CHAPTER ONE
1695 Words
The room was buzzing with the low hum of exhausted cops and the occasional clatter of handcuffs, but Wes’s voice cut through it all like nails on a chalkboard. He was seated at the desk, gesturing wildly as the officer typed his information into the computer.
“Listen, man, this whole thing is just one big misunderstanding,” Wes said for the fiftieth time, a grin plastered on his face like he thought he was the star of some bad cop drama. “I mean, yeah, technically I was there, but I wasn’t there there, you know? Like, spiritually, I wasn’t even in the moment—”
The cop sighed heavily, fingers pausing on the keyboard. “If you don’t shut up in the next five seconds, I’m gonna make sure you enjoy every second of that holding cell, you hear me?”
Wes didn’t even flinch. “I hear you, officer. I’m just saying, this is all a big waste of time for everyone involved. You should be out there catching real criminals, not—”
“Shut it.” The cop’s tone left no room for argument.
When they finally dragged Wes to the holding cell, he was still going. “This place is seriously lacking in feng shui,” he announced as they shoved him in, the metal bars slamming shut behind him. “Not that I’m an expert, but the vibes? Not great.”
The other detainees glanced at him, most with disinterest, a couple with thinly veiled irritation. A tall, burly guy with a shaved head and tattoos snaking up his neck leaned against the wall, his eyes narrowing as Wes kept talking.
“You wanna know what’s really messed up?” Wes continued, pacing the small cell like he was delivering a TED Talk. “I didn’t even get my one phone call yet. Isn’t that a thing? Like, isn’t it my right or something? What if I wanted to call my lawyer, huh?”
The burly guy stepped forward, his voice a low growl. “Hey. Shut the hell up.”
Wes paused mid-step, turning to face him with a smirk that could’ve gotten him punched in any room. “Do you even know who you’re talking to?” he asked, tilting his head like he couldn’t believe the audacity. “I’m kind of a big deal.”
The guy didn’t even blink. “You’re about to be a big deal on the floor if you don’t shut that mouth of yours.”
“Oh, is that how we’re playing this?” Wes said, squaring up like he was six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier. “You wanna go? Let’s go. Right here, right now.”
The tension in the cell spiked as the burly guy took a step closer, cracking his knuckles for effect. A couple of the other detainees perked up, ready to watch the show.
Before anything could happen, the cops returned. One of them took one look at the scene and groaned. “Jesus, Wes. We leave you alone for two minutes, and you’re already trying to get yourself killed?”
“Me? Me?” Wes pointed at himself, feigning innocence. “This guy’s the one making threats! I’m just defending myself.”
“Yeah, sure you are,” the cop said dryly, unlocking the cell. “Come on, someone’s here to pick you up.”
Wes blinked. “Already? That fast?”
“Well, unless you want to stay here and see what your new friend has in mind for you, yeah. That fast. Lucky bastard.”
Wes threw the burly guy a wink as he sauntered out of the cell. “Guess I’ll have to take a rain check on that fight, big guy. Don’t miss me too much.”
The burly guy just shook his head, muttering under his breath as Wes was led away. “Idiot.”
Wes’s laughter rang through the station as he swaggered toward the front desk, the cuffs freshly removed from his wrists. “Didn’t even break a sweat,” he said to no one in particular, stretching his arms like he’d just wrapped up a light workout.
But as soon as he stepped into the foyer and caught sight of the man waiting for him, the grin slid clean off his face. His posture shifted, shrinking in on itself, and for the first time that night, he looked genuinely uneasy.
“Boss,” Wes muttered, his voice subdued as he stood before the impeccably dressed man. The old man wasn’t tall—Wes had a few inches on him—but his presence made it clear who held the real power here. His dark eyes, sharp as a blade, bore into Wes with an intensity that made him feel like a scolded child.
The man didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “We need to talk.”
Wes nodded, his throat dry, and followed the man out of the station. Waiting at the curb was a sleek black car, its engine purring softly. The driver, stone-faced, opened the door for them without a word.
