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Chapter forty-four

PUMA

The interrogation room stinks of stale coffee, sweat, and the kind of cheap cologne that clings to polyester uniforms and false authority. It’s the same little house they brought Violet to, the only good thing being that it’s less than twenty minutes from the estate rather than the one in the heart of the city. Still, it’s goddamn three in the morning and I’m about to kick someone’s ass for dragging me out of bed.

Mostly because of the fear in Violet and Sofie’s eyes. Hell, even Gray was slightly panicked even though he won’t admit it. Some part of me wishes we were bonded to those beautiful women so that I could know how they were feeling but it’s a two way street. And the twins aren’t handling this very well. They look like they’re going to murder someone and while I have enough restraint, I’m not sure they do.

I lean back in the uncomfortable metal chair, arms crossed over my chest, keeping my gaze fixed on the officer as he paces back and forth. The guy’s pushing fifty, gray hair, a gut that shows he’s spent more time sitting behind a desk than doing actual fieldwork. Still, the arrogance in his movements screams the same message I’ve seen a hundred times before: he thinks he can break me down, get me to talk. It won’t fucking work.

Because there’s nothing to fucking talk about.

Lance and Hawk are sitting to my right, and even though none of us say a word, the tension radiating off them is palpable. Lance is barely keeping his cool. His fists are clenched against the metal table and his shoulders are hunched like he’s a second away from flipping the damn thing over. Hawk, on the other hand, is still. His sharp eyes keep darting between the officer and the door. Calculating. Waiting. Not tense, not angry, just ready in case things escalate. I have a feeling he’s going to be the one to smother Sofie the minute we get home.

Nothing about this screams professional, especially the fact that no one else is in the station and we’re all sitting here uncuffed in the same goddamn room across from the main officer who claimed we were under arrest.

The officer slams his hands on the table, leaning in close. The sour smell of stale coffee on his breath hits me. “I always knew your wealth was built on stolen goods,” he sneers. “People like you don’t get to the top without getting their hands dirty.”

Ah, so he’s been fed information and he’s already made his conclusion. Most of the officers I’ve worked with are pretty impartial but for someone to want to drag us out at three in the morning, it must have been important.

The officer’s face twists, like he’s annoyed he hasn’t gotten a reaction. “Nothing to say, huh?” His smirk is smug, but there’s no real fire behind it. “You think sitting there looking untouchable makes you innocent?”

I tilt my head, letting the silence stretch a little longer before finally responding. “I think sitting here makes me patient,” I say evenly. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s about to take a swing. But then he pulls back with a sharp exhale, muttering under his breath as he straightens up. “You’re not getting out of this. Not this time. You and your little art empire are about to come crashing down. We’re gonna keep you locked up until we sort this mess out, and trust me, it’s not looking good for you.”

He starts rapid-firing questions at us regarding how we found the fake prints, who we got them from, who we’re working with, how many we have in our collection. Each question we don’t answer, he becomes a little more frustrated but even if I didn’t feel like fucking with the guy, I can’t give him what he wants. We haven’t dealt in anything fake.

Fifteen minutes of this nonsense and Banks steps into the room, glaring at the officer who’s been berating us. He lets out a heavy sigh, a storm brewing in his dark eyes, and I already know whoever dragged us in here is about to regret it. He immediately holds a hand up to the officer to keep him from continuing. “Yeah, no, you don’t get to question my clients anymore.” He gestures toward the door. “Bye.”

The officer scowls. “You don’t run things here, lawyer.”

Banks turns his head slowly, eyes narrowing. “Neither do you when you pull bullshit stunts like this. You mentioned they were under arrest, they get legal counsel.” He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “I left my very pregnant Omega at home for this nonsense. So unless you want me filing so many complaints your superiors won’t have space to shove them, I suggest you get the fuck out of my face.”

The officer clenches his jaw, muttering something under his breath, but he stomps out, slamming the door behind him. Lance lets out a low whistle. “Damn. That was kinda hot.”

Banks sighs, finally turning to us as he drops into the chair across the table. “Already mated. But you owe me for this,” he grumbles, running a hand down his face. “I left my Omega and my Beta alone at home to deal with this bullshit.”

I smirk, stretching my legs out. “She’s gonna kick your ass.”

He scoffs, sitting back. “That’s what my Beta is for. Hopefully, he’ll keep her happy until I get home.”

Lance chuckles. “You hope.”

Banks flips him off before clasping his hands together and leaning forward, all business now. “Alright, let’s get to it. The officers absolutely overstepped their power dragging you out at this hour. It’s intimidation, a tactic to get you flustered, see if you slip. But other than a few accusations, they have no solid evidence.”

