Page 3 of Adoring Fletcher
It didn’t matter that my arms were already aching from how tightly I was secured. I had the feeling that nothing was about to matter.
As the officer shut the door, tears began to fall in the darkness.
I was utterly screwed.
2
ADAM
The alarms wokeme from a dead sleep. My heart took off at a gallop, faster than my mind could even process. My knee-jerk reaction was to grab the Glock hidden away in my bedside drawer and face whoever had broken into my house head-on.
So I rolled out of bed, yanked the drawer open, and ran out of my room.
From the top of the stairs, I could see people fleeing out the front door, scrambling like rats from a sinking ship. One lone straggler didn’t quite make it, though. He hesitated, and I reacted.
“STOP!” I snarled, my gun aimed at the Omega.
The young man looked terrified, out of place in his raggedy clothing and worn-out shoes, clutching the antique jewelry that had been handed down to me by my grandfather to his chest. He whipped around to face me, then stumbled backward, tripping over his own feet and landing hard on his ass.
I crept closer, my gun still trained on him. I wasn’t sure if he was armed, but I wasn’t about to find out the hard way.
The alarm shrieked at the top of its lungs. It was set to trigger a call to 911 if set off, and the cops were there faster than Iexpected. I didn’t lower my gun until they arrested the Omega who’d robbed me.
I watched as they hauled him to his feet, yanking his arms behind his back and cuffing him. The red-headed young man didn’t even resist. He shrank into a shell of himself, and in a whisper, asked the officer if he was going to jail.
The cop laughed about it, but the man’s hushed words caught my ear:“At least I won’t have to sleep on the streets tonight…”
I shook my head and turned my attention back to the officers who approached me. One of them was tall and dark-skinned, and the other was short and a little pudgy around the waist, like he’d eaten one too many donuts. They were both young, probably under thirty, and both human.
“Adam Sinclair?” the taller cop began, gesturing to me—or rather, the gun still gripped in my hand. “Can you put the weapon down for me, please? We don’t want any altercations tonight.”
“Shit.” I grimaced and quickly nodded, flipping the safety back on before setting the pistol down on the wooden staircase. When I straightened to face the cops once more, I raised both hands in front of me. “Sorry. Just trying to protect my property, sir.”
They nodded. “I’m Officer Wineheart,” the first cop said, “And this is Officer Maynard. We have a few questions for you, if you’d be so kind. What exactly happened here tonight?”
They both looked at me expectantly, like I had any idea. I glanced around, my gaze lingering on the shattered front window.
It was busted in, as if somebody had grabbed a weapon and started swinging. This robbery had definitely been premeditated, but why me? Was I a target simply because of my wealth?
“I don’t know,” I told them. “One minute I was asleep, and the next, my alarms were going off. When I left my room, I saw them—an entire group of thieves—fleeing out the front door. Their arms were loaded with things they stole from me. It was sheer dumb luck I caught that one.”
I looked at the Omega. He surprised me by staring back at me, his eyes dark with sorrow and regret. “I’m sorry,” he murmured before dropping his gaze and turning away.
“Alright,” Officer Maynard said brusquely. “It’s late. Normally, we’d have you come down to the precinct for questioning, but it’s three o’clock in the morning. We know you’re a busy man, Mr. Sinclair. You can come in in the morning for questioning, and to decide if you want to press charges. Get some rest, sir.”
I watched as the cop hustled the Omega out the door and down the front steps. When they reached the police car, the young man was quickly sealed away in the back seat, like some dirty little secret. I should’ve been relieved, but I felt strangely…hollow. The lights on the cruiser flashed neon red and blue, a sharp reminder of what had happened tonight.
But rest? I didn’t rest.
My place was in shambles. I trudged out to the shed on the west side of the property, gathered some leftover plywood from an old project, and brought it inside. Then I began to board up my broken window. The hammer banged loudly into the night.
My stomach sank as I stared at my handiwork. I knew what I had to do, even though I didn’t want to do it, but I’d catch shit if I didn’t.
So I called my father.
The phone rang three times before his grizzled voice came onto the line, still half-asleep. “Adam? It’s the dead of night.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry to wake you. I just wanted you to know that there’s been an incident. I was robbed.”
