“They’re here,” Ham called out as he burst inside the clubhouse.

I was just sitting down at the bar to have a drink, given that I’d finally managed to delete my footprint and its links to my computer and move all my shit into Leo’s room. We’d set it up with games for Macy, and accounts and shit for the club so that for the most part, it simply looked like a normal family or business unit.

“Damn it,” I cursed, throwing back the entire beer that Jess had just handed me, knowing that I’d probably need it to get through the next few hours of having these dickheads rummaging through our shit. They’d never find anything, that was for fucking sure, but it was still gonna piss us all off to see them turn everything upside down, just like they’d done to X-Rated.

“They’re waiting at the gates, requesting you come out,” Ham added when Optimus got to his feet.

He rolled his eyes. “Of course they are, demanding fuckers.”

I slammed the beer bottle down and followed my president and brothers out the door, a sign of solidarity as we approached the gate where there were three police cars parked.

I saw Blizzard look sideways at Optimus. “There ain’t many of them,” he noted quietly.

He was right, three cars and six officers, including Deacon who had his shoulders squared and a sharp glare on his face as he stood behind the two detectives. Morris and Chapman, as they’d so elegantly introduced themselves to us at X-Rated, while they basically stripped searched us and destroyed our establishment. Morris was short and stubby, while Chapman was tall and lean. The perfect pair.

Optimus nodded to Ham to pull the gates open, and he ran forward, ducking into the gate booth. The large gates shook as they slid open slowly and we stepped in between them.

“Boys,” Morris greeted with a stern face, while Chapman couldn’t keep the smirk off his lips.

“Gonna hope that you have a search warrant, or I’m gonna have to ask you politely to leave,” Optimus threw back, crossing his arms over his chest.

Chapman stepped forward, but none of us backed down despite his purpose being to try and intimidate us. “We don’t have a search warrant…” he said, his eyes drifting over each of us as we stood together as a solid group. I was surprised but I tried not to let it show.

“Then I suggest you—”

His eyes finally settled on me and his smile grew wider. “But we do have an arrest warrant.”

I bared my teeth. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked harshly as he pulled his cuffs from his belt.

Morris stepped up beside him, thrusting a piece of paper into Optimus’ hands. His eyes quickly scanned it, Blizzard reading over his shoulder as I waited for this verdict.

“Fuck,” Optimus cursed. He waved the paper in the air. “This is fucking bullshit, and you know it! We can prove he didn’t do it.”

“What the hell is going on?” I demanded, looking between my president and the detectives.

“Ryan Taylor,” Chapman started, and I grimaced at my birth name, a name no one called me now except my sister. “You are under arrest for the murder of Peter Davenport…” The rest of the words all became one big blur, a blur I’d heard millions of times as he read me my rights. Even the feeling of the cuffs encasing my wrists was familiar, but one that made my gut sink and my temper to rise.

I looked over to Op and my brothers who watched on with deep frowns. Op had the papers clenched in his fist as though that was the only thing stopping him from throwing punches.

“We’ll meet you at the station,” Op said as he came forward, patting me on the shoulder and looking directly into his eyes. I knew what he was looking for, even though I’d been at the club that night he was killed, he needed to know that I didn’t leave at some point and do it. That I didn’t shoot the fuckhead. I knew, either way, he and the club would stand beside me, but first, it was a case of knowing just what they were dealing with.

I shook my head, letting him know it wasn’t me.

Whatever evidence they had been able to get an arrest warrant was absolute shit, and there had to be a way to fucking prove it.

Op nodded, hearing the words I didn’t say, as Chapman shoved me toward one of the police cruisers. I growled deep in my throat and jerked away while he placed his hand on my head to direct me inside.

Chapman chuckled. “Guess you’ve done this enough times, huh?” He laughed as he placed the seatbelt over my body and pulled back, slamming the door.

I looked out to my brothers, Optimus was already directing them to their bikes while Blizzard watched on, his cell to his ear and his mouth moving at rapid speed.

Morris climbed in the driver’s side and buckled himself up, as Chapman climbed in beside me in the backseat. “You have the right to remain silent and all that shit, but if there’s anything you need to tell us, we are totally willing to listen.” Morris grinned in the rear vision mirror as he started the engine and pulled away from the curb, the two other police cars following behind us.

“Yeah, I got a question actually,” I said, looking over at Chapman who was watching me with a smug smirk. “Can you suck my cock?” I asked him, enjoying the way his face dropped instantly.

