Chapter 32
Ada
You know those old cowboy movies where everyone’s side-eyeing each other in the saloon, waiting for the first pistol to be drawn?
That’s what this event feels like. Only, instead of a dusty bar, I’m in a beautiful garden, surrounded by rose bushes and fountains, adding an uncanny air to the tension, which is so thick you could carve it with a knife.
Cece, Davis, Betty, Gavin, Jake, and I are sitting on lawn chairs with a bottle of prosecco, watching the sun begin its descent. We should be celebrating, or at least relaxing, but all around us are groups of extremely nervous people.
Some of it is fallout from Cece’s outburst; some is Rhys-related, what with Betty here. But I’d say the majority is that everyone knows the cops have contacted Thrasher and his boys, and since none of them are in custody, the threat of arrest is just… hovering.
Shannon Strom is less than twelve feet away, watching my every move. I’m not scared, not with Jake and Davis so close, but it’s like trying to relax beside a loose tarantula.
“You okay, baby?” Jake asks for the thousandth time. “We can go if you want?”
I shake my head. Every atom in my body is telling me to wait. Last night the Thompson crew was coked up, and violence seemed imminent. It’s harder to be scared at a garden party, and after Cece’s little performance, I feel entitled to see this through. Stay for the fireworks, if they’re coming.
“Great song by the way,” Betty says, raising her glass to me.
“Thanks. I’m sure Rhys would have preferred Motorhead, but I can’t really do that on the flute.”
That wins me a round of laughter. I smile, my every nerve humming. Today was my first performance in more than a year, and I’d forgotten the adrenaline high. I’m sure I’ll crash in an hour or so, but right now I’m hopped up like a frog.
“You were perfect on stage,” Jake whispers in my ear. “I loved seeing you up there.”
I smile and look down at my left hand.
It was strange to play with my engagement ring on.
Feel its weight. See its scarlet as my fingers moved on the keys.
The way your hands hold a flute, my new ruby will flash in my face every time I play.
But that’s not sacrifice. I like the crimson shine being there.
It reminded me I’m not alone anymore, even on stage.
But I can’t tell Jake that right now. He might cry, and that would break the scary rugby man kayfabe he’s adopted, even as we pretend to enjoy ourselves.
I’m just about to suggest heading inside for some food when the asshole of the hour comes barrelling toward us like a missile.
“Cece Taylor!” Thrasher bellows. “I want a fuckin’ word!”
Cece and I exchange a look of alarm. Out of everyone here, she’s the last person I’d expect him to come gunning for. Well, her or Gavin…
Jake and Davis rise as one, shoulder-to-shoulder in front of Cece.
“Back it up,” Davis barks.
Thrasher ignores him, his gaze locked on Cece. “Jenny’s crying her eyes out in the bathroom because of you.”
I flash back to last night, Jenny flirting her tits off with Thrasher and Tristan. I guess that earned her this little act of chivalry.
“So?” Cece replies.
“So, what’s wrong with you?” Thrasher says. “This is supposed to be a nice fuckin’ party.”
“You’ve got balls, lecturing me on good behaviour,” Cece snaps, stepping around Davis. “How’s Grace doing?”
Thrasher’s ruddy face darkens. “The fuck you say to me?”
“You heard me.” Cece points a finger at his face. “You should be ashamed of yourself. You and your sleazy mates. Hiding each other’s filth. Making this town toxic.”
Thrasher stumbles backward as I take my place at Cece’s side. “Fuck off, you idiot. Don’t make things worse for yourself.”
Thrasher’s mouth twists like a worm. “You.”
“Me,” I say with all the scorn I can muster.
He glances over his shoulder, but no cavalry rides in. Even Shannon stays where he is. And more than one person has their phone up, recording. Probably because Jake’s here, but still.
I gesture at Thrasher’s beard. “Still self-conscious about that chin, huh? What’s it even look like under that thing? Do you know?”
Thrasher opens his mouth, then glances at Jake, who stares stonily back. Thrasher doesn’t say a thing.
“Good choice,” I say. “Besides, calling me an ugly cunt again won’t give you a jawline, mate. That’s just not how it works.”
Cece and Betty laugh, and Thrasher’s face goes redder.
I know I’m being stupid, but I also know I’ve got my friends around me and everyone watching.
Once upon a time, Thrasher Thompson was the person who had a crew at his back, and he used it to shove me to the ground.
I might not want to crash-tackle Jenny Wallis anymore, but I don’t see any reason to play nice.
“Heard from the cops yet?” I ask. “Want you down at the station for a chat?”
Thrasher’s eyes flick to Jake again, and I mentally thank him for his silence. As much as I love his strength, it’s cathartic to talk shit to this man right now.
Thrasher glares. “None of this is gonna come to anything.”
