Colt: The Finale
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Simone Elise
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1,2M
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20
Interrogation
Summer
Love always brings us to a crossroads. We’re hit with a heavy choice, and once we make that choice, it can be a long, long road ahead filled with so many obstacles. It’s like trying to go off-road down a mountain on a 600lb chopper.
But when you get that love, when you really have that fire burn inside you for somebody else, you’ll do anything.
And I’d do anything for my love for The Devil, Colt Hudson.
Hot sweat laced the top of my forehead, and a heavy pit grew inside my stomach.
I knew the cops were trying to wait me out. To make me uncomfortable inside a tiny room with only an overhead light, a tape recorder, and a plate of stale donuts.
Even the handcuffs on my wrists were starting to get sweaty.
Could I have looked more guilty?
But I was hardly sweating for me.
I didn’t want anything to happen to Colt. Sure, I was looking at some serious time if they actually prosecuted me for Elliot’s death, but Colt couldn’t get locked up again after escaping death row.
You can’t just two-time it like that.
Somebody on the inside would want him dead, and they would try to kill The Devil just to earn the namesake.
But worst yet, if Colt’s locked up, I’ll never see him again.
The door to the interrogation room swung open, and I released a small gasp, pulling myself from my hectic thoughts.
“Pretty cold in here to be sweating.” The detective snapped, pulling his chair out with a loud scratching noise against the floor. He even sat on the chair roughly, then hit the button on the tape recorder.
“Why don’t you tell me, Summer Breeze, why the murder of your ex-husband has your stink all over it.”
I shifted in my chair and glanced at the detective’s badge.
“I didn’t murder my husband, Detective Mason,” I told him, holding my chin high, but my heart hammering. “I want my lawyer here.”
Mason slammed his hands down on the desk and rocketed from his chair.
“Fuck your lawyer,” he spat, pointing a finger in my face. “We’ve got all the evidence we need to put a dainty little thing like you away.”
I curled back in my chair and closed my eyes.
Mason crossed his arms and smiled. “I’m here to help, Summer. I’m your friend. Just confess, and I’ll make things so much easier for you. And for your lover boy, Colt.”
My brother Scorp had gotten locked up enough for me to know all the tricks the cops use. Mason only had his interests in mind.
“I’d like my lawyer,” I murmured, struggling to look into Mason’s angry eyes.
I’d seen enough angry men for a lifetime. I’d been abused enough, especially by Elliot, the man that I was being accused of murdering.
Mason leaned in and flung the plate of donuts across the room. The plate shattered against the brick wall.
“No lawyer, just me,” Mason said through gritted teeth.
Memories of all my abuse at the hands of angry, vicious men flooded over me.
“Don’t hit me!” I shouted, automatically, raising my hands over my face, the words screeching from the back of my throat.
Mason blinked a few times, confused, then backed up.
I broke into tears, then saw the wheel spinning on the tape recorder. I let all my pain out in deep, guttural cries, knowing damn well that this interrogation would be ruined by Mason’s poor handling of events.
“I didn’t lay a finger on you.” Mason sneered.
Still, every time Mason yelled at me, I thought back to Elliot. The punching. The pushing. The kicks and elbows. How small he made me feel.
It even reminded me of Jace, my most recent abuser, and how he backhanded me in my own home.
And now, here I am cuffed and in this tiny room, being treated like I have no rights.
Fuck all this.
The door to the room swung open again.
“You’re done.” Another detective said to Mason curtly.
The other detective wore a tight, beige, long-sleeved shirt tucked into boot-cut jeans. He was bald, had a thin dark goatee that contrasted well against his brown skin, and eyebrows that flared even under his aviator sunglasses.
“What the hell is your problem, Munozos?” Mason asked.
Munozos whipped off his sunglasses, tossed them on the table where the donuts had been, and waved Mason out of the room.
“You.” He pounded a finger to Mason’s chest, then pointed the same finger to the tape recorder on the table and the security camera in the corner of the room. “You trying to throw this entire investigation away?”
Mason got close to Munozos’ ear and whispered. “She was about to crack.”
“Out,” Munozos commanded once more.
Mason shook his head and slammed the door behind him.
“Forgive the idiot,” Munozos said, taking a sharp exhale and sitting at the table.
Something about his demeanor felt familiar.
I sniffled and wiped away tears.
Munozos had something that made me feel safe. He hid it well, but I could see it.
Under the cuff of his shirt, hidden by other menial tattoos, was a flaming skull that had a knife in one eye and a snake crawling through the other.
An old-school biker tattoo. Colt has the same one.
“Summer, I’d like to hear your side of the story.”
Colt
I should bash this motherfucker’s skull in.
“We can give you a good deal,” Mason smirked, sipping on a coffee.
Another interrogation room, another shitty pig.
How many times have I been in rooms just like these?
I didn’t give a shit.
What mattered was getting back to Summer and making sure she was safe.
“Lawyer,” was all I said flatly to Mason.
Mason scoffed, and then the door opened.
Great, another pig.
“Munozos? Again?” Mason asked, flipping a hand above his head. “Seriously?”
“Out,” Munozos said.
Munozos was pretty diesel for a pig. Thought he might tear open that ugly fucking shirt he was wearing when he sat down.
But I could still take him, even with my hands cuffed.
“Lawyer,” I told him.
Munozos shut off the recording machine and faced away from the camera.
“You don’t need to talk to me,” he said. “I just spoke with Summer. We agree that there’s a force a hell of a lot stronger at play here.”
I couldn’t help but raise a brow. What the hell was this guy on about?
“You and your club are being targeted by the underworld, and this whole town has gone to shit with dirty motherfuckers.”
I laughed. “That’s what the pigs get.”
“Yeah,” Munozos agreed, catching me by surprise. “Like the dickhead detective that double-crossed you. I know about it.”
He tossed a file on the table. Sure enough, my history, and the betrayal.
“Greed got that bastard too, and now he’s locked up,” Munozos said, shaking his head.
I smirked and decided to entertain Munozos.
“I don’t care about money,” he said. “I care about my family. The underworld wants you dead, this town on fire, and Summer behind bars.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d say this guy was trying to help me.
I know a liar, and this ain’t one.
“If we’re going to stop this shit, Colt, clubs. Cops. We need a truce, or all hell will break loose.”
