Deputy Colton stands at the side of my bed, his notebook open, pen poised like a weapon ready to strike. His expression doesn’t betray much, but I can see what lurks in his eyes. He doesn’t believe me. Or at least, he doesn’t believe all of it. This is our third interview since Kit released me, and I’m tired of repeating myself, tired of seeing the flicker of skepticism in his eyes each time my story remains unchanged.
“Mrs. Sullivan,” he says, tapping his pen against the paper, “let’s go through this one more time.”
I shift slightly, wincing at the uncomfortable bed and the scratchy feeling of the hospital gown against my skin. Apparently, I’m in remarkably good shape for having been kidnapped and held hostage for more than a week. At least that’s what the doctors keep telling me.
“I’ve told you everything that happened,” I say, not bothering to hide my exhaustion. “Three times now.”
“Humor me.” He clicks his pen, an oddly aggressive sound in the quiet room. “One more time. Your car broke down on County Road 16, and then what happened?”
I close my eyes, pushing down the flare of irritation.
“I called a tow truck, but they couldn’t come right away. I called Roman, but he didn’t answer. I called the clubhouse too, but nobody would come help me.” I open my eyes to find Colton watching me, his expression unchanged. “I was waiting in my car when a truck pulled up behind me. Someone got up. I called 911, but they smashed my passenger window. Before I could react, the door was yanked open, and I was pulled out of the car.”
“And you didn’t see who it was?” Colton interrupts, the same question he’s asked multiple times before.
“No. It was dark. He was wearing a mask.” Another careful omission. I had seen Kit’s face eventually, of course, but I’ve decided that particular detail isn’t making it into my official statement. I don’t know why I’m protecting him. Maybe because he let me go when he didn’t have to.
Collins makes a note, his mouth now pressed into a thin line. “And then?”
“He tied my hands, blindfolded and gagged me. Put me in a vehicle. Felt like the back of a pickup truck. We drove for what felt like hours, but I couldn’t keep track of time.” The words come mechanically now. “When we stopped, I was taken inside somewhere. A building that felt large and empty. Concrete floors. Echoing. Maybe a warehouse.”
“And there was just the one man? The one who took you from your car?”
I hesitate. This is where my story gets tricky. I could tell him about Wrath, about Moose, about Tank and Scorpion, about all the others. But I don’t. I don’t want to.
“I only saw one clearly,” I say carefully. “He called himself Kit. But I heard other voices sometimes. I was kept in a small room most of the time.” Not entirely a lie.
“And this Kit, did he say what he wanted? Why he took you?”
I roll the edge of my hospital gown between my finger and thumb. “He seemed to have some grudge against Roman. Against the Devil‘s Rejects. But whenever I asked about it, he wouldn’t give me a straight answer.”
“Did he hurt you?” Colton asks, his eyes flicking to the bruise on my cheek, the scrapes on my arms.
“No, not really. These are from when I tried to escape.” I shift again, wincing as the IV tugs at my vein. “I managed to get out of the building once, but I didn’t make it far. The warehouse was in the middle of nowhere, just woods all around. They caught me and brought me back.”
Colton’s eyebrows lift slightly at the plural. “They?”
I curse silently. “Kit and… whoever else was there. I didn‘t see faces.” I rush past the slip. “After that, they kept a closer watch on me.”
“And then what? After all this, he just… let you go?” The skepticism in Colton’s voice is thick enough to cut with a knife.
“Not exactly,” I say. “A few days later, there was a lot of activity. People moving things, packing up. Kit said they had to move locations. That’s when I was tied up and blindfolded again, put in another vehicle.”
“And you have no idea where you were taken?”
“No. After they put me in a truck and we drove for a long time. Then they walked me through some woods, and Kit whispered something in my ear.” I pause, remembering the warmth of his breath, the strange intimacy of that moment. “He said, ‘Tell him I did it for Amara. Don’t disappoint me. I stood there for a minute and then removed the blindfold. Kit was gone. I could see lights from the highway through the trees, so I walkedtoward them. That’s how I found the gas station.” I meet his eyes steadily, daring him to challenge this part of the story. It’s the absolute truth, after all.
“Amara?” Colton repeats, writing the name down. “Do you know who that is?”
“No, Roman has never mentioned anyone by that name before.”
The deputy taps his pen against his notepad, clearly unsatisfied. “Mrs. Sullivan, I have to tell you that your story has some… inconsistencies.”
“Does it?” I ask, even though I know exactly what he means.
“Like why this Kit person would go to all the trouble of kidnapping you, keeping you for days, and then just letting you go. Like how you managed to get away unharmed from what you describe as a building full of dangerous men. Like why, if this was a grudge against your husband or his MC, they didn’t make any ransom demands or use you as leverage.”
I’ve been asking myself the same questions, of course. I still don’t understand why Kit let me go. The message about Amara is the only clue I have, and I can’t even begin to understand what it means.