Gemma's boot heel was tapping on the floor. One woman had asked her to "Cut that shit out" already, but a pointed look was enough to shut the bitch up and send her to the far corner of the holding cell.
Now Gemma's arms were crossed tight under her breasts, chewing the hell out of her lip and wondering what the hell had happened with her day. The shock was gone, the worry about Tara was gone.
Now she was pissed way the hell off.
Bullshit. The whole thing was utter bullshit. And being trapped in here meant damage was being done on the outside that she had no control over. Tara was going to get to Jax and the club before Gemma could, and that was enough to be plenty worried about.
Already Gemma's mind was planning a defense. No part of her now believed Tara was pregnant. No way she'd go to this length just to get Gemma thrown in jail. If this went to trial, medical reports would have to prove she was pregnant and had a miscarriage. And Gemma was pretty sure whatever mark was left behind on Tara's abdomen would not resemble a boot. That would have to be documented immediately, and the evidence would not back Tara up no matter who was saying they saw the whole thing go down.
Go ahead, she was thinking as the holding cell's door was opened. Press charges, bitch. You got nothing.
The deputy was saying her name, pulling her out of her thoughts. She frowned. "What?"
"Gemma Teller? You're free to go."
She had to pause for a moment. "What?"
"No charges are being laid. You're free to go."
No baby. No miscarriage. No charges.
As she waited for her personal effects to be returned Gemma's mind was whirling on another tangent now. She was being played, but to what end she had no idea.