Spousal Privilege
1341 Words
The FBI didn’t lower their guns.
“Step away from her, Blackwood,” the lead agent said. “The marriage means nothing if it was coerced.”
Sinner’s arm stayed locked around my waist. Blood from our cut palms smeared between our skin.
“She walked into my chapel,” he said. Voice calm. Deadly. “She said the vows. She bled for me. Try calling that coercion in front of twelve witnesses.”
The brothers behind us shifted. Hands moved to guns. The air went thick with gunpowder and threat.
The agent looked at me. “Miss Moretti. Did he force you?”
My throat was dry. My arm burned. Sinner’s thumb brushed my knuckles. Over the ring. A warning. A promise.
I opened my mouth.
“No,” I said. “He didn’t force me.”
Sinner didn’t smile. But his grip tightened. Just for a second. Relief.
The agent’s jaw clenched. “Then you’re coming with us. You have information about a cartel murder.”
“I have a husband,” I said. The word felt strange. Powerful. “And spousal privilege.”
“You can’t claim privilege to hide evidence,” the agent snapped.
“I’m not hiding evidence,” I said. “I’m hiding behind my husband. That’s legal.”
Sinner’s chest rumbled against my back. Almost a laugh. Almost pride.
“Stand down,” he told his men. They didn’t. “That’s an order.”
Guns stayed raised. But no one fired. Not yet.
The agent took a step forward. “Blackwood. Last chance. Release the girl or we take you both in.”
Sinner moved so fast I barely saw it. His gun was up. Not at the agent. At the ceiling. He fired once. The sound cracked through the chapel like judgment.
No one moved. No one breathed.
“Next bullet has a name,” Sinner said. Gun still raised. “Yours. Test me.”
The agent didn’t blink. “You shoot a federal agent, the whole club burns.”
“Then we burn together,” Sinner said. “But she doesn’t leave with you.”
My heart hammered. Fever made the room tilt. Sinner felt it. His arm around me became my only anchor.
“Take her temperature,” he said to the VP without looking away from the guns. “She’s burning up.”
The VP hesitated. “Boss, we have a problem.”
“Not bigger than her,” Sinner said.
The Doc pushed through the brothers. Touched my forehead. Swore. “She needs antibiotics. Now. Or she won’t make it through the night.”
Sinner’s eyes flicked to the FBI. Then to me. Then to the door. Calculating.
He made a choice.
“Lower your weapons,” he told his men. They did. Slow. Reluctant. “Agent. You want her? Take her. But I’m coming too. And if her fever spikes in your custody, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”
The agent nodded. “Cuff him.”
Two agents moved in. Sinner didn’t resist. He held my hand tighter as the cuffs clicked around his wrists.
“Don’t let go,” he said. Only to me.
I didn’t.
They dragged us out. Past the compound. Past the bikes. Into a black SUV with no windows. Sinner sat beside me, cuffed hands in his lap, eyes never leaving my face.
The drive was silent. Tense. My head dropped to his shoulder. I couldn’t help it. The fever, the blood loss, the three days he’d watched over me.
Sinner shifted. Let me rest more weight on him. Cuffed hands awkward but gentle.
“You did good,” he whispered. “In the chapel. Proud of you.”
I mumbled something. Don’t remember what.
The SUV stopped. We were at a federal building. Bright lights. Cold air. Agents pulling us out.
They separated us at the doors.
Sinner didn’t fight. He just looked at me over his shoulder as they took him down one hall and me down another.
“Don’t talk to them without me,” he said. Last words before the door closed.
An interrogation room. White walls. One table. One chair. One agent.
Not the lead. A woman. Younger. Softer eyes.
“Miss Moretti,” she said. “I’m Agent Rivera. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help you.”
I said nothing. Fever made my thoughts slow.
“We know what you saw,” Agent Rivera said. “We know why you ran. We can put you in real witness protection. New face. New life. No bikers. No blood.”
She slid a paper across the table. Witness protection forms.
“All you have to do is sign,” she said. “And testify. We’ll keep you safe.”
Safe. The word Sinner used. But his version came with a ring and a gun. Hers came with paperwork and lies.
I looked at the door. Wondered where Sinner was. If they were hurting him. If he was bleeding like I was.
Agent Rivera followed my gaze. “He’s fine. For now. But if you don’t cooperate, we can’t guarantee his safety. He’s facing life. You could get him a deal.”
My stomach twisted.
“You’d use me to get to him?” I asked.
“I’d use anything to take down Devil’s Blood,” she said. Honest. Cruel. “They’re monsters, Miss Moretti. You don’t owe him loyalty.”
The door opened. The lead agent walked in. Tossed a file on the table. Photos. Crime scenes. Bodies.
“Your father,” he said. “This is what Sinner Blackwood does to people who cross him.”
I looked. My father’s face. Eyes open. Dead.
But the photo was wrong. The angle. The timing. My father died before Sinner became president. Before Devil’s Blood ran this city.
“It wasn’t him,” I said.
“Then who?” the agent asked.
I didn’t answer.
Agent Rivera leaned forward. “Sign the paper, Angel. Save yourself. Save him. Don’t let his sins be yours too.”
My hand trembled over the pen.
The door behind me opened.
Boots. Heavy. Familiar.
Sinner.
But he wasn’t in cuffs anymore. His shirt was torn. Blood on his knuckles. Not his.
Two agents were behind him. On the floor. Unconscious.
He’d broken out.
“Step away from her,” he said. Voice low. Lethal.
Agent Rivera stood. Reached for her gun.
Sinner was faster. He had her by the throat before she touched it. Lifted her off the ground.
“Don’t,” he said. “She’s not signing anything.”
The lead agent drew his weapon. “Let her go!”
Sinner looked at me. Only me. “Angel. Come here.”
I stood. Legs shaking. Walked around the table. Past the photos of my dead father.
Sinner dropped the agent. Caught me as I stumbled. Lifted me into his arms. Cradled like I was precious. Not a witness. Not a problem.
His.
“Spousal privilege,” he said to the room. “She doesn’t testify. She doesn’t talk. She doesn’t leave my side. That’s the law.”
He kicked the door open. Walked out with me in his arms, past shouting agents, past alarms, past everything.
Outside, his bike waited. VP holding it. Engine running.
Sinner set me on the seat. Straddled behind me. Wrapped his arms around me.
“Hold on, wife,” he said.
The bike roared to life. We tore away from the federal building, sirens chasing us, and I realized the truth:
He didn’t break out for revenge.
He broke out for me.
Wind in my hair. His chest at my back. The ring burning on my finger.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I shouldn’t have checked it.
I did.
Unknown number. One text.
*WE KNOW WHERE HE KEEPS YOU. AND WE’RE COMING FOR BOTH OF YOU. -D*
D. For Devil’s Blood.
But not Sinner’s Devil’s Blood.
Another chapter. Another president.
The cartel had a president too.
And he just sent me a message.
- Writer
