If the cops were here, it couldn’t be good.
“The Garros, maybe?” he suggested as Peters made his way around the store, sliding books off their shelves so they tumbled to the ground, cracking spines and bending pages.
I started forward to stop him, but suddenly, Ormand was in my space, an iron hand shackled around my wrist.
“He’s just doing his job. You wouldn’t want to obstruct justice now, would you, Miz Irons?” He sneered. “See, I was thinking, if this wasn’t your idea, it’d be a damn good way for The Fallen to launder money. Lots of cash moving through a quaint little bookstore like this, huh?”
“We only just opened. It’s too soon to tell,” I said stiffly, not giving him the satisfaction of my struggle. “I assume you brought a warrant if you’re going to search the premise?”
“Sure, sure.” He nodded and dragged me to the front desk. He leaned over to rip off a piece of paper from the receipt machine and then grabbed a pen.
I watched as he wrote ‘WARRANT’ in block letters across the paper and then tucked it quickly into my cleavage.
“Fuck you,” I growled, about to launch myself at him because how dare he invade my space and bully me like that.
Only Sander was there, his hand planting in Ormand’s chest and shoving so hard he fell back against the desk.
“Fuck off, Jon,” he snapped, looming over him. “This ain’t right, and you know it.”
“I know shit all about it,” Ormand retorted, shoving off the desk to stand and straighten himself. “And you’d do better to get out of here while you can. Danner won’t be happy to see his pet off the leash.”
“Fuck you. This is my sister’s store, and I am not lettin’ you vandalize it.”
“Vandalize? We’re the police,” Ormand yelled into his face, spittle flying.
“Vandalize?” Peters echoed from over by the couches as he produced a Swiss Army knife and stabbed into one of the cushions, carving it open until the stuffing spilled out. “Why, we’re just doing our jobs. This place is a suspected front for a criminal gang.”
Sander stepped forward menacingly, but Ormand only laughed. “Don’t make me collar you, Garrison.”
I didn’t need Sander to help me anyway. Instead, I stalked to the front desk, rounded it, dropped to my ass on my high heels and opened the locked box I kept under the register. When I popped back up, it was with my Sig Sauer leveled at Ormand.
“What’re you gonna do with that, bitch? I’m a cop.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m a Garro,” I retorted. “And if you don’t get the fuck out of my store, I’m well within my right to shoot you for trespassing because that worthless piece of paper you arrogantly shoved at me was not a legal document and will absolutely not hold up in court.”
There was a static silence, the hum of potential energy low and throbbing in the store. I could hear the two customers breathing heavily, panicked, in the back, and Benny beside me, his own hand on a knife Carson had given him for his last birthday.
Then Peters had the audacity to kick over an entire display and grin wickedly at me. “Oops.”
Well, if he wanted to call my bluff, I was all too happy to prove my worth.
I cocked the gun, aimed it high at the top box of the window on the wall across the store and fired.
Glass shattered and rained down over the seating area. The cops looked almost comically shocked by my action, and I pressed my advantage as soon as I heard the familiar purr of Harleys approaching.
“Get the fuck out before I shoot you or, worse, the guys get here and deal with you their way,” I threatened.
Ormand growled like a rabid dog denied a meal and shoved passed Lysander on his way out the door, Peters following slowly, kicking at a book he’d thrown to the floor earlier.
“We’re watching you, all of you. Just waiting for you to make one stupid move and all the cards’ll come tumbling down,” he sneered as pushed open the door and forcibly slammed it shut behind.
The air felt thick and impenetrable as amber; Sander, Benny, and I suspended in it like bugs for a long moment before Sander broke it by turning to face me. His expression was guarded, locked and alarmed as a safe house.
“You okay?” he grumbled.
“I will be if you tell me you are not working for Staff Sergeant Harold Danner,” I told him as I put the safety on my gun and started to lock it back up.
He hesitated. “Can’t do that exactly.”
“Then I can’t tell you I’m okay. You keep pitting yourself against my family, I can’t consider you a part of it,” I said honestly.
His sigh was ragged as he drew both hands through his shoulder-length hair and then let them drop into an open palmed shrug. “Not doin’ it to hurt you. Never do anythin’ to hurt you, and honest to Christ, Cress, I’ve only ever tried to save you.”