My hands shake with fear. “Yes, that’s me,” I say, my nervousness creeping up and making me sick.
He nods as the other moves in closer. “Where were you between the hours of 8 and 11 p.m. last night?”
I shake my head. “I ...I—”
Principal Turner cuts me off before I can say another word. “You’re a minor, Winter,” he points out, always advocating for his students, even the ones who don’t deserve it. “You don’t need to say a word.”
I meet his eyes, silently begging him to help me, tell me what I’m supposed to do, but before anything can be done or explained, my wrists are grabbed and I’m pressed up against the wall as handcuffs are fastened around my wrists. “You are under arrest for the murder of Kurt Williams,” the burly cop says as the other pulls me off the wall. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning. Do you understand?”
I nod, frantically searching as the cops start pulling me away. They lead me down to the main entrance where I see their patrol car waiting to take me away.
The students follow us, keeping their phones on me as I make my walk of shame, the whispers already circling.
We reach the patrol car and just as the cop opens the back door and places his hand on my head, I hear Carver’s booming voice cut through the school. “Don’t say a fucking word, Winter,” he yells, making all eyes turn his way.
I meet his stare and see the panic heavy in his eyes but it’s nothing compared to what he must see reflected in mine. “What do I do? You have to help me,” I beg of him, my voice quiet but knowing that he can hear me perfectly well.
Carver nods as I notice the others storming out behind him, each of them just as worried, even Grayson. “We will,” he promises me. “Just whatever you do, don’t say a fucking word.”
And just like that, I’m pushed down into the patrol car and the door is slammed in my face, cutting me off from the rest of the world and instantly claiming what little future I might have had.
CHAPTER 26
I stare up at the ceiling of my cell, my mind taking me back to the cold, concrete dungeon that Sam had me stashed in, the memories haunting me like a bad dream. I have to get out of here.
How are they allowed to hold me like this? I’m a minor.
It’s been well over twenty-four hours. Hell, I’ve lost count. It’s got to be well into the afternoon now, and so far, I haven’t had a single lawyer walk through my door and tell me what the fuck is going on. That’s not right.
I know my rights. Well, actually, I have no idea what my proper legal rights are, but after watching far too many episodes of ‘Criminal Minds,’ I know that I should have been visited by a lawyer and been released by now—unless they’re ready to officially charge me with murder. But what evidence do they have? I was careful. I didn’t leave any fingerprints behind, but what does it matter if I had? I was their foster child; my fingerprints are supposed to be scattered all over the house.
I’ve had three interviews, one that went for four hours where I was denied any food or water, and also didn’t have a legal counsel at my side. I didn’t say a word, just as Carver said, but even if I had, it would all have to be dismissed because of my age. At least, that’s what my daytime cop shows tell me. When it comes down to it, I really haven’t got a clue.
I’m in deep shit here. I need to get out, and it needs to happen soon. Granted this cell isn’t anywhere near as bad as Sam’s dungeon; it’s still horrific. When it all went dark last night, my monsters came out to play in the worst kind of way. I’ve never needed Carver more. Hell, I would have been happy if he could have just sat in this stupid cell with me, but I have a feeling that this is only the beginning. I’m royally fucked; I’m going to be living with these monsters for the rest of my life.
Noise echoes through the building and I let out a sigh. This isn’t exactly the first time my deranged white knights have shown up in some half-assed attempt to get me out of here. I don’t know why they keep bothering. It’s not like I’m ever going to get out.
The noise gets louder, more persistent, and their voices become clearer. There must be at least four solid walls between my bullshit cell and the foyer area of the precinct, but there’s no mistaking Carver’s furious growl or King’s terrifying demands that make it more than clear that they’re done waiting.