Twila takes my wrist.
For one second, every instinct in me rebels.
I don’t like cuffs.
I don’t like giving law my hands.
I don’t like Jeremy watching with blood on his teeth and victory in his eyes.
Then I think of Amelia.
If you go to jail, he wins.
Too late, darlin’.
I turn and put my hands behind my back.
Twila cuffs me clean and tight.
“Assault?” I ask.
“For starters.”
“You gonna read me my rights?”
“You gonna listen?”
“Probably not.”
She leans closer as she checks the cuffs. Her voice drops low enough only I hear. “You stupid son of a bitch.”
I smile without humor. “He sent a toy to August.”
Her face doesn’t soften.
But something in her eyes does.
“I know.”
“Then you know why I hit him.”
“I know why.” She straightens. “That doesn’t mean you get to do it in front of county cameras while he’s meeting family services.”
Jeremy coughs from the wall. “I want him charged.”
Twila turns on him so fast he shuts up.
“You want medical attention,” she says.
“I want…”
“You want medical attention,” she repeats, and there is enough law in her voice to remind him she ain’t his. “Then you can give a statement after someone checks whether your teeth are still unionized.”
Despite myself, I grin.
Oaks mutters, “Don’t encourage him.”
Twila opens the back of the cruiser. “In.”