12. Kai #3
“Have you been read your Miranda?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Have you made any statements to the police?”
“They’ve been questioning me for—“ I shrug, leaning forward so I can rub my eyelids. “Fuck knows. Hours.”
His mouth tightens with disapproval. “And you didn’t request counsel?”
“Why? I didn’t do anything—“
“Mr. Jordan.” He looks at me over his glasses like the stupidity of criminals never ceases to amaze him. “From this point forward, do not talk to anyone about the facts of this case except me. Are we clear?”
I nod. Then, because he’s still waiting for something else, mutter, “Crystal,” and rest my head in my propped-up hands.
“Good.” He stands. “I need to review the police report. I will be back momentarily.”
I glare after him.
All I can think is that Haven asked Rooke to help me. Still doesn’t explain what Rooke was doing there in the first place. The timing’s still too convenient.
More importantly, why the fuck would Rooke agree to help me?
It’s got to be a power play. A way to own me. To make me owe him.
…there’s my good boy…now swallow my load like the cum-hungry whore—
I cup my hands over my face, growling.
Minutes pass like years.
The lights don’t change. The smell doesn’t change.
My wrists are raw and stinging under the cuffs, and I’m so fucking tired I could pass out sitting up if my brain would just shut up for five goddamn seconds. Every time I shift, my orange jumpsuit rubs against my skin like sandpaper.
Barnes comes back with a uniform. Not Thatcher, which I can’t decide is good news or not. As the officer uncuffs me from the table, my alleged lawyer begins rattling off technicalities.
“You’re being held on suspicion of assault with a deadly weapon and a weapons charge on school property. These are serious felonies, but it’s still early. Charges can change once the prosecutor reviews everything.”
I know I’m supposed to be asking questions, but there’s dirty dishwater in the cavity where my brain used to be.
“You’re going to stay here at the station until they finish processing you, then they’ll decide whether to move you over to county. Don’t argue with the deputies, don’t talk about your case, and if anyone asks why you’re here, tell them you’re not discussing it.”
“Here,” I deadpan as the officer grabs my elbow and urges me to my feet so he can re-cuff my hands. “As in jail.”
“As in a holding cell.” Barnes smooths a hand down his tie. “Once I get the discovery, we’ll sit down and go through it line by line and decide our strategy.”
“Discovery…as in evidence? Because these—” I tug down the front of my county-issue jumpsuit in case he missed the bruises “—are from my girlfriend, not Melissa. It must be her blood under my nails, too.”
Barnes slowly closes his open mouth. “Your girlfriend did that?”
“Haven. Lee.” I swallow, glancing away. “She likes it rough. She’s the one who fucked up my arms and back, too.” I twist my arms to show him the scratches.
Barnes blinks slowly. “And she’ll consent to a DNA test?”
I say nothing, because I don’t know how the fuck I got blood on my hands Friday night. I’m sure I would have noticed something at the Airbnb if it had happened at the same time she’d scratched me.
“They treating you okay in here, Mr. Jordan?”
When I shrug, he eyes my split lip.
“Oh, yeah.” I finger the cut, wincing. “Campus security got handsy.”
The officer herds me to the door. Barnes stays behind in the office, squinting thoughtfully behind his glasses as he watches me leave.
“I’m doing everything in my power to get you released.” He trails off, glancing around the tiny, mildewy office like he’s already planning a long, thorough shower when he gets home. “You’ll be fine as long as you—“
“Shut the hell up,” I finish for him.
His sardonic smile matches mine. “Better late than never.”
I’m led down a hallway into a cell block. I’m alone, but only because I’m guessing they emptied the drunk tank earlier this morning. By midnight, this place will be jam-packed again with alcoholics, wife beaters, and DUI offenders waiting for blood results.
When the door clangs shut, I’m left with nothing but my thoughts. And they make for shit company.
Haven walked away. Nah, fuck that. She ran…straight into Rooke’s waiting arms. Who then hired me a lawyer? All while Melissa’s off somewhere telling everyone I did shit to her.
The thoughts loop.
Haven, Rooke, Melissa.
Then it’s just the thought of them. Together.
Because that’s worse than being accused of kidnapping and assault, or whatever fairy tale Melissa’s coked up mind came up with.
Because what if this is it? What if Haven’s chosen him over me?
What if I’ve already lost and I’m too stubborn to accept it?
I put my head in my hands and try to breathe through the panic fizzing in my veins.
Thought shit was bad last night, after me and Haven got in that fight. Meanwhile, that was me living my best life.
So what comes next?
I mean, I’m already in purgatory or whatever the fuck.
Haven leaving…
I’d take hell over this.
At least in hell, you know where you stand.
This? This is free fall.