Chapter 7 - Tom
I'm doing seventy in a forty-five zone, sirens blaring, and all I can think is that I should never have left them alone.
My phone is clamped between my shoulder and ear, and Beast picks up on the second ring.
"Sheriff."
"Need you and whoever's available at my place. Now. Woman and child in danger. Suspect attempting forced entry."
Beast doesn't ask questions. That's one thing I appreciate about the motorcycle club. They understand urgency. "Five minutes. We're rolling."
He hangs up, and I toss the phone onto the passenger seat, gripping the steering wheel with both hands.
Five years in war zones. Fifteen years in the military. I've been shot at, blown up, seen things that would make most people shut down completely. But hearing that fear in Claire's voice does something to me that combat never did.
Because this isn't some abstract threat. This isn't an enemy soldier or a faceless insurgent. This is a man who hurt a woman I—
A woman under my protection. That's all. A woman and her child who need help.
I take the turn onto my street too fast, tires squealing. My house comes into view, and there's a black Mercedes parked in my driveway, driver's door still open like he couldn't be bothered to close it. Like he was in such a hurry to terrorize Claire that basic actions didn't matter.
And there he is. At my front door. Shoulder against it, slamming his weight into the frame. The door is holding. I reinforced it after a break-in attempt two years ago, but it won't hold forever.
I'm out of the car before it fully stops, weapon drawn.
"STEP AWAY FROM THE DOOR!"
The man turns, and I get my first look at him.
He's tall, well-built, wearing an expensive suit that probably costs more than my monthly salary. Dark hair slicked back, the kind of conventionally handsome that probably makes people overlook the cold calculation in his eyes. He looks at me, at my drawn weapon, and has the audacity to smile.
"You must be the sheriff." His voice is smooth, educated. The voice of someone used to talking his way out of things. "This is a misunderstanding. That's my girlfriend in there with my son. We had a little argument, and she overreacted. You know how women can be."
*You know how women can be.* Like we're just two guys dealing with an irrational woman. Like he didn't just try to break down my door while terrorizing the woman he supposedly cares about.
"I said step away from the door. Hands where I can see them."
"Now hold on—"
"Hands. Now." I move closer, weapon trained on his center mass. "Interlace your fingers behind your head."
His smile fades. "Do you know who I am?"
"Don't care. You're trespassing on my property and attempting forced entry. That makes you a suspect. Hands behind your head or I will put you on the ground."
For a moment, I think he's going to resist. I can see the calculation in his eyes, weighing his options, trying to figure out if he can talk or buy his way out of this.
He sees something on my face that changes his mind. His hands slowly rise, fingers interlacing behind his head.
"On your knees."
"This is ridiculous. I'm not some criminal—"
"You're breaking into my house. Get on your knees. Now."
He drops, and I can see the rage building beneath his smooth exterior. This is a man who doesn't like being told what to do. A man who's used to control, to having power, to getting his way.
Too fucking bad.
I holster my weapon and pull out my cuffs, keeping my knee in his back as I secure his wrists. He struggles slightly, but I've done this a thousand times. The cuffs click into place, tight enough to hold but not tight enough to cut off circulation.
"Claire!" I call out, not taking my attention off Derek. "It's Tom! You're safe! Stay in the bedroom until I tell you otherwise!"
No response, but I didn't expect one. She's probably terrified, holding Jackson, trying to keep him calm while her abuser kneels fifteen feet away.
Derek laughs. It's an ugly sound. "Claire. That's what she's calling herself now? You know that's not her real name, right?"
"Shut up."
"And Sheriff Tom. How noble." He's on his knees, hands cuffed behind him, but there's nothing submissive in his voice. He radiates menace. "Tell me, Sheriff, how long have you been fucking my girlfriend? Few days? Since she showed up in your little nowhere town?"
I tighten my grip on his shoulder, hard enough to make him wince. "One more word and you'll regret it."
"I'm just curious how a small-town sheriff ended up involved in my personal business." His voice drops, becomes softer, more dangerous. "Because this is personal business. A family matter. And you've inserted yourself where you don't belong."
The rumble of motorcycles cuts through the evening air. Three bikes, riding in formation, pulling up to my house. The engines cut simultaneously, and only two men dismount—Beast and Rage, tall and muscular, covered in tattoos, wearing the Savage Riders colors.
