Page 11 of Calypso’s Shield (Royal Harlots MC, Los Angeles Chapter #1)

FARRIS

I couldn’t go on the raid since it wasn’t in my district, and it’s driving me insane.

My entire body feels wired, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

I should be there. Watching Calypso’s back.

Making sure they all come home. Instead, I’m pacing the Clubhouse living room like a caged animal, questioning everything I thought I knew about myself.

For so long, the law has been black and white to me, with clear-cut lines of right and wrong.

But since getting involved with Calypso and the Royal Harlots, those lines have blurred into something murky and grey.

The more I see, the more I realize how tied my hands are because of my badge.

The system I swore to uphold is broken, tangled in red tape that lets monsters slip through the cracks.

And now, instead of making a difference, I’m standing around with my thumb up my ass, waiting.

If I wasn’t what they call a civilian, I’d be out there with them. I wouldn’t be here, pacing like a goddamn lunatic.

A sharp buzz in my pocket jolts me from my thoughts. My supervisor.

“Dalton, get your ass to the station. Now.”

I don’t argue. I grab my keys and go.

Now, here I am at the precinct, still pacing, but this time, it’s on the worn linoleum floor instead of the Clubhouse rug.

The questions in my head won’t stop. Am I in the right line of work? I became a detective to help people, to stop the worst of the worst. But right now? I feel like a glorified paper pusher, cleaning up after the real heroes.

The idea of another life, another path, creeps in. Capone and the Royal Bastards. But I shake my head. I don’t even know how to ride a bike. And they’d never trust me. Not after spending my entire life on the other side of the law.

But if Calypso taught me, and I can prove myself, maybe I could prospect. I shake the thought away, but it lingers, curling around my mind like smoke.

“Damn, Dalton, what’s crawled up your ass?”

I snap my gaze to Detective Ponder. My partner for the past six months. An arrogant, know-it-all jackass. His shaggy brown hair is a mess, and his tie is already loose like he’s given up pretending to care.

“Nothing,” I bite out. He wouldn’t understand the mess I’ve gotten myself into, and I sure as hell don’t have the energy to explain it.

Ponder scoffs. “Then sit the fuck down and get to work. We’ve got missing kids who need our help.”

Like I don’t fucking know that. Like I’m not already losing sleep over it.

I sink into my chair, ignoring him, and wake my computer. Logging in, I open my case files, my fingers moving on autopilot until I come across a name.

Gareth Downs. One of the kids the Royal Harlots rescued.

A flash of relief washes through me. At least one of them made it.

But if I can’t be out there helping them end this trafficking ring, I’ll do what I can from this side.

I start digging, running an extensive background check, making sure nothing leads back to the Royal Harlots or the Royal Bastards when this ring finally collapses.

My phone lights up with a text.

Calypso: We’re done. Scarlett sent most of the kids your way. Be ready.

Me: How many?

Calypso: Twenty. The hospital will call once they arrive.

Me: Any casualties?

Calypso: No children.

My shoulders ease, but I don’t exhale. The chat bubbles pop up and then disappear. She’s hesitating.

Calypso: I understand if you don’t want to come back here. What you needed to do is done.

The words hit like a punch to the ribs. She thinks I’m walking away? That I’d leave after this? Fuck that.

Me: Fuck that. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

Calypso: I don’t know how this is going to work. I’m an outlaw. You’re not.

Me: We’ll figure this out.

Calypso: We’ll see.

Me: Keep pushing me away, and I’ll take you over my knee, swat that beautiful ass until it’s red with my handprints, and you’re begging me to take you.

Calypso: Promises, promises. Don’t make threats you can’t back up, Farris.

Me: Oh, I can and will.

Calypso: We’ll see.

“Dalton! Incoming.” I jerk my head up as Ponder slams his phone down. “Multiple victims just dropped off at the hospital.”

I grab my jacket. Showtime.

Fifteen minutes later, the hospital is chaos.

Nurses rush between gurneys, their voices urgent but controlled. Children are crying. Some are in pain, some in pure, bone-deep terror. Doctors work frantically, trying to assess injuries and keep them calm. The air is thick with antiseptic and something worse, something primal. Fear.

My stomach twists at the sight of them. Bloodied, bruised, malnourished. Hollow eyes that have seen too much.

I stop at the edge of the ER, my throat tightening.

A little girl, no older than five, clutches a teddy bear with one ear missing.

Her tiny fingers grip the fur so tightly they’re turning white.

A nurse kneels in front of her, whispering soft reassurances, but the girl doesn’t react.

She just stares through the nurse with a vacant, empty gaze.

How many months did she spend locked in a cage? How many nights did she cry for parents that never came?

