Renegade

by Shannon Myers

  I choked on the egg that was in my mouth and tried to wash it down with coffee while she continued rambling. When she paused to take a breath, I cut in, “That’s why you’re here now. Making amends is not just part of your twelve steps, but it’s part of being a Christian too, right?”

  She gave me a smug smile and I struggled to recall the point where the conversation had shifted over into religion. “Lauren, I don’t prefer the term ‘Christian.’ It’s overused. I’m a Jesus addict, plain and simple. And I’m here for much more than just making amends. God sent me to save your soul. He knows that you’ve been struggling and after seeing you, I agree. You’ve bowed down to a false idol.”

  I looked down into my almost empty coffee mug, half expecting to see a bottle of Jim Beam nestled down inside. Somewhere in the last hour, Monica had gone from down-on-her-luck recovering addict to friggin’ Joel Osteen and I was really struggling to keep up. “I’m sorry?” I managed to croak out and the patient smile reappeared on her face.

  “You’ve made money your god and now your every waking thought is dominated by how to keep what you have or how to make more of it. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  She was right, but the same could be said for over half the twenty-somethings in the world. I should’ve been outraged; my own mother thought I needed saving. Monica, the woman whose first love had been cocaine, with meth coming in a close second, was worried about how I was living my life. Where did I even begin to point out the flaws in her argument?

  I stood up. “I’m just going to run to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

  She gave me a puzzled look and went back to her plate of food.

  Instead of actually going to the bathroom, I spent the next ten minutes pacing in front of the mirror, trying to come up with a rebuttal. My body was hot with indignation. How dare she worry about how I was choosing to live my life? I wasn’t a single parent and I had a steady job—most parents would be thrilled.

  She should’ve been proud. I managed to get this far in spite of my circumstances. Circumstances she caused. I put up with a lot at my job so that I’d never have to worry where rent money was going to come from. I was very choosy about the men I went on dates with because I never wanted to end up parenting a child all alone. But she wasn’t proud—she was concerned that I wasn’t—what? Attending church? Giving all my money to the homeless?

  What the fuck did she want from me?

  I grabbed my purse from the edge of the sink and marched out. I was going to just come right out and ask her. And then, when she spouted off whatever spiritual BS they’d been feeding her, I’d tell her to fuck off and walk out of here with my head held high.

  The booth was empty when I got back, but I forced myself to sit and get my thoughts in order. When she got back, she was going to get an earful. Maybe then, she’d think twice the next time she decided to judge someone.

  It took me a good five minutes before I realized that I would’ve passed her if she’d gone to the bathroom and another ten before I realized that she wasn’t outside smoking.

  The waitress asked if I wanted more coffee before dropping the check and I mumbled, “No,” as I continually scanned the restaurant for her face. When I reached into my purse for my wallet to pay our bill, I discovered that my car keys were missing. I jumped up, but I knew before I even hit the parking lot. Monica and my car were long gone.

  Chapter Four

  2009, Age 26

  “C’mon Junior, up and at ‘em.” The comforter was yanked back and I bolted upright.

  “What the fuck are you doing here? Who let you in—David?”

  My father rolled his eyes. “Junior, you wanna tell me what you did last night?”

  I groaned and fell back against my pillow. “Do you mean before or after the fifth of El Toro? If it’s after, I gotta be honest, things are still a little fuzzy.”

  He sneered. “El Toro? You might as well have had a New Jersey Turnpike. Jesus Christ.”

  I blinked blearily, and smacked my lips. Yep, it still tasted like something died a violent death in my mouth. “Is that the one with butterscotch schnapps?”

  “You’re thinking of somethin’ else. A New Jersey Turnpike is when you take the bar mat and bar rag and make a shot at the end of the night. You look like you’ve been licking a bar floor—but that’s not the reason I’m in your motherfucking house at seven o’clock in the morning. You decide to play cop after the bar last night?”

  I took a deep breath to keep from hurling. People actually drank the contents from a bar mat as a shot? God, that sounded like a bacterial infection just waiting to happen.

  “Junior, answer me.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to recall last night’s events. David had gone off with some woman he met…I stayed for a little bit longer…drove home…shit. I’d called for back-up on a suspected drunk driver. Along with the guy failing field sobriety tests, the car itself was a fucking goldmine. We popped the trunk and quickly realized it had a false bottom in it. Underneath was a hefty stash of cocaine and semi-automatic rifles.

  I sighed and looked at my old man. “We busted a guy for drunk driving and uh- we found some other stuff while searching his vehicle.”

  He rocked back on his heels. “Yeah, you busted Crossbones. Now your ass is gonna have to fix this shit before it gets worse.”

  I laughed even though it felt like an ice pick was being driven into my skull. “Okay, sure. I’ll just hop in my fucking time machine and go back to last night.”

  His jaw clenched and he clamped a hand around the back of my neck before hauling me out of bed. “Get the fuck up! Let’s go.”

  I tried to maneuver myself out of his grasp, but it was obvious that I was going to have to put more effort into working out at the gym and less into fucking the women there if I wanted to be able to take my old man in a fight.

