Prohibited (Tulsa City Sinners #1)

32. Ryan

Chapter thirty-two

Ryan

While it had always been a distinct possibility, especially in his line of work, Ryan had hoped to never hear the sound of a heavy iron door swinging shut behind him again. And the chaotic clash of keys as the lock turned. His freedom evaporated in the sound of a heavy click. The copper in the blue uniform standing on the other side of the bars sneered at them, tiny eyes glinting above his swollen red cheeks.

“Make yourselves right at home,” he said in a thick drawl. Then he clipped the keyring back onto his belt and sauntered back down the hallway, chuckling at his little joke.

Impulsively, Ryan went to the bars and wrapped his hands around them, sweat slicking his flesh against the painted white metal. He fit his forehead between two of the bars and rested it there, eyes boring into the ground.

Caged. Caged like an animal .

“I wonder how long it would take for him to bleed out if I hung him like a pig and slit his throat.” Alex’s voice was soft, conversational.

Ryan closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

Being incarcerated was bad enough. But he was stuck in here with Alex. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Just the two of them. The smell of Alex’s hair still in his nose, the deep, animal sound he’d made when Ryan penetrated him still ringing in his ears.

Ryan had succeeded in avoiding eye contact and speaking as little as possible outside of necessary conversation, but none of that could erase what crackled in the air between them.

And Alex, for his part, radiated satisfaction. Like a vicious white cat with a feather hanging out of the side of his mouth.

The fire inside of him burned with more heat, more ferocity. A primal and confused jumble of rage, shame, and beneath the shame, pleasure. Such pleasure at having done what he did.

And would he do it again if he could go back and make a difference?

God help, he probably would.

The thought made him miserable.

“As strong as you are,” Alex noted with a wry touch of humor, “I don’t think you’re strong enough to rip open the cell.”

“I’m not trying to rip open the cell, you bastard, I’m trying to think,” Ryan said between gritted teeth. “And I can’t do that while you keep going on like a gossip.”

“Thinking? Of escape?” A shifting noise behind him, the sound of Alex rising. And then the slow, deliberate sound of his footsteps approaching, causing Ryan’s blood to turn cold, and then hot. “Maybe our Dolly will bake a file into a cake for us.”

“Yeah, right.” Ryan blew out a breath from his nostrils and closed his eyes. “She’ll be pleased to find out the tables have turned, I’m certain.”

But he wasn’t certain, not really. They’d started to regain ground. The old cable tugging them together, revived and growing tighter and tighter. The way their bodies had merged, the way she had looked at him. The way it felt to hold her in his arms again.

“Lindsay certainly won’t, he couldn’t bake clay.” The sound of his feet stopping and moving away. Then slowly, the sound of them coming back. Moving away again. He was pacing. Ryan let out a breath and risked a look over his shoulder at him. Alex had his hands clasped behind his back. Sleeves rolled up. White linen jacket discarded. The snug fit of his waist coat over the soft blue linen of his shirt was a boon to his fair beauty. Ryan swallowed and looked away. He turned so that his back was resting against the bars, folded his arms, and bit down on the corner of his lip while he racked his brain about what to do .

“I mean, we’re just going to have to work out a bribe.” That was the only thing to do, wasn’t it?

“We’ll try.” But there was a skeptical tone in Alex’s voice. “But considering that the pig who locked us in here wouldn’t even take a bribe to let me use the phone, I don’t have my hopes high. The fact that we’re even in here is proof that Stanley has gotten his hand into the PD.”

“I thought you had a contact in the Force,” Ryan said. His eyes were following Alex’s rhythm, back and forth, while he tried very hard not to think of the liquid grace of his movements.

Alex made a noise of disgust. “He got himself into one too many bad situations, red handed. Got caught up by the Feds.”

The Feds. A dark thought. Oklahoma was born a dry state. They’d always contended with bootlegging to get their liquor, and then to sell it, but the Feds didn’t get involved until recently when the whole goddamn nation went dry. And while there were corruptible cops in the Tulsa City Police Department, the Feds seemed untouchable. Self-righteous crusaders out for blood and glory.

“They’re going to wonder where we are.” The thought made his heart twinge. Lindsay worrying about what had become of them. And Saoirse, after everything she’d already been through. And Evelyn, would she also worry?

“Well, one way or another they’ll put it together,” Alex said, his tone dark.

Ryan reached into his breast pocket for his Lucky Strikes and managed to light one with steady hands, in spite of the fact that a deep and cold dread was blossoming in his belly. Thank God they hadn’t taken his cigarettes when they’d patted him down.

“For now, it’s checkmate.” Beneath the annoyance in Alex’s voice, Ryan detected something he didn’t think he’d ever heard from him before. Defeat.

Something about the fact that Alex was feeling beaten took even more of the heart out of him. Alex always had a scheme, a plan. But for all his illegal operations, he’d also never been caught.

Hours passed in tense silence between them, Ryan trying not to notice the feeling of Alex’s eyes boring into him and how it made his body feel hot and cold all at once. He chewed at his fingernails and tried to tell himself that there was an easy solution to all of this.

