Craving (Steel Brothers Saga #1)(51)

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you’re saying, Mr. Steel,” O’Keefe said. “The city attorney here is clearly willing to work with us. Why are you so against it?”

“I committed a crime. Criminals belong in jail.”

“Technically this is a misdemeanor, not crime,” I said.

“Ms. Roberts is correct. You haven’t been accused of a crime. You haven’t even been charged with anything. You’ve only been arrested. Your sister is arranging for bail right now. You should be out of here within a couple of hours.”

“Nope, I think I’m staying.”

I threw my hands in the air. “I’ll leave you two to battle this out.” I turned to O’Keefe. “Afraid I don’t have a business card yet. I just started work today.” I hastily scribbled my cell phone number on a Post-it. “You can reach me here.”

“Thank you. I’ll be in touch,” he said.

“I told you, she stays!”

I left anyway.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO





TALON


Peter O’Keefe was an idiot. What had Marj been thinking, sending him? He sat across from me, drenching me with saliva every time he spoke. He asked me a bunch of questions about that asshole Colin, and I answered them truthfully.

“So I’m pretty sure we can get this down to reckless endangerment, maybe get some community service. Shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Jade says she thought she could get the guy to drop the charges.”

“We can’t count on that. But it would be great if she could.”

“Whatever. I don’t care if I stay here. I really don’t.” Fucking lie that was. I couldn’t bear the thought of being locked up. My nerves were a jumble of jelly. But I would take care of it and I would do it if it meant no one else would be destroyed because of me. I belonged somewhere where I couldn’t hurt anyone. Even if the walls caved in on me. I could do it. I’d lived through it before.

“Mr. Steel, you’re talking nonsense. Once you get out of here, you’ll see that.” O’Keefe took a card out of his wallet and slid it across the table to me. “I’m going to ignore your guilty plea because you aren’t in a position to make a plea at this time. The charges haven’t even officially been filed.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, start caring. I’ll be in touch.”

O’Keefe stood, but before he could open the door, it opened from the other side and a uniformed officer entered.

“Steel,” he said, “your bail’s been posted. You’re free to go.”

Great. Free to go. Free as the birds in the sky. Free to enjoy life.

What a fucking crock. I would never be free.

I followed the officer to a locker room.

He handed me a paper bag. “Here are your personals. Go ahead and get changed. I’ll meet you up front, and we’ll process you on out of here.”

I took the bag without saying a word. What was there to say? Thank you? He didn’t stay to watch me dress this time. I threw the bag down on the bench and sat, the white concrete walls beating in time with my heart.

The walls advanced again…

Won’t go there. Can’t go there.

But the monstrous walls lurched forward. The floor tilted, and I slid off the bench, my skin clammy, my heart thundering. I stared at the stark ceiling, the fluorescent lights blinding me. My bowels churned, and bile inched up my throat.

Needed to breathe. Couldn’t…fucking…breathe…

Help! The words stuck in my throat. I climbed back to the bench, back to safety. Breathe, Talon.

Breathe. If you lose consciousness again, they’ll never leave you alone.

The boy’s voice had grown hoarse from screaming. His fingernails were filed down and his fingertips scabbed over from clawing at the concrete walls.

After a while, he no longer screamed, and eventually his voice repaired itself and his fingers healed. He sat, his arms around his legs, his chin resting in the indent formed by his two knees.

He had gotten used to his circumstances. A bucket sat in the corner of the room where he took care of his needs. His captors only changed it when they came for him. The days grew together.

Had they been there yesterday? Or had it been longer? Sometimes he got three meals a day.

Sometimes he got nothing. His stomach had long ago stopped growling for food. Sometimes they brought him water. More often they taunted him with the full icy glass.

The nights were the worst. The concrete floor was often chilly, even though it was summer. Was it still summer? The days had rolled together. How long had he been here? At first, he’d kept track of each time they came to him, but he stopped doing that. He didn’t want to think about those times.

The door to the small room opened, and one of them came down the stairs, wearing a mask, of course. They always wore masks.

He didn’t speak to the boy, just set out a tray of food. The boy didn’t dare move until the man had ascended and closed and locked the door. Then he scrambled to the tray and gobbled up every bit of tasteless food. Maybe it was poisoned.

I stood abruptly when the officer walked back in. The walls flew back to their normal places.

“Ready, Mr. Steel?”