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“There’s a law against hunting down someone. A police officer.” Mac rested his forearms on the table. “You think we’re just going to let that go?”
Whit leaned back as far as the handcuffs would allow. “So is this where you play bad cop, good cop to try to get information out of me?”
“Bad cop, good cop is shit you see on television.” Myles huffed. Where did this guy think he was? In a movie? That routine was common in television shows and movies. They didn’t play games like that when interrogating suspects. “How about you tell us why you were after me. You said it yourself in the woods.”
“I didn’t say shit,” Whit denied.
Myles glared at him. “Excuse me?”
“After you knocked me out, I don’t remember nothing. I think I should sue your department. I’m sure I’ll get plenty of—”
Myles pushed off the wall and stalked toward the table. “You son of a bit—”
“Stand down, Burton,” Mac barked. He glanced at Myles and held up a hand. He turned back to Whit, his voice dropping low. “Look, we know you’re associated with the Demon Lords. They don’t have a good history with our squad. You want to go down with them, fine, but I will tell you they don’t protect their own.”
Mac stood from his chair.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Demon Lords protect their own,” Whit snapped.
“Not sure when you joined, but you should—”
“You think the Demon Lords are after you?” Whit turned his attention to Myles. “Naw, they don’t give a shit about you. But you need to watch your back. You cops say you stand behind each other, but I know from firsthand experience y’all can be just as crooked as criminals.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Myles placed his hands on the table.
“The guy who hired us was a cop.” Whit snickered.
“Why should we believe you?” Mac folded his arms in front of his chest.
“He didn’t have a badge on or anything, but I know a cop when I see one.” Whit sniffed. “Y’all walk around like your shit don’t stink, like you’re above everyone. That dude was a cop, no question.”
Myles stood stall and glanced at Mac.
Shit.
This was fucked up.
“Now that I told you that information, cut me a deal.” Whit chuckled. “Ain’t that what cops do for information?”
“What information? I don’t remember nothing.” Myles turned and stalked out of the room. He ignored the shouts from the prisoner.
It was official. There was not only a mole in the department, but a traitor.
He and his men would find out who it was.
They’d make that person pay.