I approach the nearest officer and flash my badge. “Detective Dalton, and this is my partner, Detective Ponder.” I put my badge away. “Can you fill us in?”

“We received an anonymous nine-one-one call to an abandoned hotel outside of Rotunda. The caller stated to bring a lot of ambulances and cop cars. When we got there, all these children were ushered outside with blankets wrapped around them and not an adult in sight.” He looks around the ER, this night will be something he will never forget.

I swallow hard. “This isn’t the worst of it, is it?” I ask the nearest officer.

He shakes his head, his gaze dark. “The hotel was up in flames when we got there. The fire marshals say there won’t be much left.”

I nod, jaw tight. No evidence. No leads. Just ashes where monsters once thrived.

Do you have any suspects?” Ponder questions.

“No. Only these kids suffered for weeks, maybe months, possibly years. I just hope whoever did this to these children rots in hell.” The officer answers.

“Thank you.” I offer my card. “If you think of anything or hear anything, please let me know.”

“Will do.” He takes my card and moves down the hall, his shoulders are hanging heavy.

Ponder scoffs beside me. “Bet it was those biker gangs.”

I turn to him, my hands clenching into fists. “Biker gangs?”

“Yeah, those Royal Assholes or whatever. And now there’s a new one full of chicks. What do they call themselves? Royal Sluts?”

My vision goes red. I don’t think. I swing, knocking my partner in the jaw and sending him spiraling to the ground. He glares up at me with blood dripping down his face, and I crouch down so we’re at eye level. “If I ever hear you call any of those women whores again, I will end you.”

“You’ve just ended your career over some pussy,” he sneers.

I rip off my badge and throw it at him. “Like I fucking care anymore.” I don’t wait for a response.

I walk out of that hospital without looking back, knowing exactly where I belong.

I hope I made the right decision. It feels like I did, but only time will tell.

I shut off my phone and head back to the Harlots' Clubhouse, my pulse steady but my mind racing.

I should never have left in the first place.

That truth sits heavy in my chest, solidifying with every step closer.

When I reach the entrance, the prospect barely spares me a glance before letting me in.

She knows. They all do. I made the right decision.

When Calypso and the other Royal Harlots return, there’s a heaviness in the air. The kind that lingers after something has gone very, very wrong.

They move with quiet efficiency, their usual sharp-edged confidence dulled by whatever they just faced. My gut tightens as I push to my feet and stride toward Calypso. The second my arms wrap around her, she melts into me. No hesitation. No walls.

Something bad happened.

I’m about to suggest we go upstairs to give her an escape, even if it’s only for a little while, when Allura approaches.

"We need to put a plan in place."

Calypso rolls her eyes but shifts to face her President. "I'm not scared, nor am I worried about what he will do." Her voice is sharp, lined with venom. "He wants to come for me? Try to finish what he started? Let him. I will end that slimy asshole."

The raw fury in her voice stuns me.

I glance between them, piecing it together. Who the hell is she talking about?

“What are we talking about?” I ask, my voice low.

Calypso cuts Allura a glare before turning it on me. Deflection. “What are you doing here? I thought you had to work at the precinct.”

I shift, scratching the back of my head, feeling the weight of my actions settle. “About that…”

Calypso’s eyes narrow. “Farris, what did you do?”

I exhale. “I kinda punched my partner in the face and threw my badge at him.”

Calypso stares at me for a long second before throwing her head back with a laugh. A full, unrestrained, wicked laugh. It draws the attention of every woman in the room, their gazes snapping to us like we just flipped a match into gasoline.

Allura arches a brow, arms crossed tight over her chest. "What the hell, Farris? Why would you do that?"

I meet her gaze head-on. No hesitation. No doubt.

“Because I can’t stay in a job where my hands are tied anymore. I want to do everything I can to bring these dirtbags to justice, and holding a badge is limiting me.”

The room goes quiet.

Then, Allura pulls out her phone, dials a number, and waits. Whatever she’s about to do, I have a feeling it’s going to change everything.

“Hey, we have an issue. Can you come over here?” A pause. A nod. “Okay. We’ll come to you.” She ends the call and locks eyes with me. "C’mon. Let's go. You have a meeting."

Then, without another word, she spins on her heel and heads toward the door.

I glance at Calypso. She shrugs, but there’s a glint in her eyes. Something sharp, something unreadable.

I follow the Harlots outside. They straddle their Harleys, the sound of engines roaring to life filling the night air. I swing on behind Calypso, my arms tightening around her waist as we take off into the unknown.

I don’t know where we’re going. I don’t know who I’m about to meet. But I do know one thing.

Punching my partner and quitting my job may have just painted me as a target. And somehow, I don’t regret a damn thing.