by Lane Hart
“No!” Jetta exclaims as she slaps a hand over her gaping mouth.
“Yes.”
“You don’t seem too bothered by that shit now,” Wirth points out.
“I’m not. At the time, I think I was mostly just shocked, you know, because it was so out of the blue and I hadn’t seen her in years. But now I’m glad I went with Lucy. I needed the closure just as much, if not more than she did, from her cheating ex.”
“I don’t think I understood half of what y’all are talking about,” Fiasco grumbles.
“Did you think about standing up and objecting during the wedding?” Naomi asks.
“Nope. Although, some family members were looking at me and Lucy both like they expected us to proclaim our love at the last minute. She was so over that douche that it didn’t cross her mind either.”
“That’s good,” Naomi replies with a smile. “Sounds like it all worked out for everyone.”
“Yeah, except I spent the last few days in bed with Lucy, which was selfish since I knew how it was going to end when we got back.”
“Oh, Lucy knew too,” Jetta speaks up and declares.
“About the warrant, yes, but not what I’m suspected of doing, and I want to keep it that way.”
“Oh, she knows about the possibility of charges too.”
“You told her!” I shout at Devlin’s girl, which of course causes him to jump to his feet and get defensive.
“Calm down, man,” Dev warns.
“Even if Lucy didn’t know the details, it would only take her a few clicks on the computer to find out,” Malcolm says simply as he takes a sip from his bottle of beer. “She’s really good at finding shit — like you, for instance…”
“I hate to break it to you, Nash,” Jetta starts. “But Lucy knew about the homicide investigation on Thursday when I talked to her. It was right after the sheriffs showed up at your apartment looking for you and executing the search warrant. They’re the ones who told her about the homicide investigation, probably to try and scare her into turning you in if you showed up later.”
“You’re certain she knew I was a suspect in a multiple murder case?” I ask.
“Yep.”
“I don’t believe it,” I mutter. “All weekend she knew…and she acted completely normal other than in the car on the way to the resort. But I just figured that was because she was trying to figure out how to tell me she stalked me and was related to my ex-wife.”
“The girl is a helluva lot tougher than she looks,” Malcolm says.
“Yeah, she survived cancer too. Did you know that?” I ask him.
“Sure did.”
“How did you find that out? She couldn’t have told you, because it was like pulling teeth to get anything out of her!”
“No, she didn’t tell me. The PI I hired after Naomi lifted Lucy’s phone and wallet from her purse did a little digging on her. I thought it was strange that she would show up out of the blue at an MC clubhouse to talk to me about you if she was ‘just a concerned neighbor.’ And it turned out I was right. But I knew she was harmless, just looking for a fresh start with someone who could relate to what she had been through with her ex.”
“Yeah, well, he cheated on her and got Ellie pregnant while she was battling cancer and having surgery that would take away her chance of ever being a mother. You can bet your ass that Ellie rubbed that shit in Lucy’s face too, as if she hadn’t hurt her enough.”
“What a bitch,” Jetta huffs. “Ellie, not Lucy. Lucy’s great.”
“Yeah, she is,” I agree, turning to Devlin’s woman. “Will you be there for her? Make sure she moves on?”
“What if she doesn’t want to move on?” Jetta asks.
“Then make her!” I exclaim. “She can’t wait on me. She’ll just end up waiting years of her life before she realizes I’m a lost cause and finally gives up.”
“Dude, we’re going to figure out something,” Devlin says. “Do you really think we would let you rot in prison?”
“We’ll do whatever we need to do,” Malcolm agrees. “Even if we have to bribe a judge or some shit.”
“Let’s just all be realistic,” I tell them. “Don’t do anything crazy that will put you all on the chopping block too. Lay low, and hopefully the DA’s case will fizzle out with me. You know I would never rat anyone else out.”
“We know that,” Silas agrees. “And you should know that we’re not gonna sit around with our thumbs in our asses either.”
“Promise me you’ll all be smart.” I glance around the table, meeting each guy right in the eyes. “I’d appreciate it if you would all look after Lucy too.”
“She may look small, but she’s tough as nails,” Malcolm says. “Do you have any idea what she does to cheating men?”
“What cheating men? What are you talking about?” I ask in confusion.
“She’s in some online support groups for women who are cheated on. Apparently, she decided that talking about it isn’t enough, so she started taking action. Using her skills, she hacks into the men’s social media accounts and posts embarrassing shit like tiny dick pics on their profile pages, images of them wearing women’s panties, whatever she can find to hurt them. It’s savage as fuck but pretty funny.”
“How do you know she does that?”
“Saw the shit on her phone when Naomi nabbed it. When I confronted her about it, she just said they deserved it.”
“What if those assholes find out she’s responsible and come after her?” I say in concern.
“I told her the MC would have her back if she needed it since she agreed to look out for you.”
“I wish you had never made her do that,” I grumble.
“No, you don’t,” Malcolm argues. “You’re just pissed that the charges came down and are fucking things up.”
“I don’t care about the charges. I can take whatever punishment they give me. But Lucy…I never should’ve gotten so close to her.”