Then, at long last the sound of heavy footsteps and the rattling of keys broke the silence.

Their eyes slid across the cell to meet each other, both of them perfectly still. Then, Ryan moved away from the bars and stood an arm’s length away from Alex, smoking his cigarette, standing perfectly straight.

A different cop, this one with a gold bar on the breast of his uniform stopped in front of the cell. Lieutenant. Two others stood behind him, one of them looking stony and the other one looking smug. Their superior, unlike the other two, was good looking and had an air of dignity that worried Ryan immediately. He stood staring at Ryan with a look of complete and intense loathing.

“Ryan Lockwood.” It wasn’t a question .

“Who’s asking?” Ryan said, returning the copper’s loathing in kind.

“Lieutenant Roberts,” the man said. Then, to the men behind him, “Open.” He stepped back while the two other coppers unlocked the cell. One of them came at Ryan with a pair of handcuffs.

Ryan threw his cigarette, and lowered both arms to hang at his side, hands open slightly. Tension ran through him, winding more and more tightly. The desire to fight warred ferociously with the rational part of him that understood that fighting would only worsen the situation. He took deep breaths in and out of his nose as the two coppers came into the cell. They approached him cautiously, a bull in a field. It was certain they could see the rage crackling in his eyes, in the very air around him. But when they came forward to take hold of him, he let them each take a hand and twist his arms roughly behind his back. The cuffs bit deeply into his wrists and were left so tightened that he had to grit his teeth against the pain.

Against his own will, he glanced at Alex who was watching with him a cold, remote look. Unreadable. Alex gave him a slight nod. Whatever that meant. Ryan’s heart fluttered as they dragged him from the cell. He looked away from Alex and did not look back.

Cold fury burned in his belly as they walked him briskly down a long corridor, lined with doors. They passed one or two other coppers on their way, who nodded at them and eyed Ryan with hostile curiosity. The lieutenant walked ahead of them, with a certain and steady gait. Spine straight. Maybe he fought in the war, maybe he didn’t. But whatever the case, they were on opposite sides now. They turned and walked down another corridor until they reached a door at the end. The lieutenant, he couldn’t help but notice, paused and glanced behind them. Then, he opened the door and stepped aside so that the two at each of Ryan’s elbows could steer him roughly down the stairs, an awkward maneuver with them going down sideways so each of them could keep a hold on his elbow.

It took every ounce of his self-control not to push the one in front of him down the stairs.

As they descended in the dimness below, the rank smell of mildew rose to his nostrils and a deep sense of dread began to trickle into his belly and along his neck.

The basement. Why were they taking him to the basement? He glanced up toward the top of the stairs, but as Roberts slammed the door behind them, he was swallowed up by the darkness. The sound of the click, a key in the lock. And then the sound of alternating foot falls as Roberts followed them down the steps. Only a dim glow at the foot of the stairs gave them the outlines of shapes in the darkness. An oil lamp, judging by the smell. And when they reached the bottom landing, they rounded a corner into a dark room. It was difficult to tell how large it was, because the glow from the lamp only bit so far into the utter darkness of the basement. But judging by the echoes the shuffling sound of their footsteps produced, it was large. Quite large. Within the halo of light there was only a table with the lamp and a chair with a coil of rope on the seat.

The dread suddenly filled him to the brim, eclipsing anything else. Sandy Barnes in the back room of the Crystal suddenly flashed into his mind. Crimson blood reeking of iron and life. Pathetic squeals and shrieks. The sound of flesh hitting the concrete floor as it parted from its owner.

The two cops forced him down into the chair and immediately went to work binding his feet to the legs and his torso to the back of it. The Lieutenant stood back, watching the whole scene with a cold, resolute expression. Ryan stared back at him, completely unwilling to be intimidated. When they were finished, they stepped away from Ryan and melted away into the darkness, standing on either side of the doorway. Just faint outlines and the glint of metal in the darkness.

Just him and the Lieutenant now. The man stood with his hat tucked under his arm, studying Ryan. Then he moved slowly, as if coming alive, and placed his hat on the small table near the oil lamp. He removed his heavy, loaded belt and handed it off to one of the officers in the shadows. Then he began to unbutton his jacket carefully, leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world.

“Do you know why you’re here?” the copper finally asked.

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me,” Ryan said, voice warm with anger .

The copper laughed a little. Shrugged out of his jacket. Handed it to one of his toadies.

In his shirt sleeves and his suspenders, he began to roll up the sleeve of each arm to the elbow. All of it was engineered to increase Ryan’s anxiety, but he bolted his courage down and held onto it. No matter what happened now, he wasn’t going to scream, and he wasn’t going to talk.

“It’s a long list, really,” the Lieutenant said. He placed his hands in his pockets and stood looking at Ryan with just a touch of disgust. Anger. “Arson. Trafficking in illegal substances. Murder.” The Lieutenant came forward until his knees nearly touched Ryan’s. Then he put his hands on his knees and leaned forward, talking very softly. “But, to be honest, I don’t give a fuck about any of that. What I want from you right now is to tell me where Evelyn Colter is.”

