Jailbait (Souls Chapel Revenants MC 3)

Nobody was out in the main bull pen, or at the receptionist desk, and I groaned.

Wandering around in a police station wasn’t the best idea, but with nobody out here to tell me what to do, I was going to take my chances.

I went to the hallway where I knew that the interrogation rooms were as well as the jail cells and came to a halt when I saw four officers looking in through the one-way glass at the end.

“Think he’ll confess under oath this time?” I heard one of the officers ask.

“No,” another one of the officers disagreed. “If he’s smart, he’ll sit there and keep his trap shut like I told him to. The guy didn’t do it, even though he says he did it. The little bulldog lawyer will get him out of here faster than we can say her name.”

“She’s hot as fuck…” one of them replied just as I took my first step down the length of the hallway.

The loud click-bang of my walking boot hitting the tiled floor had them all turning at the sound.

“Hello.” I smiled.

The officer in the middle, the redhead with the beard, looked familiar, but I couldn’t place why.

The other three, an older Latino man, a very sexy black man that reminded me of that guy off of CSI, and a young cop that looked like he was so fresh out of the academy that he still had the price tags on his uniform.

My eyes went over all three of them, lingering the longest on the young guy who looked like he’d been caught red-handed.

“My client wishes legal counsel,” I said. “Do you happen to have the time to show me to him?”

The redhead stepped forward, and that’s when I saw that he wasn’t actually an officer after all. He was one of the transporters for the county jail. He took prisoners from all over and brought them to the county jail. A prison guard, I guess.

“He’s in this room right here,” the redhead jerked his head toward the room, grabbing his crotch with one hand and readjusting while he did it.

But it wasn’t his actions with his hand that had me freezing. It was the words that had come out of his mouth.

And not the actual words, but the voice.

A very familiar voice that I’d already heard once today.

“Thank you,” I managed to say. “I need to make a quick phone call. However, would you mind finding me a room for privacy for a small moment? It won’t take long.”

“You can use the break room,” the older Latino man said. “Just close the door.”

I looked to my right where he’d indicated and saw a break room with coffee and a couple of Danish boxes on the counter.

“Thank you.” I smiled at them, aiming a sincere one at three, and a not-so-sincere one at the redhead.

“Damn,” I heard as I made my way toward the door.

That’s when I realized that I should’ve worn something more conservative.

My black leggings and long-sleeved black t-shirt had been inspired by Trick’s ensemble, and it was a little tight now that I thought about it.

Gritting my teeth at the way they were looking at me, I slipped into the break room and closed the door, and immediately called Trick.

I was honestly a bit stunned when he didn’t answer and looked at the phone that was playing a standard voicemail message with surprise.

The beep sounded, and I placed it back to my ear. “So you know that voice I heard earlier? I found the person that belongs to it.”

Then I hung up and hoped that he called me back quickly.

When I was done with the call, I shoved my phone into the front of my shirt, tucking it into the waistband of my pants, and then walked back out.

The only person left was the elderly Latino guy.

“I can show you the way.” He gestured toward the door at the end of the hall. “Now that you’re here, I can question him.”

I didn’t say anything to that and followed him into the room.

Two hours later, my client was now free to go, and I had a pounding headache.

The stupid, stupid kid.

He was a kid, too. All of seventeen.

He was also protecting his big brother who, might I add, didn’t deserve to be protected. The big brother deserved to have his ass beat for putting his little brother into that situation in the first place.

According to the kid, the night had led them to a party on the outskirts of town. The little brother had been tagging along with his older brother and had gotten separated. When the cops had hit the scene at a noise complaint, the little brother had been running along with the rest of the group to leave when out of the corner of his eye, he’d seen his brother punch an officer in the face and run when the officer had tried to grab him and his bag that he was carrying.