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THAT DAY AND THE NEXT two, Saks didn’t get a text from Chrissy. At first it soured his mood, and he spent lunches and nights after work at the Red Bull while his cousins gave him disapproving glares as he downed too many beers. They sent him home in an Uber the night before, forcing his bike to spend the night in their parking lot. Again.
She’d told him to let the hunt begin. How was he supposed to do that? And he wasn’t going to chase after her like a desperate man—even if he felt like one.
Thursday at lunch, he took a taxi to get his bike at the Red Bull. Emily wasn’t in the shop and Luke was alone, manning the fort. Saks intended to down a beer and a plate of wings, then ride back to work.
He sat at the bar, though, and stared at his beer. The wings just didn’t taste good, and the beer felt flat in his mouth. He pushed the plate away. Was he seriously this depressed over a woman? Or the fact that his family was trying to control his life?
“Anything wrong?” Sheldon asked, drying a glass and setting it on the shelf.
Yes. My whole freaking life. “No.” He sighed.
“I’ve never known you to push away a plate of my wings.”
Saks shrugged his shoulders. “There’s always a first.”
“Does this have anything to do with a certain blonde?”
“No,” Saks growled. He pushed the beer back at Sheldon. “Get me something that doesn’t taste like warm tea.”
“Are you driving?”
Saks nodded. “Picking up my bike from last night.”
“Why bother? You’ll only be back here tonight.”
Saks saluted his cousin with his middle finger. “I can take my money elsewhere.”
“Sure you can. But there’s no place else you can run a perpetual tab. When’s your next paycheck? I want to get a piece of that.”
“Give me the damn beer.”
“You’ve had enough,” Sheldon said. “So, no.” When Saks scoffed, Sheldon gave him a look. “I’d think you’d be more concerned about meeting the Serafina girl.”
“Really? You want to go there? Now? As if my day wasn’t going badly enough.”
“It’s your life, man.” Sheldon shuffled to another customer, and Saks sighed. There was nothing to ease the irritation in his gut, his heart, or soul. He’d never let a woman get under his skin like this, and damn it, after one night Chrissy wormed her way deep inside him.
And she wouldn’t take his calls.
Wouldn’t answer his texts.
Shut him out completely.
He was chasing a ghost.
It wasn’t as if he could blame her. She had too much class for him. But, then, he could be angry with her about that, too. If he didn’t measure up, what business did she have going to bed with him?
It’s not as if you didn’t practically kidnap her, a little voice nagged at him. She sure didn’t seem to mind.
Great. Now he was arguing with himself. But he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
The softness of her skin.
How her eyes burned with desire.
The sweetness of her—
He had to stop this. His cock stirred at these memories, and now he was getting pissed. Not at her. But at himself for being a sucker for a woman who didn’t want him. “Later,” he called to Sheldon as he pushed off his stool.
Sheldon waved at him as he left. His bike rumbled under him as he started it up. A good ride would clear his head. He pulled out on the road, fishtailing because he revved the engine too fast. But it felt good to push the bike and demand control. It was the one thing he could regulate, how he drove on the road. He opened up the engine.
Even though he knew he shouldn’t.
The four-lane highway that passed through the town reservoir on the way to work was a well-known speed trap. Worse yet, it was a speed trap set irregularly by state, not local cops, so he should’ve been smarter about riding on that road. But Chrissy’s rejection burned a fire into him that only seemed to gather force as the days passed. By Thursday, he was nearly blind to everything on the road but the concrete under him and the car in front of him.
A car, limping along under the posted speed limit of forty miles per hour, annoyed him. He’d never get to work at this rate. So, he pulled around it to the left and sped up.
But the car, seeing Saks pass him, decided just at that moment to accelerate, which forced Saks to increase his speed. Finally, he pulled past the car.
And headed right into the speed trap.
Immediately a police cruiser pulled out after him, lights blazing and sirens screaming.
Saks pulled to the side of the road and cursed his own stupidity. And the driver for screwing him off. When he saw the trooper pulling stiffly out of his cruiser with his hand on his holster, he figured he was in trouble. When the officer’s eyes cased Saks’ leather Hades’ Spawn jacket and he coldly asked for his license and registration, Saks knew he'd receive no mercy.
“Sir,” said the officer in a deadly level voice, “are you aware of the speed you were traveling?”
“Not exactly, Officer. I was trying to pass a car.”
The trooper nodded his head curtly, as if getting the answer he’d expected. “Wait here.”
The minutes ticked as the cop checked for wants and warrants on Saks, and probably stolen vehicle reports on Saks’ motorcycle, and probably his whole fucking life history. Oakie, the club president, wouldn’t be happy with this new development. He’d made it quite clear that each of the Spawn had to keep their shit straight. The legal troubles of the previous year put a blazing bullseye on each of the club members, and bad behavior of one reflected on the others.
On his return, the officer’s boot crunched on the sand gathered on the side of road, left behind by from winter road sanding. “Sir, step away from the vehicle.”
Now what? Saks thought. Saks swung off his bike and kicked the stand to hold it upright.
“Put your hands over your head.”
