Chapter 19 #2
I walked past him like he didn’t matter, sauntering over to the bag where I’d spent so many days working out my own issues. I could feel his eyes on me. I welcomed them. Every move I made, every step I took—it was all to create a calm around him.
I slipped out of my cut, dropping it to a nearby bench before I removed my hoodie too and picked up my gloves. Sutton was burning holes in my head as he stepped forward. The clomping of his boots hitting the linoleum floor rang out around as I untied the gloves and began to loosen them up.
“Now, I know you ain’t brought me here for no sparring, Tucker.” His smug smirk was evident, even without me looking up.
I huffed out a humorless laugh. “You don’t know shit, Howard.”
“You know I’m on duty, right?”
“Yep.”
“If I get a call, I’m outta here.”
“Yep.”
“I shouldn’t be here at all.”
“Nope.”
“But you told me it was important.”
I glanced up at him through hooded eyes, assessing at him from head to toe as I checked out what he was wearing. His uniform looked stiff and tired—a bit like its owner.
“Catch,” I said without warning as I launched my gloves through the air.
Gloves I’d never let any fucker slip their hands into before.
He caught them quickly, his eyes traveling up to me before he looked back down at them and raised both brows. “Tell me what’s happening here. ‘Cause it just looked like you handed me your gloves and now you’re asking me to wear them.”
“Exactly.”
“Why?”
“Just do it, Sutton.”
To my surprise, he did, and it didn’t take me long to help him tie them up and make sure he was fighting fit. Then I walked behind the bag and held it tight, silently inviting him to take his first hit.
He stared at me with uncertainty shining from his eyes.
“Hit the bag,” I ordered, low and calm.
“My momma was a good Christian woman. She hated evil, hated anything lawless. She hated violence, corruption, and spilling of blood. I wasn’t raised a fighter like you, Tucker.”
“You don’t need to be raised as something to become something,” I told him quietly as I stood there, unmoving. “All you need is a motive.”
“Just because I saved your life, it don’t mean you have to turn me into an animal. I have no desires to have the skull and hounds inked upon my skin any time soon. I’m a man of the law.”
“You’re also just a man,” I reminded him, raising my brows. “So hit the fucking bag.”
Blowing out all the air in his lungs, Sutton stood rigid, unable to gather any momentum in his hips as he threw his first weak-ass punch. The bag barely moved, but I made it sway more than it needed to for effect.
“Good,” I whispered. “Again.”
He repeated his move, sigh included. Sutton’s confusion was written all over his face as he stared at the same spot on the bag and tried not to ask too many questions.
“Tell me,” I started. “How has your morning been?”
Sutton straightened up immediately, his frown deepening as he glared at me. “Fuck off,” he pushed out.
“What?” I smirked.
“How has my morning been?” he repeated, eyes wide. “You’re scaring the shit out of me, Tucker.”
“Just answer the question, Sutton.” I tapped the bag with my hand and raised a brow.
Stepping forward, he braced himself, concentrated on his target spot and threw a hard right. It made the bag move, but not much. I had it gripped tight.
“The morning has been without trauma, events, or loss. I’ve made no arrests, charged no man or woman, chased no cars, but I did have a double espresso that made me buzz a little while.”
“Never had you down as an espresso man,” I muttered as he threw a left.
“Never had you down as a man for small talk.” His eyes met mine as he threw a three-punch combination.
My smirk grew as I watched him. He really was a cowboy—made for horseback and long-range shooting. His punching was fucking awful.
“Touché,” I grunted as he hit the bag again.
“So, how about you tell me why we’re performing this routine and let’s cut out the crap.”
I blew out a breath. “Sometimes things ain’t that easy.”
“No? Why not?”
“Because sometimes life can’t be all black and white. Sometimes there’s a gray area—a patch of gray with a hint of pink in it. That hint of pink you want to protect, keep sacred, keep safe.”
His lips parted as he looked at me while he swung his arm carelessly to the side of the bag. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I know.”
“Spit it out, Tucker.”
I felt the air get stuck at the back of my throat when I inhaled. “It’s about Sloane.”
“What about her?” He frowned harder, eyes back on the bag.
