Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
“You okay?” he asked, looking down at my ballooning hand that was propped on the bar.
“Not really,” I slurred, summoning the bartender over with a crook of my finger.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“No,” I clipped. I had shredded knuckles, dirt on my jeans and a face that surely screamed leave me the fuck alone. “Try the bathroom if you’re looking for a quick fuck.”
The stranger smirked at me, almost looking amused. Standing from his stool he got right up in my personal space, placing his hand on my waist.
“I’ll be over there if you change your mind,” he whispered straight into my ear, winking at me as he smoothed his palm down my side and over my thigh. Ignoring him completely, I gave my order for another vodka, and continued my quest to drink myself numb.
An hour or so later and my mind was so blissfully anesthetized I’d forgotten all about trying to score some pot. I didn’t need it now. The copious amounts of alcohol I’d consumed had quieted my thoughts and all but paralyzed my body. Slumped over the bar, my head was buried into my crossed arms on the counter. I think I might’ve even been on the verge of passing out entirely when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“Ryder Richardson?” It seemed to take me several minutes to prize my heavy head from the bar top and turn to look at the source of the stern voice. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my cloudy eyes. In front of me stood two uniformed police officers, staring down at me with impatient frowns on their faces.
“Umm, y-yeah,” I mumbled lazily.
“We have reason to believe you’re in possession of a Class A drug. We’re going to need you to come with us.”
I looked at them through hazy vision, crumpling my face in confusion. “I’m not going anywhere,” I slurred. “I don’t have anything on me.”
“Then I’m sorry, sir, but you are under arrest.”
“What the…” A strong hand took hold of my wrist, holding it out in front of me before doing the same with the other.
“You do not have to say anything. However, it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
Handcuffs were clicked into place around my wrists, and then I was coaxed from the barstool with a gentle tug of my arm. “I-I don’t understand. What the f-fuck is going on?”
Somehow, I managed to sober myself up enough to walk through the pub, although I did stumble a few times. The officers didn’t leave my side, each of them holding one of my arms at the elbow. Eyes bored into me from every direction, some curious, some disgusted. I hung my head low, not only to avoid their mocking stares but also to make sure my feet were moving in the right direction.
Outside there was a police car, and when we reached it one of the officers placed his hand on top of my head while I climbed clumsily inside the back. “Where are you taking me?” I asked when the car roared to life. “I haven’t done anything,” I protested lazily, my words still garbled from the alcohol.
“You’re going to the station,” one of them answered. “Where you’ll be searched and given the opportunity to contact a solicitor.”
“But I haven’t fucking done anything,” I whispered under my breath.
When we reached the station, the officers escorted me into the building, removing the handcuffs when we reached the desk. I flexed my wrists, not realizing how much being constricted had affected them until the cuffs were gone. The officer behind the desk, an older guy with a bald head and a pot belly, took my name and details before asking me to empty my pockets.
Reaching into my jeans, I took out my phone and placed it on the desk. Then I turned out the other pocket, which was empty, before moving onto my jacket. Rolling my eyes, I plucked out my wallet, some chewing-gum, a lighter and…”
“Those aren’t mine,” I stated, my eyes widening in shock as I dropped the three small pouches of powder onto the desk. Heroin. I’d have recognized that shit anywhere. “I swear to God I have no idea where that came from.” What the hell is going on? I may have been drunk but I knew I hadn’t moved off that barstool all damn night. Those drugs did not belong to me. “I’ve never seen that shit before!”
“Empty the rest of your pockets please,” the bald officer ordered, ignoring my plea completely. I did as I was told, only coming up with another packet of gum and a handful of loose change. “Do you have a solicitor or would you like us to arrange one for you?”