polo, nearly the same shade as his eyes. A permanent orangey tan stains his skin, and there, embroidered on his left breast pocket, is the emblem of my family’s church: a pair of hands raised in supplication toward a rising sun.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, more to break the staring contest than anything else.
“I could ask you the same, Evie.” One bushy brow lifts just as the front door opens behind me, the soft tread of boots echoing across the tile. “It’s a shame I missed you at lunch this past weekend. My son recently returned from his travels and was promised a meeting with a good, upstanding woman. Jonathan assured me you would be there.”
Heat floods my cheeks as Father Michael’s gaze drifts past me, nostrils flaring. I don’t need to turn around to know what he’s looking at. Behind me are four of the deadliest men in the city, clad in motorcycle gear and covered in tattoos. The epitome of everything Father Michael has spent the last nineteen years warning me against.
“Jonathan came to me for guidance,” he continues, voice rising so the others can hear, his condemning gaze boring into mine. “He confided in me about your troubled past and is worried you’re being led astray once more.”
Shame pulses through my veins, each pump of my heart pushing more of the potent drug through my system. Because judging by the way Father Michael’s gaze dips to my chest andlingers, trailing down my body with slow appraisal, I already know my pervert half-brother supplied proof of my “troubled past.”
“There there, child,” Father Michael coos, a cold smile twisting his face as tears sting my eyes. “Come with me. I’ll return you to your father’s keeping and then Jonathan and I will purge whatever sin you’ve indulged in.”
“Get fucked, old man,” Tempest seethes, stepping beside me.
“Watch your mouth,” the officer snaps, pushing to his feet.
My gaze darts between Father Michael and the police officer, realizing just how weird it is to find a member of the church here. In a police precinct. Late at night.
I suck in a deep breath, not wanting to believe the obvious, but needing to speak the words aloud.
“Did Jonathan put you up to this?”
Father Michael’s lips press into a thin line as he lifts his chin. The look alone is all the confirmation I need. A door to the back office opens, and three more police officers emerge, looking ready to brawl at the slightest provocation, but I don’t shift my attention.