“You say that shit, but I can look at your face and know that, if you could be anywhere right now, it would be with her,” Malcolm remarks.
“She deserves more. And the sooner she sees my future, the quicker she can move on with hers.”
“What are you talking about?” Silas asks.
“I appreciate the dinner, Naomi. And I’m glad I got to see all of you before I go,” I tell them as I get to my feet. “But it’s time for me to turn myself in.”
“The attorney said you didn’t have to go into the police station until tomorrow,” Malcolm grumbles as he gets up and stomps over to me.
“I’m ready now,” I tell him as I give him a back-slapping hug. “Take care of everyone.”
Before he can say anything else, I start making the rounds, giving Wirth, Silas, Fiasco and Devlin each a bear hug goodbye and kissing Jetta, Naomi and Honey on their cheeks.
Then it’s time to get this over with.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lucy
* * *
I’m working away at my computer, still searching for as much information as I can about the victims when I vaguely hear sirens off in the distance.
Gradually, the noise gets louder as if it’s growing closer before I finally cave and get up from my desk to go look out the front window.
“Holy shit!”
In the dark parking lot of the apartment complex, there are no less than four police cruisers, all with their lights on. The men in uniform are crouching behind the car doors with their guns pointed at one target – Nash.
What is he doing back here? He was supposed to be staying with Malcolm tonight and then turning himself in tomorrow after he talks to an attorney. I may have overheard part of their phone call.
Slipping on a pair of flipflops, I head out the door just as one of the officers slams Nash face first on the hood of one of the cars so hard it probably gave him a concussion.
“Hey! That was uncalled for!” I yell at the officer. Several of the other men turn and train their guns on m
e, but five seconds later decide I’m not a threat but simply a pest that’s not worth their time or concern.
“What’s going on?” I ask as I head toward Nash.
“Go back inside, Lucy!” he yells at me, which causes the officer to slam his head down again for no reason.
“Stay back! This man is armed and dangerous!” the uniformed officer tells me.
“No, he’s not!” I shout back as tears fill my eyes and overflow.
“He’s the sole suspect wanted for questioning in the murders of six people, ma’am,” a cop comes over and tells me as two others roughly shove Nash into the back of a cruiser. “Once he’s convicted, he’ll be locked up for the rest of his life, so I suggest you don’t waste another tear for him.”
“But…I don’t understand. How did you know he was even out here?”
“We got an anonymous tip that he was raising hell and had a gun on him,” the cop replies. “You should be glad we got here when we did.”
“Right, yeah, glad,” I mutter sarcastically through the sobs.
And I know without a doubt that Nash is the anonymous caller. I just don’t understand why he would do this here and now, making a scene when he could’ve easily walked in tomorrow to the police station with an attorney to answer their questions.
Unless…he wanted me to see him for how he sees himself – a no-good criminal. He was trying to give me closure, seeing him taken away in handcuffs, treated like scum.
But the last thing I want from him is closure. What is it going to take for me to finally prove that to him?
Nash
* * *
I’d never been checked into jail for a long stay before, and it was nothing like just being stuck in a holding cell. For one, they actually took all of my clothes when I arrived, stripping me down and doing a very thorough examination to make sure I wasn’t hiding any contraband in any unusual areas. After that, I had to stand in some weird-ass fucking line-up with my face covered. Then, they gave me a set of cheap polyester boxers, an overly large brown top and bottom to wear, a pillow and a scratchy blanket.
When the guard escorts me out of intake and to the cell block I’ll be staying on, I’m appalled at the wave of noise that hits me, as well as the stench of bleach barely covering a vile mix of urine, feces, and absolutely unholy body odor.
“This garden’s got quite an aroma, don’t it?” the guard escorting me snorts as he points towards a cell. “Things starts to get real stinky when you’ve got this many weeds in one place.”
“Aren’t you just a fucking poet?” a man inside the cell he leads me to snarls. “Missed your calling in life when you took this shit job, didn’t you?”
“Shut the fuck up, Frankie, and say hello to your new roommate,” the guard replies, seeming completely unoffended by the man’s insults.
I stare at the small cell, which has a set of bunk beds on each side, all four currently occupied. “So, uh…I’m on the floor or what?” I ask in confusion.
“We’ll get you a cot to set up in the center,” the guard clarifies.
“Oh…great,” I sigh.
“It ain’t so bad,” the prisoner named Frankie says, waving me over. “We’ve had to cram two cots in here before, between the bunks. End up climbing all over each other at night trying to get to the toilet. One cot ain’t so bad, gives us a little room to walk at least.”
“Yeah, all kinds of room for activities with only five of us stuffed in here,” I gripe.
“Hey, get used to it, man,” Frankie grins. “Unless you’re a short-timer, you gotta adjust to this life, or it will fuck you up. I’ve been to prison, and it ain’t no better once you get to the state facilities. Fed can be a little better, if it’s a low security place, but something tells me that ain’t where you’re headed. Am I right?”
“Man, I don’t even know where the fuck I’m headed right now,” I tell him. "I’m still not entirely sure how I ended up here.”