Beast takes in the scene with a single glance. "Sheriff."
"Appreciate you coming. This is Derek Voss. He was attempting to break into my home to get to a woman and child under my protection."
Rage's expression darkens. He's the quieter of the two, but there's something in his eyes that makes grown men nervous. "That right?"
"It's a misunderstanding," Derek tries, his voice losing some of its confidence now that he's looking at two MC members who probably outweigh him by a hundred pounds each. "My girlfriend overreacted to an argument—"
"Your ex-girlfriend," I correct. "The one with bruises on her arms. The one who ran across state lines to get away from you."
Beast cracks his knuckles. It's not a conscious gesture, just something he does when he's thinking. But Derek flinches at the sound.
"You boys want to take Mr. Voss for a ride?" I ask, pulling him to his feet. "I think he needs to understand a few things about Blackwater Falls. About what happens to men who beat women. About what happens to people who threaten our community."
"Would be our pleasure, Sheriff." Beast's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "We know a nice quiet place where we can have a conversation. Real educational."
"Now wait a minute—" Derek's starting to panic now, his smooth facade cracking. "You can't just hand me over to—to criminals! I have rights! I'll have your badge for this!"
"Criminals?" Rage speaks for the first time, his voice low and rough. "We're upstanding members of the community. The sheriff here can vouch for us. Right, Sheriff?"
"The Savage Riders MC have been instrumental in keeping the peace in Blackwater Falls," I say formally, even as I'm handing Derek over to Beast's grip. "They often assist with community outreach and education programs."
"Exactly," Beast says, taking Derek's arm in a hold that looks gentle but must hurt based on Derek's wince. "Education. That's what this is. Time for you to learn some lessons, Voss."
"You can't do this! I'm connected! I have lawyers! I have—"
"You have nothing here," I say, leaning in close enough that only he can hear.
"You're in my town now. My jurisdiction.
And you just threatened a woman and child, attempted to break into an officer's home, and made the mistake of thinking your money and connections mean a damn thing in Blackwater Falls. "
Beast and Rage start walking Derek toward the bikes. He's struggling now, but it's useless. These men have handled far worse than a violent drug dealer with a God complex.
"Time you learned why no one messes with Blackwater Falls," Beast says. "And what we do to men who put their hands on women. It's educational, like I said. Might be a little painful, but the best lessons usually are."
"You're going to regret this!" Derek shouts at me as they load him onto the back of Beast's bike. "All of you! I'll bury this whole town!"
"Good luck with that," Rage mutters, securing him in place, “We’ll come back for his car later.”
I watch them ride off, Derek's shouts fading into the distance. I should feel guilty. Should worry about the legality of what I just did, about the potential fallout, about crossing lines that sheriffs aren't supposed to cross.
But I don't. All I feel is satisfaction.
The MC won't kill him. We have an understanding about that. But they will make sure he understands exactly what kind of pain he caused. Will make sure he thinks twice before coming back to Blackwater Falls or anywhere near Claire and Jackson.
Sometimes the law isn't enough. Sometimes you need something more direct.
I walk to the front door and unlock it with hands that are steadier now. It swings open, revealing my living room exactly as I left it, except the door frame is cracked where Derek tried to force his way through.
I'll fix that. Tomorrow, or the next day. Right now, I have more important things to worry about.
"Claire?" I call out. "He's gone. You're safe. It's just me."
Silence. Then, barely audible: "Is he really gone?"
"He's gone. Some friends of mine are making sure he understands he's not welcome in Blackwater Falls. He won't be back. I promise you that."
I hear the bedroom lock click, then the door opens slowly. Claire appears in the hallway, Jackson clutched in her arms, both of them pale and shaking. Her eyes are red from crying, her whole body trembling.
"Tom." My name comes out as a sob.
I cross the distance between us in three strides, and before I can think about whether it's appropriate, whether I should keep professional distance, I pull them both into my arms.
Claire collapses against my chest, and I can feel her shaking, feel the adrenaline and terror working its way out of her system. Jackson is crying quietly, his face buried in his mother's shoulder.
"You're safe," I murmur, one hand on Claire's back, the other gently touching Jackson's head. "I've got you. Both of you. You're safe."
"How did he find me?" Her voice is muffled against my shirt. "I was so careful. I used cash, I didn't tell anyone, I—"
"We'll figure it out. But right now, you're safe. That's what matters."