Hawk tilts his head. “You’re sure?”

Lance crosses his arms, the tension in his posture matching Hawk’s. “Where did the tips even come from? Who called it in?”

Banks lets out a dry chuckle, one that lacks any humor. “Xavier,” he says, flipping through his notes. “Or at least, the phone number registered to him.”

Hawk stills, his hands flexing at his sides. “That little weasel—”

Banks holds up a hand, cutting him off. “He’s caught up in something way over his head,” he says, voice even. “That much is clear. But that doesn’t mean we’re in the clear. In fact, I’d say this is going to get worse before it gets better.”

Lance rubs a hand over his face. “And you’re sure there’s no real evidence yet?”

Banks nods. “Yet. But Xavier has done an excellent job fabricating it. He’s spun this whole thing so that the likely deduction is that the Ashford pack is knee-deep in this mess. He’s lined things up just enough that when they do find something, they’ll be looking at you three first.”

Hawk lets out another low growl, pacing again. “Fucking fantastic.”

Banks drags a hand through his hair, shoulders rising with a sigh. “And it gets worse.”

Lance lets out a humorless laugh. “Of course it does.”

Banks levels us with a serious look. “Because of all the connections—your names being tied to this case—it’s only a matter of time before people start looking into your pack. And the moment it gets out that Violet and Sofie are officially part of the Ashford pack, they might get dragged into this investigation too.”

I’ve spent my life building an empire, securing every angle, eliminating every weak spot to make sure nothing could ever touch the people under my roof. And yet, here we are. On the brink of disaster. And now my women—our women—are in the line of fire.

“No,” Hawk snaps, shaking his head. “That’s not happening.”

“Absolutely fucking not,” Lance agrees. “We need to make sure they’re protected. That this doesn’t even touch them.”

Banks nods. “Good. Because the moment they get caught up in this, it complicates everything tenfold. Laying low is the best course of action but I know that won’t last long. You four get antsy when you have nothing to do. I suggest getting ahead of the story, control the narrative before it spins out of control.”

That gives me several ideas, none of which Banks will like.

Banks sighs. “Cut that smirk off your face, Puma. You pay me well but not well enough to get you out of whatever shit is running through your head. In the meantime, I’ll be doing everything I can to tear down whatever case they think they have before they can even put the pieces together. It’s not just your safety I’m worried about. It’s your reputation. A rumor like this? It can destroy a man before he even has a chance to defend himself. But you—” he gestures between us, “—you’re the Ashford pack. Your entire foundation is built on reputation. You don’t get to fuck around and hope it all works itself out.”

I drag a hand down my face, exhaling hard. “And what about Sofie and Violet?”

Banks hesitates for a second. Then his voice drops, something colder settling beneath the usual sarcasm. “Don’t let them out of your sight. There’s no hard evidence against you yet, but public opinion? That shit is a weapon as you all well know. And if someone decides the Ashford pack is running an art forgery ring, it doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. They’ll make it true. The last thing you need is Sofie or Violet being dragged into this shitstorm.”

I have a feeling that keeping Violet and Sofie locked up until this all blows over is going to be a challenge but if it keeps them safe, I’ll do it. There’s just one issue left. “Banks, why does it feel like you’re about to walk us out of here after being charged?”

“I’ve been on the case from day one—both civil and criminal to make sure that I catch whatever whispers are rolling through the network. A lovely conversation with two of those officers let me know that this was nothing more than a scare tactic to get you to talk. I’ll be calling their supervisors in the morning to let them know some of the officers are abusing their power. They probably wanted a notch on their belt but they seriously fucked up. Now, let’s get you back home so I can go back home. I have a feeling that we both have mates that are going to be pissed at our disappearance.”

He's not wrong.

I push to my feet, the twins following me as we exit the room. The first officer spins, about to spout more bullshit when Banks, again, just holds his hands up. “Threatening my clients by saying they were under arrest for art forgery in the middle of the goddamn night and then not even processing them into the system is a terrible look for Ansdale police. Either charge them officially or they’re going home.”

The officer sputters around for the right words. “We’re following up on a credible tip.”

Banks laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah? Well, if the one calling in was actually credible, maybe I’d take this whole thing a little more seriously.” I hold back a laugh, recognizing just how unprecedented all this is. If I had a little less money to my name, I’d still be in that interrogation room, trying to find a way back home.

But money talks and apparently, so does Banks. I’ll make sure to pad his fee a bit for tonight’s call.