Stir

“What the fuck do you want, Ross? I thought we covered this in the Mayor’s office?” I say to him, stepping up to his face.

“My father may have soured my plans for little Imogen, but you were not off limits. You came in here and screwed my plans for my life so I figured I could only return the favor.” As he says it I see the Principal and the Police Chief behind him.

“What the fuck is this?” He is flanked by both of them proud of himself like he somehow has me under a barrel.

“Perhaps we should take this into my office.” Principal Oxen says. Everyone is in the hallway watching, whispering.’

Once inside of his office, I sit in a chair while the rest of them stand up, towering over me, trying to intimidate me. Good luck. “So is someone going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Seems you are being charged with breaking and entering.” the Chief says.

“Oh really? And where exactly have I been breaking into?”

“The Abell house every night, doing God knows what to poor Imogen.” Bitchboy pipes up. He is so fucking lucky the law is here right now. I would fucking crush his annoying ass voice with my foot before spitting on his worthless life.

“Nothing to say for yourself?” The Chief asks. I ignore him for a moment because something doesn’t feel right.

“Where is Imogen?” My question is directed at Principal Oxen, but Chief Blakely steps in front of him.

“Instead of worrying about her, you should be focused on trying to keep yourself out of trouble. These are serious charges son.” I don’t fucking have time for this. Something is wrong and no one is telling me anything. I need to get out of this fucking room and find my woman.

“So is the snorting habit someone has.” His body visibly tenses and his eyes grow blank. His ass falls back on the desk and he looks at me, speechless, not quite sure how the tables have turned. “Buffalo Wild Wings mean anything to you?” His handkerchief is in his hands and he wipes the sweat from his face. Evan is looking between us confused and out of the loop as usual. I can imagine he is watching his plan for revenge fall apart at his feet.

“Mr. Ross, please go to class and give us a minute with Mr. Luna.” Principal Oxen says dismissing bitchboy. He stumbles over his words trying to find a reason to stay in the room, but in the end he is escorted to his class by the secretary.

“Blackmailing is a federal offense.” the chief recites, his voice hoarse and unsure.

“So is a law enforcement officer, absorbing illegal substances up his nose. So what makes your offense any less than mine?”

“What do you want?” he asks me.

“Nothing. Not a damn thing other than what I was entitled to before dumbass drug you into this. I had no intention of ever confronting you with this information. If I wanted to cause trouble, I have photos that could be your downfall but I didn’t use them. I stayed out of your way and you didn’t know I existed. We could simply go back to that. This conversation never happened. Principal Oxen and I have an understanding and I haven’t gone back on my word, have I?” I look at the principal waiting for his positive answer. He straightens his tie, face sweating like a fucking pig.

“He has honored his word.” he says, clearing his throat. I see curiosity peak as the Chief tries to figure out what I have on Oxen, but he is more concerned about himself.

“You see. So, do we have a deal?” Reluctantly he nods his head. I figured.

“Now where the hell is she?”

“Her mother called her in sick for the second day in a row.”

“Sick? She wasn’t here yesterday?”

“I am afraid not.” he says, shaking his head no. I don’t bother with any more words. I am up and out of the office within seconds. I pass bitchboy on my way to my bike and he looks like he is going to explode clearly expecting me to be in cuffs. So happy to be able to thwart his plans.

Within minutes I am pulling up outside of her house. There are no cars in the driveway. I go in through the cellar and up to her room. My baby is laying there, sleeping, but the way she is moaning and holding her stomach, I know she is not well. Her dresser has a tray of ginger ale and crackers and my heart begins to beat like the drummer from Linkin Park. I don’t want to hope but fuck, this could mean something great.

“Fucking hell angel. Roll over and look at me,” I whisper in her ear, wiping her forehead with a wet cloth. She doesn’t move, but her fretting has stopped. My baby knows when I am near. “Pequeña. Please look at me.”