A zap of surprise and fear went through him. Confusion. How the hell had they tied Evelyn Colter’s disappearance to him? Every possible scenario played out in his head while he sat staring at the Lieutenant. Who had betrayed him? While it was always a danger, it was also unthinkable.

“Who?” Ryan said in an impatient voice that he was confident sounded convincing.

“Oh, Lockwood.” Roberts sighed and stood. Then he walked around him trailing his hand across his shoulders. Ryan forced himself to relax, though he wanted to jerk away. “We needn’t complicate this matter. You can just tell me what you know. And then you can go back to your cell and await sentencing. All above board. No trouble. No… unpleasantness.”

“Can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

A thought injected cold straight into his bones. The basement. The locked door. This copper obviously wasn’t above bending the rules. Ryan had been interrogated by the coppers before and this was not how it went.

This wasn’t going to be any old interrogation session. Roberts was about to do something he shouldn't and Ryan had no illusions around how illegal it might be making any difference whatsoever to Roberts.

“Her father has charged me with her recovery,” the Lieutenant went on. “And I have been strongly encouraged to use whatever means necessary in order to achieve that end.”

“You can keep asking,” Ryan said. “And I’ll keep answering: I don’t know who that is.”

“Except that you do, don’t you?” The Lieutenant was in front of him again, bending down again so they were eye to eye. The green of his irises looked tainted by the darkness in the room. Handsome face in an All-American sort of way. The sort of man who had a nice house, a green lawn with a white picket fence. A wife to put food on the table and warm his cock and birth his children. An upstanding citizen. A Boy Scout. The clean, tidy look about him made Ryan want to wrap his fingers around his neck and squeeze.

“Do what?” Ryan said .

“Lockwood,” the Lieutenant said. He huffed, a sound of irritation and amusement. “Don’t play stupid. You worked for her father. Over a decade ago. A gardener’s apprentice, weren’t you?”

Fuck. Ryan resisted the urge to grit his teeth. “I’ve never been a gardener’s apprentice.”

Never kissed her under the magnolia tree. Never felt her lips graze his neck behind the rose bushes. Never picked her up, set her on the potting bench in the shed and knelt before her, a sacrifice to a goddess.

“You are, frankly, starting to irritate me.” Roberts straightened up and walked slowly into a circle. Anger was becoming apparent on his face. “I feel that I’m being generous. But if you prefer to make things difficult for me, I assure you I will make things difficult for you.”

Ryan laughed. He couldn’t help it and he didn’t want to, either. This prissy copper could flay him alive and he still would never talk. Evelyn didn’t want to be found and he wasn’t going to give her up. Especially to a man who may or may not have been in league with Walter Stanley. Stanley likely actively wanted her dead by now. If he knew that they had her, or at least suspected, then he had set fire to that building knowing she may have been there and hadn’t cared at all.

Without warning, the copper hauled off and punched him across the face. Ryan felt the inside of his cheek split against his teeth, and the hot, metallic taste of blood was suddenly filling his mouth. He gritted his teeth and then spit blood onto the concrete floor .

“Allow me to continue refreshing your memory,” the copper said, a little out of breath. And then he hit him again. And again. And again, until Ryan’s brain felt rattled and his face was battered, radiating pain into his scalp and down into his neck, his mouth full of blood. Pain exploded in his nose and he felt blood erupt from his nostrils, drip over his lips. Dazed, he looked down into his lap and saw huge, black drops of blood on his khaki trousers.

Then he looked up at the Lieutenant, who was panting, blonde hair out of place. “Did that loosen anything for you, Lockwood?”

Ryan spit another big mouthful of blood on the ground.

“Fuck you,” was all he could muster.

The Lieutenant punched him again, and this time the blow knocked one of his molars across his tongue. The break made him grunt and fury rose in him as he spit the tooth out onto the concrete. “Fuck,” he said, staring at the white peeking through the dressing of bloody spit. He looked up at the Lieutenant and spit another mouthful of blood at him, red globs of red landing on his pristine white shirt and his blue trousers.

The Lieutenant moved forward, swift as a snake, and grabbed Ryan by the throat so hard that it completely cut off his air supply. The copper was losing his composure.

“I warn you, Lockwood,” said the Lieutenant, breathing hard. “I warn you for the last time. Tell me where she is.”

“Fuck. You,” Ryan rasped. He flexed his hands, feeling the bite of the cuffs. Helpless, impotent rage boiled through him, nearly choking him with the heat of it .

The Lieutenant’s expression changed. The anger subsided and it was, instead, replaced by a cold determination. Subtle, but it was enough to cause Ryan’s belly to prickle. The Lieutenant turned away and addressed the two men awaiting his command. Ryan did his best to regain his breath without desperately choking for it.

“Rice. Uncuff one of his hands. Baker, move the table here and hold the lamp.”