Morris laughed, but Chapman was quick to retaliate, throwing his fist and connecting with my jaw. I immediately felt the copper taste of blood fill my mouth, and turned my head, spitting it against the window.

The gooey liquid swirled with crimson as it smeared down the window. Then I turned and looked back at him. “Did I hurt your feelings or some shit?”

This time he laid a punch, right in my ribs. I barely flinched, holding my muscles tight while I could see his face becoming redder and redder, frustrated that I wasn’t more broken. I was holding back fury of my own, knowing that I needed to keep calm and not be thrown off by these assholes.

I hadn’t done anything wrong, hadn’t touched that fucker, Davenport.

I had faith that my brothers would find the evidence that they needed. There had to be something in the clubhouse that pointed to me being there that night, and not at his place shooting him dead. No doubt, they were already on the phone to Sugar to get her to come in and make a statement—it was her I’d been with all night.

When we pulled up to the police station, my brothers weren’t far behind us, pulling their bikes up to the curb and jumping off. The cruiser door opened and I climbed out, Optimus taking one look at my split lip and turning his anger on Chapman.

“Ten fucking minutes in the car and he climbs out bleeding. Better have a good explanation.”

Chapman opened his mouth to defend himself as Matthew, the club lawyer, appeared, walking down the police steps.

“I second that,” he said sternly, looking at me for an answer.

I grinned. “I just asked him a question.”

Matthew rolled his eyes as Morris shoved me toward the station.

“Get this shit sorted,” I heard Optimus say from behind me.

“I’ll figure out what’s going on and let you know,” Matthew assured him.

The police station was reasonably empty as they booked me in at the front desk and then led me through to one of the interview rooms that I knew so well. They un-cuffed me before pressing on my shoulders and forcing me into a rickety old chair. I huffed in annoyance and rubbed at the red marks around my wrists.

Matthew took a seat beside me, his briefcase landing on the table with a loud thump. “I’d like to see the warrant.”

The officer standing by the door placed some papers on the table and Matthew grabbed hold of the papers, dragging them over to his side of the desk. Both Morris and Chapman took seats at the table, lounging casually as Matthew scanned the papers.

After a few minutes, he finally spoke, placing the papers down on the table. “Okay, so you say there was reasonable evidence? What is it?”

Morris turned his gaze to mine. “You ever been to Peter Davenport’s house, Mr. Taylor?”

I clenched my jaw and pursed my lips. “Yeah, once.”

“When was this?” he asked, picking up a pen and scribbling on the notepad in front of him.

“Last week,” I answered honestly. “He was harassing my woman. I went around with my president and VP to tell him to back off.”

More scribbling.

“Did you just barge right on in?” Chapman jumped in, drawing my eyes to him.

“No. I was polite as fuck and knocked,” I told him seriously.

“And what did you say to him after he presumably opened the door?”

I rolled my eyes. “What I just fucking told you… to back the fuck off my girl and leave her alone.”

Chapman smirked. “You mean his wife, right? Annabelle Sullivan?”

“I think we all know exactly who’s being discuss here,” Matthew interjected impatiently. “Make your damn point.”

Morris looked over at the officer standing by the door and gave him a nod. The officer ducked out of the room. “So you didn’t touch the door at all, other than to knock,” Morris stated, turning his stupid smug face back to us.

“No. I knocked, he opened it, we had our say then he slammed the door in my face. Happy?”

The door opened again, and a large evidence bag was placed on the table in front of us. I leaned forward, trying to figure out what the hell was inside.

“If that’s true, then why are your fingerprints on Peter Davenport’s door handle?” Chapman asked, leaning back and linking his fingers together behind his head. “You just admitted that you’d only been there one time, and during that time you didn’t open the door, you only knocked.”

I studied the object. For a moment I was confused. I hadn’t touched fucking Davenport’s door handle, hadn’t tried to open it or fucking anything.

But then I remembered…

Morris nodded. “Which means you must have been there another day… or night.”

“There’s one thing wrong with your theory, boys,” I stated with a laugh.

Chapman’s face dropped quickly, and he leaned forward like he was ready to bite my fucking head off. “And what might that be?”

“That ain’t Peter Davenport’s door handle.” Even as I said the words, the reality of what was really going on kicked in and my gut leaped up into my throat. “It’s Eric Deanwell’s.”