Only You by Jerry Cole (the top 100 crime novels of all time TXT) 📕

But then he stopped. Although that was just because two large bikers stood in his way.

“Um... excuse me...” Sherman tried to step around them, but they wouldn’t budge.

“We have a problem.” He could feel Curly approach from behind. Even though the room was perpetually dark, the large man’s shadow grew over the two bikers and himself. “And you’ve found yourself smack bang in the middle of it.”

Sherman spun back around. To his relief, Curly didn’t look angry or upset or mad... but then again, he never did. “Pr — problem?” he stammered.

“I hate loose ends.” His right hand landed on Sherman’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “They’re messy, and never end well.”

“Loose ends?” Sherman’s chin wobbled. “I’m not a — are you talking about me? I’m not a lo – loose end, Curly. I’m a tight end. A tight, well tied, not even a little bit loose —”

“The problem with loose ends is that you never know where they’re going to end up.” Behind Curly, Sherman could see the other five bikers standing now and begin to crowd around him, as if for support. It was almost laughable. “Now you say you’re fine and won’t say anything. But what about next week? Or month? Or year?”

“Curly... I... I...” Sherman shrank back as Curly seemed to take up the entire room.

“I can’t take the risk.” He gave Sherman’s shoulder a squeeze. “But truly, Sherman. Know that this isn’t personal.” And then, a friendly smile as if that would make everything all right.

And as for Sherman? He froze where he stood, unable to move, unable to breath, unable to even blink. He was a lamb that walked itself into the slaughter. And his biggest regret? That Bradley would never know what happened to him. That was saddest of all —

“Police!” A single voice rang out from the top of the stairs. “Nobody move!”

Despite the orders given, everyone in that small room moved as if a fire had been lit under their feet. The men weighing the cocaine scooped the bricks up as quick as they could and hurried to behind the bar. The men flanking Curly fell back and spread out. The two men blocking Sherman stepped to the side and tried to sink into the walls. Even Curly took a quick step back and released Sherman. Fuck, Curly might have even looked a little worried.

And as all this happened, a single pair of feet hurried down the wooden steps and into the basement. It was no SWAT team, or large arresting force. Just the lone police officer. When Sherman saw who the police officer was too... fuck if he didn’t struggle to hide his surprise.

“Don’t anybody move.” Bradley’s strut was full of confidence and strength. The way he walked into the room, gazed around it, eyed Curly up and down, one might actually think he was a cop.

“Good evening off —”

“Shut the fuck up.” Bradley spun himself onto Curly and glared daggers at the man. “You can speak when I tell you to. Not a moment before.”

Curly clenched his jaw and smiled for Bradley; it was a deathly smile though, one that spoke volumes to how Curly must have been feeling.

But Sherman didn’t pay that too much attention. All of his was directed onto Bradley, now standing less than two feet from him but acting like he didn’t even know who he was.

What the fuck was happening? What was Bradley doing here? How had he known where to go? Did he know what Sherman was doing? Did he know he was in trouble? And most of all, was he crazy?!

Sherman tried to get Bradley’s eye, tried to warn him to flee before they realized he wasn’t who he said. But Bradley didn’t give it. He sneered as he looked the room over, wandering through it as if he owned the place. It was both terrifying and electrifying at the same time.

“I’m sorry officer, but is something —”

“That’s Detective.” Bradley swung back on Curly. As he did too, he pulled out a badge and flashed it. Sherman gulped when he saw the badge, knowing too well that it wasn’t real. He just hoped Curly didn’t notice. “Detective Ambrose – and you will call me as such.”

Curly looked as if it was taking all his self-control not to squash Bradley right here and now. “Right... Detective Ambrose. I know my rights and you can’t just come barging into my place of... residence without —”

“A warrant?” Bradley chuckled to himself. “Try reasonable cause. Or were those two men carrying large bricks of cocaine I saw earlier not the same two standing in the back there.” He pointed to the two bikers trying to hide behind the bar. “I’ve called back-up, they’re on the way.”

“Detective Ambrose. Surely, we can —”

“Don’t move!”

Curly had taken a step toward Bradley. Bradley, seeing him coming, took a hurried one back and then reached to his belt like he had a gun. The act saw Curly freeze, and the rest of the room take a collected breath.

“I wasn’t. I just wanted to talk.” Curly held his hands up to calm the room.

“I’ll bet.”

Bradley kept the same hardened sneer on his face as he looked the room over again; the whole time, his hand remained on his belt, by his non-existent gun. He paused on each biker, eyeing them off individually, letting them know he knew where they were. And then, for the first time, he looked at Sherman.

Sherman looked for some sign of recognition. Anything to indicate that this was his Bradley and not some look-a-like. Indeed, not once so far had he even bothered glancing at Sherman like he knew him. This time was no different, as the look he gave Sherman was one of pure