Chapter 53 Rowan #2
Ash and Griffin are going to be so fucking pissed.
Let’s just hope this is all worth it. Whatever happens to me, as long as Mirabelle’s safe and alive, I think I can live with that.
The back of the cop car is just as uncomfortable as I imagined it would be.
I’ve imagined it plenty of times. I think part of me always thought I’d end up in one eventually, considering the family business and the fact I have literally nothing else going for me.
Everything is a fucking blur. I don’t even bother asking any questions. I know they won’t answer any.
It’s out of my hands now, I guess. The only thing I can do is pray that Mirabelle gets the medical care she needs and that Rage ends up okay.
God, I hope he didn’t lose his shit too badly.
“Rowan Mercer, you’re being charged as a conspirator to omega trafficking,” an older, squat alpha police officer says to me after my mugshots are taken.
“You—you know my name?” I say, my head jerking back in surprise.
“’Course we do. We took your father into custody weeks ago after your brother was found dead at a warehouse we raided,” the man sneers, getting in my face. “Now, you gonna talk about what you were doing with that poor omega found in that hotel room of yours?”
Well, I’m fucked.
They think I kidnapped her.
It’s an unsurprising deduction, but standing here in the police station, my hands cuffed behind my back as half a dozen jacked alpha cops glare at me, definitely makes the whole situation a hell of a lot more serious.
Me saying this is a misunderstanding, that she wanted to be with us, isn’t going to go over well. Especially if Mirabelle is still out of commission from those crazy seizures and her heat from hell. She won’t be able to confirm what I’m saying until she gets the help she needs.
“I think—I think I need a lawyer.”
The cop in charge here narrows his eyes on me and snarls like he’s sad he didn’t get to interrogate me himself.
“Fine then,” he says with a wave.
The cop still gripping my arm like he’s afraid I’m going to try bolting any minute, starts marching me towards another part of the police station. This place is fancy.
He wordlessly chains me to the chair in a small, empty interrogation room.
“Don’t I get a call, or something?” I mumble, when he moves to stand.
He shoots me a nasty look over his shoulder.
“No. Scum like you don’t get a call until you’re locked away. Wouldn’t want to risk you letting whatever network you’re working with know what’s going on.”
“I’m not working with a network.”
“Save it for the judge,” he says with a roll of his eyes before he slams the door shut.
And then I wait.
And wait.
And wait some more.
My head jolts up from the table when I hear the door open.
Damn, I left a bit of drool there. Embarrassing.
An older alpha with broad shoulders, red hair, and a frantic, exhausted sort of energy comes into the room. Papers are spilling out of his briefcase, and his cheeks are flushed like he just ran here.
“This is your public defender,” the cop who opened the door says with a shrug before closing the door.
Then the guy and I just stare at each other. There’s just something about him. I can’t put my finger on it, but he looks familiar. Have I met him before?
He stands, frozen, staring at me too. But he’s looking at me like he’s seen a ghost.
“What’re you looking at?” I ask, rubbing my mouth on my shoulder. Do I have drool stuck to my face or something?
“Forgive me,” he says, shaking his head. “But what do you know about your mother?”
I’m doomed.
I’m going to be locked away for the rest of my fucking life.
What the hell is a lawyer doing asking me about my mom?
“What the hell kinda question is that?” I ask, shaking my head in bewilderment. “You’re supposed to help me get out of this mess. How is that relevant?”
The lawyer’s shoulders slump forward, and he looks crestfallen as he makes his way to the plastic chair across the table from me.
There’s that strange sense of deja vu again. Like I’ve seen that look before.
But where?
Something twists in my gut.
Something is off about this situation.
“Sorry, I just—I just—“ He sets his briefcase down on the table, riffling through a bunch of papers like he’s trying to gather his thoughts.
I know my life is basically in his hands, but I feel bad for the guy. If the dark circles under his eyes are any indication, the guy’s being worked to the bone.
“My mom left me when I was a kid. Haven’t seen her since,” I answer, leaning back in my chair. I shrug my shoulders, trying to ease the ache from having them behind my back for so long.
The lawyer in front of me bursts into outright sobs.
It’s starting to freak me out.
One, because an alpha crying is a sight I’m unfamiliar with. Two, because, again, my life is in his hands and his ability to make a strong case that I’m not a terrible omega trafficker.
“I’m sorry... sir,” I say, trying to figure out how to get him to calm down. “But what’s going on?”
The lawyer takes a deep, shaky breath before nodding.
“Sorry, so sorry.” He clears his throat. “You—you look just like the photo my wife keeps of her old son.”
My blood turns to fucking ice.
What. The. Fuck?
The lawyer blinks at me hopefully. “She never told me your name, but she kept your picture with her all these years. Is your mother’s name Ruby?”
My brain feels like it shatters into a million fucking pieces.
That name. That fucking name. It unlocks memories I haven’t thought of in years. Memories of my mother crying. Of my father yelling that name. Roaring it through that fucking house.
“She’s—she’s alive?”
And married to this guy now?
I look at him through a new lens. I never knew what happened to my mother. But she somehow ended up on the Northside, married to this guy.
He’s an alpha. But... a weepy one? Would an alpha who’s crying like this guy abuse my mom like my father did?
For my mom’s sake, I hope this guy is as harmless as he seems right now.
“Oh my goodness, I’m a mess,” the lawyer says, pulling out a handkerchief from his suit pocket and wiping at his face. “I’m so sorry, son, I just—one thing Ruby and I bonded over when I first courted her was our missing children.”
There’s that feeling.
That feeling that I’m still missing a gigantic piece of the picture. Even though I just found out something actually insane.
“What happened to your kid?”
“I had a daughter,” he says sadly, finally seeming to regain some of his composure. “But she was kidnapped fifteen years ago.”
Holy shit.
Holy fucking shit.
I know the answer to my question before i even ask it. But I need to hear him say it.
“What’s your daughter’s name?”
“No one’s asked me that in a really long time,” he says, smiling wistfully. It’s the smile of a sad, loving father. “Mirabelle. Her name is Mirabelle.”
I let out a sharp exhale, a bark of incredulous laughter leaving my chest.
“Well then, Mr....”
“You can call me Mr. Hollis.”
“Well then, Mr. Hollis, do I have news for you.”