As soon as they were seated in the car, the door clicked shut, and the vehicle smoothly pulled away from the curb. The atmosphere inside was suffocatingly tense, the kind of silence that made Wes want to fidget, but he forced himself to sit still.
The old man didn’t speak right away, which only made things worse. He stared straight ahead, his hands resting on his cane, the polished wood gleaming faintly in the dim light of the car’s interior. Wes could feel the weight of the man’s disappointment pressing down on him, heavier than the cuffs had been.
“So,” the man finally said, his voice low and measured. “You’ve been busy tonight.”
Wes swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “I—uh—yeah, it’s not what it looks like—”
“Quiet,” the man interrupted, his tone calm but laced with authority.
Wes clamped his mouth shut, his knee bouncing nervously.
“You think I have time for your antics, Wesley?” The old man turned his head slightly, just enough to pin Wes with a cold glare. “Do you think I bailed you out because I enjoy cleaning up your messes?”
“No, sir,” Wes mumbled, staring down at his hands.
The old man leaned back in his seat, his gaze returning to the window. “You’re lucky I need you, or I’d have let you rot in that cell. But this?” He gestured vaguely, the motion encompassing the entire disastrous night. “This is unacceptable.”
Wes nodded quickly, not trusting himself to speak.
“For your sake,” the man continued, his voice dropping even lower, “you’d better pray you haven’t jeopardized what we’ve been working toward. Because if you have…” He trailed off, letting the unspoken threat hang heavy in the air.
Wes’s stomach churned, the gravity of the situation settling in fully. He knew better than to respond, so he simply nodded again, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past.
The silence returned, thicker than before, and Wes could feel every second stretch endlessly. The man’s words replayed in his mind, each one landing like a hammer blow.
He didn’t need to ask what would happen if he stepped out of line again. He already knew.
The car came to a smooth stop in front of Wes’s apartment building. He glanced out the window and recognized the familiar cracked pavement of the sidewalk, illuminated by the dim glow of the streetlights.
The old man didn’t even look at him as he spoke, his voice steady and cold. “Stop making waves, Wesley. You’ve already done enough damage. We don’t need the cops sniffing around where they don’t belong, do we?”
Wes shook his head quickly, his tone obedient. “No, sir.”
The man didn’t reply, just turned his head slightly toward the window, signaling the conversation was over. The dismissal stung, but Wes knew better than to push his luck.
He stepped out of the car, careful to close the door quietly. As soon as it clicked shut, he turned and bowed low, more out of fear than respect. Inside, he could feel his heart pounding. The old man didn’t even glance his way, simply muttered something to the driver, who nodded and started pulling away.
Wes straightened slowly as the car disappeared down the street, the taillights fading into the night. His shoulders slumped, and he let out a long sigh of relief, tension draining from his body.
Looking up, he noticed the dark clouds gathering overhead, heavy and ominous. He didn’t even flinch when the first droplets hit his face.
“Of course,” he muttered to himself as the rain began to pick up. He shoved his hands into his pockets and trudged toward the entrance of his building, water already soaking through his shoes. By the time he reached the door, the rain was pouring in earnest, cold and relentless.
Inside his apartment, Wes collapsed onto the couch, kicking off his wet shoes and running a hand through his damp hair. His mind was spinning. His hearing was in a week, and he was expected to prepare an apology and a statement.
An apology.
He frowned, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. Why the hell did he need to apologize? It wasn’t like he’d done anything that bad—at least, not in his eyes. Sure, he’d run his mouth and gotten into some trouble, but wasn’t that just part of the job?
Still, the old man’s words echoed in his mind, sharper than any criticism he’d ever received. Getting on his boss’s bad side wasn’t just dangerous—it was potentially life-ruining.
“Whatever,” Wes muttered under his breath, dragging himself up to grab a towel and dry off. He’d figure it out. He always did.
But as he stood there, listening to the rain hammer against the windows, he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling settling in his chest.
- Writer