“I think…” I paused, trying to find my footing when my body and limbs suddenly felt real fucking unsure. “She was attacked, Chief.”
He stopped suddenly. The bag barely swung from the after-effects of his latest hit, but his body certainly did. Howard’s head shot up, his eyes disbelieving as he stared at me and swayed without control.
“W-what?” he barely whispered.
I cleared my throat, trying to stand strong. “Sloane. She was attacked, Howard.”
“Attacked?”
“Yeah.” I nodded once.
Sutton’s eyes searched mine wildly. The blood drained from his face, leaving him ghostly white as everything dropped south. His eyes dropped, his mouth hung, his heart fucking bled into his stomach. His balls hit the floor as the words I’d spoken seemed to echo around the training room on repeat.
She was attacked, Howard.
She was attacked, Howard.
She…
Was…
Attacked…
Howard.
“You’re lying,” he eventually muttered, eating up the silence and swallowing it as a lump of sharp, prominent fear in his throat.
I stepped out from behind the bag, still holding it as firmly as I could.
“I found her this morning, down on FM 667. I was on my way to a repo job with the boys. I was in the truck all alone.”
“No.”
“The boys went one way,” I continued, ignoring his interruption. “I went the other. You know how we like to race to our jobs when they eat into our Saturday mornings. I had the radio on. I was singing…”
“No.”
“I saw a figure on the roadside, all hunched and real scared looking, Sutton. It wasn’t until I got closer that I realized it was…”
“No.”
“Sloane,” I finished quietly.
His eyes were frantic, and his body was rigid as I took a step closer. “No,” he growled, tensing his jaw as denial hit him like a freight train.
“I pulled over. I made her look at me. She was covered in dirt, a little scratched up. She…” I sighed, remembering the look of fear in her eyes. “She looked scared, man. So I picked her up, put her in the truck and brought her back here to Ayda.”
“No.”
“I didn’t even call the boys to tell them where I was heading. All I could think about was Sloane. I needed to get her to Ayda. I needed someone else to tell me what had happened, ‘cause I was like you. I was all rage and red and bleeding and fucking screaming in my head.”
“Tucker. Stop.”
“But then Ayda got her in the room…”
“I said stop it,” he growled harder, more determined.
“And we cleaned her up.”
Sutton took a hard swing, smashing the bag all at once. “Stop!”
“We made sure she was okay. She was okay. But then she started talking, and even though I thought for a moment she was going to tell me that all my fears were nothing but fiction…”
“Don’t you fucking say it,” he snapped, smashing the bag again, forcing it into my stomach and forcing me to tense as I held on to it tight, eyes fixed on him.
“She said someone hurt her, Chief.”
His cry of “No,” came out like a desperate plea. His fist smashed into the bag one final time but didn’t swing away. Instead, it remained embedded into the leather before it slid down, down, down, down, following him as his knees buckled and his whole body crumpled to the floor…
While I looked on.
The bearer of bad news.
Useless. No longer a hero. Just a big, bad guy, telling a small, good guy that the one angelic thing in his life was now tainted with the harsh reality of life in Babylon.
“No,” he whispered, spit foaming between his lips as he fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
I swallowed hard, hating the way the shame tasted on the way down as I took a step closer.
“She…” Fuck. “She wasn’t raped, Howard.”
He stared at the floor for a while, not responding in any way. He was a man broken, wondering how to pick up his pieces and reform them to how they’d been just minutes ago. I was a man wondering how the fuck I could help him find some glue.
When he raised his eyes—when he looked up, and I saw the unshed tears there—the look he was wearing penetrated my fucking hard soul and reminded me that it had become soft.
“But she was violated,” I finished.
“Who?” he croaked, his voice angry and feral.
“We don’t know.” I shook my head.
“Who?” he demanded again, not believing me.
I crouched down, bouncing on bended knees as I let my hands hang between them and stared at him with all the honesty I possessed.
“We don’t know,” I repeated quietly—so quietly I made damn sure no more of my words would become an echo in this place. “But I can guarantee you one thing: whoever he is, he’s already dead.”
“Tucker?” he gasped.
“Yeah?”
“Death is too easy. You find them. You bring them to me.”
“Done.” I nodded.
“Now take me to my daughter.”