Saks, well-schooled by his father, did what he was told.
“Have you’ve been drinking, sir?”
“I had one beer at the Red Bull. You can ask them. I run a tab there.”
Wrong answer.
“Do you often drink and drive, sir?”
One freaking beer, Saks screamed to himself. That I didn’t even finish! “It’s not a habit,” he said instead.
“You’ll need to submit to a breathalyzer.”
Now shit was getting serious. He doubted he was over the legal limit, but he didn’t like submitting to a breathalyzer. However, if he refused, the state could automatically suspend his license. “Sure, Officer.”
Saks said nothing as the cop walked to his cruiser. He looked at his watch and realized he was now twenty minutes late. Luke would be waiting for him to return before he went out to grab his own lunch, since Emily was taking their baby, Robbie, to a doctor’s visit. Luke would be calling him to find out what the holdup was, and the last thing Saks wanted to do was answer his phone. Cops got touchy about that, too.
The trooper returned, holding the breathalyzer machine. “Sir, blow into the tube, and keep blowing until I tell you to stop.”
Saks puffed through the thing as the officer held it. Cars whizzed past, safe from the predations of law enforcement. He grew more annoyed by the minute.
“Stop.”
Saks stood there seething, while the trooper looked at the machine.
“Put your hands on your head and spread your legs.”
What? Now things were getting worse. A pat-down. Though he had nothing on him, or ever did, to get him arrested all he had to do was flinch and this guy could arrest him for resisting.
Yet another thing he’d learned from his father, a man well-schooled on Connecticut law from his own experiences. Son, those asshats will charge you for resisting just for looking at them wrong. The statute is written so broadly it’s nearly impossible to avoid it when they get you under their thumb. It’s the most commonly charged crime in the state. So, if an officer stops you, cooperate—fully.
“Anything in your pockets I should know about? Any needles or sharp objects?”
The sharpest thing Saks had was his wits, which weren’t exactly finely honed at this minute. “I have nothing sharp in my pockets, Officer. Except for my Leatherman.”
“Knife?”
“No. A multi-tool. I’m a mechanic. But there are small blades on it.”
“Stand still, sir.”
Saks held in the urge to huff. This guy was overly officious and thorough in his duties. Though he hadn’t crossed over the jackass line yet, he rapidly moved toward that territory.
The officer ran his hands across Saks’ back and down his legs. Saks grew paranoid with each passing moment. He’d heard of cops, eager for a bust, planting narcotics on a detainee. However, to be honest, he hadn’t heard of state cops doing that.
Still, there was always a first time.
The cop checked his pockets and then moved to Saks’ front and checked the inside pocket of his jacket. He scrunched his face as Saks stood absolutely still.
And then his phone rang. Saks held in the groan. He didn’t have to look at the caller ID to know it was Luke calling.
“Who’s that?” the officer said sharply in his ear.
Saks flinched involuntarily, jerking away from the trooper.
A strong hand gripped the back of his jacket and pulled him back.
“Don’t move,” growled the trooper. He jerked Saks’ hands behind his back and snapped cuffs around them.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m taking you in for resisting arrest. While we’re at the jail, we’ll do a blood test on you.”
“Seriously? What the hell! You know I’m well under the limit and I haven’t resisted anything.”
“Do I?” growled the officer. He yanked on Saks’ arms and directed him to the cruiser, pushing Saks into the back seat.
Fanfreakingtastic. He did not want to explain this to Oakie, his father, or Uncle Vits. This, on top of everything else, was the last thing he needed.
The state police jail was just down the road from where the cop slapped the cuffs on him. Once there, they placed him in a holding cell. It was small room, with a small frosted window at the end, and cinder block walls on all sides. But that didn’t mitigate his growing fury about being arrested in the first place.
It didn’t take long for a jail employee to come and take his blood.
“I’d like to make a phone call,” he said through his clenched teeth. He’d done nothing, and this was ridiculous. All because he rode a bike? Wore a Hades’ Spawn patch? What the fuck?
“Sorry. I just do the med procedures.”
“Where’s the officer who arrested me?” demanded Saks, in no mood to be polite.
“Filing paperwork.”
So, he sat there. And waited. And time dragged on. With his phone confiscated along with his wallet, multi-tool, and coat, he couldn’t call Luke. This just pissed him off more. Luke would be worried, start calling around, which would only upset Saks’ family if they thought he was missing. And that would cause a lot of trouble. A simple call to Luke would set things in motion to keep the situation under control and get him out of here.
The shadows lengthened in the cell as the sunlight dimmed. A guard brought a metal tray and shoved it through the food slot.
“When do I get my phone call?” called Saks. “I haven’t done anything. There’s no reason I’m still here. This is fu—freakin’ ridiculous.
But there was no answer, and he took the tray and stared at the dismal contents.
“You sure are no plate of wings,” he mumbled.
“Don’t eat that,” said a voice.
Saks look up at the door and saw a familiar face at the window.
Matt Stone, Luke’s lawyer, peered at him.
“Are you getting me out of here?” He’d never been so happy to see someone.
“Right now,” Matt replied.
“Thank fucking-goodness,” Saks said.
