Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2)(24)

“A warrant?” I ask. “What kind of warrant?”

“Conspiracy,” he answers.

That’s it.

Conspiracy.

“What kind of conspiracy?” I ask, but it doesn’t matter, because the man bangs his gavel and I’m dragged away.

Hauled back to another holding cell to wait again.

Back to being watched by the disgruntled officer, who personally seems to be monitoring me, a fact that isn’t really surprising.

He’s probably on somebody’s payroll.

A hundred bucks says it’s Kassian’s.

“So, any chance you know what a ‘conspiracy’ charge is?” I ask him.

“It means you conspired to do something.”

“Well... no shit. But what?”

He shrugs.

Another shrugger.

Awesome.

It’s only an hour this time before someone comes for me, two men in plainclothes, only their badges giving them away as officers. Big, and built, the rough-and-tumble types. The officer that had been watching me steps back, letting out a low whistle. “The violent felony squad, huh? Must be a doozy.”

My stomach is in knots as a sinking feeling consumes me. None of this ever felt right, but this without a doubt is wrong. These guys hunt down the bloodthirsty murderers. I’ve never even fired a gun.

Although, okay, I probably would, if I had one.

But I don’t, so I haven’t.

Which means there’s no reason for them to come for me.

I’m handcuffed and shackled, like a hardened criminal, before being led out of the back of the building, where inmates are loaded up to be taken over to Rikers. An older white man in a gray suit lingers in the darkness, casual as can be, waiting beside an unmarked Crown Vic, a black SUV parked right behind it at an angle, blocking my view of the exit of the underground garage.

The man in the suit opens the back door of the car, and I’m immediately shoved into it, the door slammed. It’s like a little prison, a cage separating me from the front, the windows all obscured.

“We’ll follow, just in case,” one of the plainclothes says. “Any problems, radio us.”

“You know I will,” the man in the suit says.

The man climbs behind the wheel and pulls out of the garage, not saying a word to me at all. It’s nighttime, well past sunset, maybe even pushing midnight. It’s hard to tell. I look around, glancing behind me, seeing the SUV is, in fact, following.

“Is all of this really necessary?” I ask, my shackles jingling as I turn back to the man in the suit, glaring at him through the bars of the cage.

He glances in the rearview mirror. “You broke a detective’s nose two days ago, did you not?”

“His nose is broken?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” I’m pleasantly surprised. “Well, I mean, in my defense, he deserved it... off record, of course. You can’t double jeopardy that, right? Wait, shit, that’s not the Conspiracy charge, is it? Is this like some special prosecutor thing, making an example out of me for assaulting your prized detective?”

The man laughs. “I have no interest in seeing you prosecuted.”

Those words rub me wrong. “What, exactly, are you interested in doing?”

“Just delivering you where you need to go.”

My heart races so hard my chest starts to hurt. I look out the windows at the neighborhood around us, but it’s hard to see much of anything. I know we’re not in the city, though. We haven’t crossed a bridge, but we should’ve by now, I think, so we’re still deep in Brooklyn.

“Oh, fuck me,” I mutter, leaning forward, smacking my head against the cage. He’s delivering me somewhere, but it sure as hell doesn’t seem to be Midtown for a warrant.

“What did you say?” the man in the suit asks.

I look up, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. “You know he’s a terrible person, right?”

His brow furrows. “Who?”

“The asshole you’re taking me to.”

A look of surprise passes across his face. “How do you know—?”

“Oh, give me a break,” I say, cutting him off. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not stupid. Give me some credit here, officer.”

“Detective,” he corrects me.

“Detective. Of course. Well, detective, you’re not the only one that can detect shit, you know, and I’m detecting this little field trip we’re taking isn’t to the seventeenth precinct for a Conspiracy warrant.”

“You’d be correct,” he says.

“So you’re going to take me to him instead, huh? How much is he paying you? Whatever it is, I’ll double it. Triple it. Just let me out right here and the money is yours.”

“Nice try, but no.”

“Why?”

“Because he’ll kill me if I don’t come through.”

“Yeah, well, he’ll kill me if you do.”

He laughs at that. Laughs. “He’s not going to kill you... or, well, I don’t think so. I hope not. He said he wouldn’t, anyway. I told him I wasn’t getting involved if this was leading to a murder.”

I sigh, exasperated, as I lean back in the seat, trying to wiggle out of the handcuffs but they’re too tight, cutting into my wrists.