Chapter 6 #2
“What the hell?” I try to yank on the cuffs, and the sickeningly familiar position of having my hands tied behind my back rings a bell of the worst kind in my head.
He opens the back door of the cruiser and shoves me inside.
“Ouch!” I yelp, hitting my forehead on the way in.
That’ll bruise. He gets in himself and peels away from the curb.
“You’ve gone too far this time, Jake,” I hiss as I try to find a more comfortable position—not exactly an easy feat with my hands tied behind my back.
It was something I learned weeks ago, a memory I try hard to shove down dragged to the surface now.
“Ever heard of Miranda rights? Or, I don’t know, unlawful arrest? They do teach you this shit, right?”
He doesn’t utter a word, which is eerily unlike him.
I lean back and try to bring my racing pulse down—I haven’t been in the back seat of a cop car in years.
That was back when I was a teenager, and for something I didn’t do.
Before Kenneth, Alex’s brother, became the sheriff, we had a very old dude with very conservative views who believed that a woman’s place was barefoot in the kitchen with a swollen belly.
He was also a strong believer in rich white people ruling the world.
He took pleasure in blaming every single mishap in town on the closest available person of color or anyone under the poverty line.
So yeah, I’ve been in the back seat of a cop cruiser quite a few times during my teenage years simply by being born poor rather than rich.
Pulling up to the station, he gets out and opens the door for me without a word.
I climb out, nearly falling on my ass in the process, but he grabs my elbow, squeezing it hard.
I clench my teeth to avoid showing how much it friggin’ hurts.
Once steady, I yank my arms away from him and start walking to the entrance.
The station is quiet. Besides Sheriff Kenneth Benson, there is one more deputy, Jennica, easily recognized by her glowing brown skin and wavy black hair, always pulled into a low ponytail when she’s on duty.
I pray she’s here today so she can help me, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone else here. I’m on my own.
Jake grabs my cuffed wrists and walks me to the cell. Well, more like pushes me. He takes the cuffs off as he propels me inside.
“Really?” I snap at him.
“It will teach you how to talk to an officer of the law.”
“You’re no officer ,” I sneer, rubbing my wrists. “You’re a pathetic parody of one, and I will not let this one slide, Jake. Not this one.” Being tied-slash-cuffed twice in the span of only a handful of weeks is two times too many if you ask me.
The cell is standard, ten-by-ten maybe, with one cot.
Look at me: placed into solitary on my first stint.
I have no idea who’s been here before and whether they sanitized the facility or not.
I think I know the answer to that, and I cringe.
Not having any choice, I plant my ass on the cot and stew in my desire to rip Jake’s tiny dick into teeny-tiny pieces.
I’d feed them to him with a spoon. Maybe I’d save a couple shreds for Kenneth or Jennica when they show up.
They’d support me. Anyone with two brain cells can see him abusing his position, and between Kenneth trying to clean up after his predecessor’s corruption and set an example, and the realities of biased police misconduct that Jennica, as a person of color and a cop, knows better than anyone else, I can’t see this getting past them.
Hours pass by, and neither of them show. Why? I thought someone always must be on call at the station. What if there’s a robbery? Or a murder? Who is going to respond to the call?
I hear Jake’s muffled rumbling, realizing he must be talking on his phone, and I yell at him to give me some water at least. It’s been hours , and I can see the sun setting through the window.
So today’s only Jake’s shift. Awesome. The one day Kenneth and Jennica just decide to take the day off at the same time and leave Little Hope in the hands of the idiot.
They’d better be shagging somewhere because that would be the only reason I’d forgive them for abandoning the town to Jake.
“Hey!” A male baritone thunders through the station. Jake stops rambling. “Hey, anyone here?”
“What?” Jake comes out from behind his table and walks to the receptionist’s desk, currently sitting empty.
It’s been vacant for a few months now. I don’t know if it’s because there isn’t enough funding for hiring another person, or they simply can’t find anyone suitable.
I look at Jake. The bar is pretty low, so I’d go with the funding issue .
“Hey, Officer Attleborough,” the person says in a low voice accompanied by an exhale of adoration.
Uh, what? I shift closer to the bars so I can see the person.
Well, hello, Jonah . “I… umm… I need to get a stamp of approval for some work needing to be done on one of the properties.” Jonah owns a real estate agency in Springfield and helps our locals when they need real estate help.