“Oh, you mean the human trafficking on your farm?” I say loudly. “Yeah, nah, I think that’s gonna come to something. Same with the tax fraud, the money laundering, the fucked up parties, the—”
“Shut up,” Thrasher shouts, a fleck of spit flying from his face to mine.
I don’t move, and neither does anyone else. “It’s over. You’re fucked, and so is everyone tied to you. Every. Last. One.”
Thrasher’s flush deepens to purple. “You’ve got no proof.”
“Look in my eyes and tell me I don’t.”
He stares at me, and I see the exact moment he knows I’m right, and life as he knows it is over. I try to memorise every little detail as the man who terrorised me for almost two decades realises his future is crashing like a downed fighter plane.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, but fuck knows who he’s talking to. He’s just another cornered coward grasping at straws.
“Shove it up your ass,” I say. “Heard that’s a helpful skill where you’re headed.”
Jake’s warm hand closes around my shoulder. “Get out of here, Thompson.”
Thrasher doesn’t move. His eyes are slitted, chest heaving. Cece tenses beside me. Jake, too, and I push myself onto my toes because I know, we all know, this is about to go bad.
Then I see it. A flicker of blue moving across the lawn. One man. Two. Four men and two women, all wearing the navy uniform of the New Zealand Police, fanned out in formation and heading right for Thrasher.
“Fuck,” I say to Cece. “It’s the fuzz.”
“Timing,” she says back, her pretty face breaking into a huge smile.
Thrasher turns, just in time to come face-to-face with the lead officer. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and blue-eyed. I don’t recognise him, but I can guess his name. Bryan Ogilvy.
“Daniel Thompson.” Bryan’s voice is calm, but hard as nails. “You missed your appointment this morning.”
Thrasher’s beard twitches. “Told you I was busy, Og.”
“Busy? Like… you had to go to a party?”
“No. Well, yeah, but my lawyer—”
“That’s not how this works, mate. You agreed to a time, and you show up at that time, or we come get you. Now you’re gonna have to come with us back to the station. No ‘ifs’ or ‘buts.’”
Thrasher shifts from foot to foot, and the cops spread apart in anticipation.
“You don’t wanna run,” Jake warns from behind me. “It’s a cliché, but you’re pretty well surrounded.”
I glance around. He’s right. Davis and Jake are blocking one flank, and the cops have the other. Thrasher turns wildly, looking for allies that aren’t there. Instead, even more people have their phones up, and perhaps recognising the optics of all this, he raises his hands.
“Sorry,” he tells Bryan. “No hard feelings. I just got caught up, yeah? Important stuff. And I still need to call my lawyer.”
“Really?” Bryan repeats, unhooking his handcuffs from his belt. “Last I heard, you met with your lawyer this morning.”
I bite back a smile as Cece nudges my side, no doubt doing the same thing.
“Y’don’t need to cuff me,” Thrasher says. “I’ll go with you.”
“You will,” Bryan agrees. “Because that’s why we’re here. But failure to attend a police interview is an arresting offence, mate. And it’s no small thing you’re accused of.”
“But—”
“You’re pissing me off, Thompson. Turn around, or you’ll be made to turn around.”
“But what about…?”
“Your mates?” Bryan nods at two of the cops, and they break off in the direction of Shannon Strom and Xavier McColl. “Don’t worry. They’re coming, too.”
Thrasher’s head drops to his chest. “Bryan. Mate. This is a school thing. You were at school with us. Can’t I just—”
“No.” Bryan rattles his cuffs. “Turn and let me get these on you, or you’re officially resisting arrest. And I don’t think you want people filming when Merisiana tases you ’til you piss yourself.”
The female officer jiggles a little black device at Thrasher.
Thrasher’s jaw is tight as he turns, glaring daggers at me as Bryan cuffs him. I can’t help it, I stick my tongue out at him.
He lunges for me, eyes wild, and Bryan jams a knee into his back, dropping him like a stone.
“Daniel Thompson,” he says without a single change in tone. “You’re being detained for multiple offences, including failure to attend a mandatory police interview. You don’t have to make any statements, but anything you say will be recorded and may be given in evidence in court at a later date—”
“Oh Lord,” Cece whispers, as Bryan locks the cuffs closed on Thrasher’s wrists. “This is really happening...”
I nod in fascination as Bryan hauls Thrasher to his feet. “Not only is it happening, it’s the hottest police activity I’ve ever seen.”
“I can hear you,” Bryan says, turning Thrasher toward the car park.
“Yeah, you can,” I call after him. “Your wife’s a very lucky woman!”
Bryan shoots us a weary look as he guides Thrasher away.
“Watch it, Renaldo,” Jake mutters, but he doesn’t sound upset. How could he when there’s so much to take in?