Page 21 of Rider

Two blocks from home. I was two fucking blocks away from Sutton when Officer Pete Towe pulled me over. He claimed I was speeding, which is bullshit. Not saying I haven’t had my fair share of joy rides that got the speedometer up in the triple digits. Last night, however, I was simply on my way home, going the speed limit.

I was prepared to bite the bullet and pay the damn ticket to get Pete out of my hair, not thinking much of it. The police give us Savage Saints more shit than we deserve and always try to pin ridiculous petty traffic violations on us when we’re riding in town. Usually, I’d fight it, but I didn’t want to make a scene. The only thing on my mind was getting home so I could finally tell Sutton everything.

What a fucking idiot I turned out to be.

I knew the cops here were dirtier than the toilet in the corner of my cell, and fuck, this isn’t the first time I’ve been wrongfully arrested. Still, I wasn’t expecting Officer Towe to plant drugs in my bike's saddlebags.

I growl as flashes of yesterday play over in my mind. Officer Towe ordered me off my bike and had his partner frisk me for weapons. As a convicted felon, I’m not allowed to own or carry firearms, blades of a certain length, or any other weapon. When I’m out on a mission, I say fuck it to all that and pack heat. I also have my club around me, ready to fight on my behalf if we run into trouble.

That day, like I said, I was going home. I wasn’t armed.

While receiving the pat-down from his partner, Pete dug around in my saddlebags and pulled out enough meth to send me away for a long damn time. Forever, if the cops have anything to say about it.

“Fuck,” I grunt, pausing my frantic pacing to rest my forehead against the concrete wall.

I should have told Sutton. I should have been honest with her from the start. She asked me about my past multiple times, but I always managed to steer clear of my time in prison. Sutton knows about my mom, my time in college, and what drove me to join the Savage Saints. She gave me every opportunity to share, yet I found an excuse every damn time not to go there.

And now I may have lost her forever.

“Fuck,” I growl again. Self-loathing pours over me like tar; slow and suffocating.

“Aye, shut up in there,” one of the guards shouts from his desk at the end of the hall of holding cells.

I snarl and pound my fist against the wall, not giving him the satisfaction.

“They said I can’t shoot you, but I’m itching to try out my brand-new police-issued taser,” the guard informs me. “Might need to turn it up to twenty watts for you, big guy.”

“I’d like to see you try,” I grunt, though I’m not sure he heard me. I don’t give a shit either way. What is one measly guard going to do when I’m at the mercy of a corrupt, careless, and cold system wrought with power-hungry sociopaths?

Turning to rest my back against the wall, I take a deep breath and try to let the cool concrete calm me down. My one call after booking wasn’t to a sleazy lawyer, it was to Blade. He said he’d find a way to get me out. I want to trust him, but there’s only so much the prez of an outlaw biker gang can do when up against a corrupt police department.

I slide down the wall, sitting on the hard ground with my elbows resting on my knees. Light from the small window twelve feet up shines into the cell, unaware of my life imploding around me. There’s something oddly comforting about the indifference of nature. The same sun is shining down on my Sutton.

I watch the sunlight move from one side of the cell to the other before fading into night. No word from anyone, not Savage Saints nor the arresting officers. I thought I would have had some answers by now, some direction so I know what to prepare for. I’m unsure if the silence is good or bad, but from how things have been going lately, I’m going with bad.

“Get up!” a guard yells at me through the bars.

I startle a bit from my position on the floor, my muscles protesting as I stand. I haven’t moved in hours, simply letting myself wallow in regret and misery.

“Bail posted?” I ask when the guard slides the door to my cell open.

He shakes his head no.

“I don’t understand.”

“You want to stay in here? Fine by me,” he says with a shrug.

I glare at him as I walk through the door, not liking his attitude. The man is no more than five foot ten, and his arms are about as thick as my pinky finger. He might feel big and tough when he’s looking in from the outside, but now I’m in front of him without a protective shield, the man cowers slightly. His posture changes from entitled and annoyed to submissive.

I step toward him, smirking when he winces. The guard scurries ahead of me, unlocking several doors with his key card until I’m finally back out in the precinct lobby, where Blade is waiting.

He gives me a nod, handing me the all-too-familiar brown paper bag of everything that was confiscated when I was arrested.

“Got your bike out of the impound lot and had Axel bring it to your place,” he informs me as we walk out of the building. I roll my shoulders, the tension breaking up only slightly now I’m not in a cell. That’s only part of what has me so damn anxious. The majority of my nerves are from facing Sutton. “My car is parked right here.”

As soon as we’re inside, I ask how the hell he got me out of jail.

“All charges have been dropped,” Blade tells me as he starts the car and peels into the street.