As far as I know, he’s been branching out to other cities now too. Good for him.
“Go to the mayor’s office for that.” Jake is being his jerky self. A little too … jerky? He usually reserves that particular tone for yours truly. For the rest of the human population, he’s a sweet All-American boy everyone adores who can do no wrong.
“Already been there. I need police approval because we need to fix a part of the road in front of the house.” He’s fidgeting with the briefcase in his hands.
“Who’s paying for that?” Jake sounds like an old grump.
“As a matter of fact, I am. I’m planning on moving into this house.
” He laughs nervously. It’s adorable. We all know Jonah is gay; I remember when he came out, and everybody and their cat teased him about it.
The dude held firm in his beliefs and didn’t waiver, even when he got beaten up for liking somebody the local society deemed ‘wrong.’ I always respected him—he was a little different from the rest, just like I was.
But now, his nervous chuckles and constant fidgeting of his chocolate hair tells me a very sad story: Jonah has a crush on Jake.
This is so wrong. All that niceness is being wasted on this sorry excuse for a human being.
“Where’s the paperwork?” Jake snaps at him.
“Here.” Jonah shuffles through his black leather briefcase that looks out of place in Little Hope and pulls out a thick stack of papers.
“Leave them on the table. Sheriff Benson will look at them,” Jake says rudely without sparing him a glance. Oh yes, we all want Sheriff Benson to finally show his pretty face. The whole Benson bunch is pretty; it’s annoying, really.
“Oh. Okay.” Jonah sounds crestfallen, and I want to hug him to my chest and let him cry a river over this jerk.
“Hey, Jonah!” I exclaim from my cozy cell. His head whips around, looking for the source of the noise.
“Kayla?” He sounds confused when he finally notices me. “What are you doing in there?”
“Been asking myself that question since this morning.” I tap a finger on my knee.
“Do you… um… need anything?” He looks between Jake and me.
“To get out of here?” I suggest helpfully.
“Is that all?” Jake interjects with his ever-present snark.
“Yeah, that’s all.” Jonah’s helplessly looking at me, apologetically shrugging his shoulders.
“The door is that way.” Jake points to the entrance. Even from here, I can see the reddening of Jonah’s perfect cheekbones. He throws one last pitiful look at me and walks away.
There goes my last hope of getting out of here tonight before murdering someone in cold blood, because make no mistake—once I’m out, I’m chopping Jake’s liver into tiny pieces with a rusty fork.
JUSTIN
I park my truck and walk to Donna’s shop, hoping to get some coffee in me. I ended up crashing for fourteen hours; after a long sleep, my head is always groggy. Groggy when I sleep and groggy when I don’t. I just can’t win with my body.
Just as I pull the door of the coffee shop open, a big body slams into me, splashing hot coffee all over my front. “Fuck!” I yell and jump like I just stubbed my toe on a table.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Justin!” Jonah apologizes, trying to wipe coffee off me. Grabbing napkins from his hands, I dab them into the mess covering my entire chest. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!”
“Chill, it’s all good,” I tell him. Fuck, this day (technically, it’s the evening, but it’s been a day for me) already started badly, and now this.
“Sorry again. Can I buy you a coffee?” He offers, guilt rife in his gaze.
“No, man. But you need one.” I nod at what was his coffee, now splashed all over the sidewalk.
“Yeah, I need a new one,” he agrees sadly, wiping his face with his hands. The gesture of a tired man.
“Got some stuff going on?”
“Yeah, been trying to get a permit for my new house and all the remodeling but looks like all the legal forces in this town are against me.” He looks wiped out, and I can relate.
“Oh yeah, those people don’t like to approve anything,” I chuckle.
He laughs sardonically. “They sure don’t. Our law enforcement seemed a little edgy today too.”
“Ah, the cops. Yeah, Jake’s on duty today, and he has a stick up his ass recently, so your best bet is to wait for Kenneth to be on duty,” I respond while cleaning the mess. Was it a full damn gallon of coffee?
“Figured that much.” He nervously laughs again. “I guess Kayla got unlucky too. Just like me.” He chuckles, thoughtfully adding, “Well, not like me. At least I’m on this side of the bars.”
I freeze. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, I just saw Kayla Adams in jail,” he says, wiping the rest of the coffee from his pants.
“What?” I bellow, and Jonah takes a careful step back. I try to sound calmer. “What do you mean ‘in jail’?”