55. Thatcher #3
I drive my knee toward his groin. He shifts, takes it on the thigh instead, and uses my momentum to spin me around. His arm locks around my throat from behind—not choking, just holding. Controlling.
“I would have let you suck my cock,” he breathes against my ear. “Then sent you home none the wiser. But you just had to keep pushing.”
“That’s what cops do.” I stomp down on his instep. He grunts, his grip loosening just enough for me to drive my elbow back into his solar plexus.
He releases me. I stagger forward, spinning to face him.
We’re both breathing hard now. There’s blood on his lip where I must have caught him—I don’t remember doing it, but I’ll take the win.
“Stand down, Deputy.” Rooke’s wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, but he’s smiling, the demented fuck. “You’re outmatched, and about thirty seconds away from being unconscious.”
“Don’t forget outgunned and outnumbered, Rooke.”
The voice comes from behind me.
I half-turn to see Kai and Haven emerge from a different area of the house like ghosts. Kai’s limping, and Haven looks like she hasn’t slept in days.
They look like hell.
But Kai’s pointing a gun at me, so I don’t feel all that sympathetic.
“Well, fuck.” I let out a humorless laugh. “Gang’s all here, huh?”
The bags make sense now. I caught them about to flee.
If I’d just gone along with Rooke’s demands, would they have let me go?
“You don’t understand—“ Haven says.
“Oh, I understand plenty.” I’m backing toward the door now, trying to keep all three of them in sight. “Homicide at the Jordan residence? Let me guess—Thanksgiving dinner didn’t go as planned?”
Kai’s frown hardens, a tic starting up in his jaw.
Bingo.
“Good luck proving it,” he says.
“I don’t need luck.” My hand finds the doorknob. If I can just get to my cruiser, get to my gun, get backup on the line—
“Alexa, lock the front door.”
I hear the click behind me, but I’m desperate enough to believe it’ll still open. I lunge for it, but Rooke catches me before I can turn the handle.
His body slams into mine, pinning me against the door. For one disorienting moment, we’re pressed together, his breath hot on my face, his dark eyes boring into mine.
“Forget everything, and I’ll let you walk away,” he murmurs. “I’ll make it worth your while. You’ll never have to put on a uniform again.”
“I like my uniform,” I lie.
He presses his forearm to my throat. “Everyone’s for sale.”
“Not me.”
Rooke shows me his teeth. “Name your price, Fox.”
“The three of you.” I pause—not to be dramatic, but because Rooke’s forearm is turning breathing into hard labor. “With me.” Another haggard breath. “In that cruiser. Down to the station.”
“Christ,” Rooke mutters, his gaze dropping to my mouth like he can’t decide if he wants to kiss me or knock out my teeth.
Instead, he rams his knee between my legs.
I go down with a mortal groan as pain obliterates my vision, my balance, and my fucking pride.
Rooke crouches at my side, grabs my shoulder, and hauls me onto my back.
“Ten million,” he says.
“Fuck you,” I grit out.
“Christ,” he says again. “Ten million not enough for you?”
“You know what I want, Bastian?” I struggle to sit up, but he grabs my throat and pushes me down again.
“I want to see bad people get punished. I want to see the families of the people they hurt get closure. I want the world to be a safe, happy fucking place for everyone…and the only way that’s going to happen is if people like you are behind bars. ”
Rooke’s eyes stay fixed on mine through my entire breathless monologue. He shakes his head, glancing across the room at Kai and Haven before looking back at me.
“We can’t all have what we want, Fox,” he says.
He slams his fist into my temple.
Stars. More pain. The world tilts under me like I’m on the deck of a ship.
My radio is still crackling, but it sounds far away, like someone’s dropped it underwater.
“Kai.” Rooke’s calm voice drifts in from all directions. “Help me move the body.”
My head is swimming, thoughts muddled with memories, all slowly being swallowed by the numbness creeping up my limbs.
Wait…what body?
My body?
A silhouette appears. It might be Kai.
I try to fight.
Try to swing, to kick, to do something other than lie there like a nearly-dead thing.
But my limbs won’t cooperate, and the darkness is rushing in from the edges, white-hot and icy at the same time.
Hands grab my ankles. More slide in under my armpits.
A third figure materializes from the dark.
“I’m sorry,” Haven whispers, her big, blue eyes etched with concern. “I’m so sorry.”
“You and me both, rabbit.”
I’m not sure if I actually speak, or just think the words in my head.
Does it matter?
The pain, the light, all thought is receding.
I’ve been knocked out before, but this feels…different.
Maybe because the voice has finally gone quiet.
So fucking quiet.
A part of me hopes it’s over.
After years of fighting, I’m bone tired.
But the part that keeps me up at night, that makes me suspicious of everyone and paranoid about everything, that hates the snow…that part isn’t done fighting.
I try to cling on to consciousness, try to push back the dark.
But it swallows me whole.