“That’s the spirit, brother,” Frankie says with a grin. “Maintain your innocence — deny, deny, deny. Be careful talking to anyone in here; most of these chumps will try to pry something out of you, just so they can use it against you and try to get their own time reduced. Unless you know someone in here from outside, fuck ‘em.”
“Solid advice,” I concede as I stand awkwardly in the cell, still holding onto the pillow and blanket I was given. “So, uh…any other words of wisdom?”
“Hah, words of wisdom, he says!” Frankie barks. “Not really. But, look, if this shit gets to be too much for you, you can try to get tossed in the hole. Solitary fucks some people up in the head; they can’t take it for long periods. But for a week or two at a time, it can be real fucking pleasant. You can actually get some sleep, and no one tries to steal your fucking food. If worse comes to worse, you can always do something to get yourself a little mini vacation down there. Probably get time added to your sentence, though, so it might not be worth it. Keep that in mind.”
“Thanks, man,” I sigh as I see the guard coming back with a folding cot that he tosses carelessly on the ground near me. “Guess I’ll get comfortable.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lucy
* * *
“What are you doing to help Nash?” I ask Malcolm and the rest of the men sitting around the table in the back of the pool hall when I bust in on them the morning after Nash was arrested.
“Who is she?” a buff blonde man asks. “Someone’s kid sister?”
“I think she wants to be Nash’s old lady,” Malcolm replies. “What are you doing here, Lucy?”
“Well, after seeing Nash get handcuffed right in front of my apartment and dragged to jail, I’ve been driving myself crazy all last night wondering if there’s something I can do to get him out.”
“What the hell do you think you can do?” the guy with his head shaved on the sides snaps at me. “Sprinkle pixie dust on the cops to make them go to sleep so we can sneak in and unlock the cell block?”
“Actually, I’m a damn good hacker, asshole!” I reply.
“She really is,” Malcolm vouches for me.
“So, what can I do, Malcolm?”
“Jay Hughes, the attorney we hired for Nash, finally talked to the district attorney this morning. He said that they have eye-witness testimony; someone picked him out of a lineup. Only two people were there other than the ones in this room, and I’m certain that none of us are the rat. We’re looking for the guard we let walk even though it doesn’t make sense to only call out Nash,” Malcolm explains.
“You’re seriously telling her our business?” the big jerk with grease stains peeking out from under his cut says.
Malcolm sighs heavily as he runs his fingers through his long hair. “If it will help Nash, then yeah, I am!”
“My laptop’s in the car. Let me grab it, and then you can give me his name so I can track this bastard down,” I reply.
“Our PI has been searching for him since we found out about the warrants last week and can’t find him. What makes you think you can?” the guy with long, black hair asks. I’m pretty sure he must be Devlin, Jetta’s man. He’s almost too pretty; and with all that perfect hair, well, he’s a cosmetologist’s wet dream.
“Because I can search where others legally can’t,” I explain.
“It’s worth a try,” Malcolm tells the group. To me, he says, “Go get your laptop and get to work finding Dirk Chekov.”
“I’ll find him,” I promise.
However, an hour later, and my frantic search hits a major roadblock.
“So, I ran into a dead end on Dirk,” I tell the group who are still sitting around the table, looking frustrated, most of them smoking while I sit on the floor with my laptop on my outstretched legs.
“You can’t find him?” the shaved head guy asks.
“Oh, no. I found him,” I explain. “He’s dead.”
“Dead?” everyone exclaims in confusion.
“He died a few weeks back. Turns out there wa
s another ‘fire’ at a porn studio out in the middle of nowhere, about forty-five minutes from here. A few comments on the Facebook article said that they think it was an MC called the Savage Kings seeking vengeance for some kidnappings and actually praising the violence.”
“The Savage fucking Kings,” Malcolm grumbles with a slap of his palm on the table. “Let me give Torin Fury a call and see what the hell happened. If we’re lucky, maybe Dirk ratted out Nash before he died and now they’ll have to throw out the case.”
“I could try hacking into the police station,” I suggest.
“On our IP address? I don’t fucking think so,” Malcolm replies when he gets to his feet with his phone in his hand. “Give me a few minutes. Dev, make the introductions.”
The guy with long, black hair nods as Malcolm leaves the room. “I’m Devlin. The dumb blond is Fiasco, the dirty mechanic over there is Wirth, and the dude with a bad mohawk is Silas.”
“I already knew all of your names,” I admit. “But it’s nice to put faces to them.”
“How did you know our names?” Wirth asks.
“Research from when I was looking for Nash.”
“If you say a word about us to anyone, we’ll fuck you up,” Silas threatens.
“If you try to fuck me up, I’ll tell everyone what’s on each of your computers and phones.”
The guys all stare at each other uneasily for several silent seconds before Silas smirks and responds with, “Touché.”
A few moments later, Malcolm returns, and he doesn’t look happy. “Dirk wasn’t the rat,” he says. “He died before the warrants were issued. If he was the witness, they wouldn’t have bothered going after Nash.”
“So then who else could be the witness?” I ask them.
“Had to be the fucking chef!” Devlin exclaims.
“Fuck!” Malcolm shouts. “How was that bitch able to call out Nash when we don’t even know her goddamn name?”