  He dragged me down the hall and into the living room before unceremoniously dropping me onto my ass. I scrambled up onto my feet, ready to fight, when I saw I had another visitor.

  My mouth slackened and I rubbed my eyes in disbelief. I had alcohol poisoning, that had to be it. I found the bottle of tequila in the back of the liquor cabinet. I couldn’t recall when David and I bought it. It was tainted, plain and simple.

  “Alcohol poisoning. Or I’m still drunk,” I mumbled the words to myself and stared down at the palms of my hands, as if they held the answer to my hallucination.

  The figment of my imagination stood up and came over. “Do you need to sit down, Mikey? You’re looking a little pale.”

  I shook my head. “You’re dead—they said you died. Oh my god, I’m never drinking again.”

  My father laughed. “Junior, calm the fuck down. Grey, tell him why we’re here so we can get the hell out before the roommate decides to show up.”

  He’d died, hadn’t he?

  That’s what the letter had said. After getting on the force, I’d looked into his case. He was missing and presumed dead. After October 18, 1996, James “Grey” Sullivan had simply ceased to exist.

  I sank down onto the couch and put my head between my legs. The combination of the hangover and shock had me on the verge of puking or passing out—I hadn’t decided which.

  “There we go,” Grey patted my back. “So, I guess I should start by saying that I’m alive and let you know that you arrested my road captain last night. I’m gonna need you to get the charges dropped.”

  My stomach rolled at the thought of helping them. I’d worked too hard to get where I was. It didn’t matter what happened with Patrick, I’d gone straight and I wasn’t prepared to do anything that would jeopardize my career.

  “I can’t do it, Grey. It’s out of my hands.”

  My old man cackled again as he stretched out on the couch across from me. “That ain’t the way to make friends, Junior. Now, I believe the Pres issued an order. Don’t make him repeat it.”

  Sweat trickled down my spine. I thought my old man had supported what I was doing wit
h my life, but it was quickly becoming obvious that he’d planned on using me to draw attention away from the club the entire time.

  I shook my head. “I won’t do it. I worked too hard for this. If I got busted tampering with evidence, I’m not just looking at losing my job. I’m looking at time in a federal prison. Do you get that?”

  Grey ignored me and looked over at my father. “Show him what we’ve got.”

  He pulled a phone from his pocket and began scrolling through it. “These pictures look familiar to you, Junior? Because I gotta be honest with you; they don’t look real good for you.”

  He scrolled through them and my stomach dropped through the floor. I was fucked. Bastard hadn’t shown up that night in Galveston to help me out of a bind. He’d shown up to blackmail me. Patrick’s empty eyes stared at me throughout the various photos. He’d managed to get, not only the body, but David’s truck and license plate in them. He could pin the whole thing on my best friend.

  My old man stifled a yawn. “Got some surveillance from that old strip club too. Guess the owners had some break-ins not long before you showed up for fight club.” He switched screens and there it was, in grainy black and white, me committing a murder. If that got released to anyone, David and I wouldn’t see the outside of a prison cell ever again.

  I jumped up and began pacing. “You just show up from the dead and expect me to drop everything and help you? I was just doing my job, for Christ’s sake. How was I to know he was one of yours? He wasn’t wearing a kutte. Can’t we just agree from here on out that I won’t arrest your guys and we chalk this up to a minor mistake?”

  Grey remained seated. “Things got complicated and the club decided it was best if I went dark for a while, at least until things calmed down. It got the feds off our asses, along with a couple of clubs that seemed to have forgotten their place. If shit goes south again, I won’t hesitate to remove myself from the equation to keep the club intact.

  “As for this? It isn’t a minor mistake, Mikey. I’m out a fuck ton of money thanks to the Lubbock PD confiscating my merchandise and my man. That leaves a lot of loose ends; loose ends that could lead every goddamn agency in the country back to my doorstep. And that really chaps my ass.”

  My father, who up until that point had appeared to be fast asleep, opened one eye. “He really hates having his ass chapped, Junior.”

  This was it.

  Up until now, I’d labeled what happened with Patrick as some sort of freak accident. If I refused to help them, they’d release everything and I knew that no jury in America would ever see what I did as anything other than cold-blooded murder. If I decided to help them, then I was a dirty cop. Not only that, but if I got caught helping them, I’d still be looking at spending time in prison.

  I was damned either way on this.

  “How do I know that you won’t release the evidence you have even if I do decide to help?”

  I’d directed my question to Grey, but he looked to my father to answer. The old man reluctantly opened one eye again and fixed it on me. “You know, there’s about to be an opening for a detective in the—oh, what’s it called? The Crimes Against Persons division. I hear it comes with a nice paycheck too.”

  I reached my hand out for the wall to steady myself. It was what I’d wanted, but it came with a steep price—my morality.

  Grey chimed in, “It’s a good gig, Mikey. With the club behind you, you’d be damn near invincible. Anything you want, we can get. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

  I wasn’t about to go down for a damn mistake I made as a teen. “Count me in.”

  “Okay, now you do it to her. That’s fuckin’ hot.” I propped my arm up behind my head and leaned into the headboard.

  Alright, I may have fallen into the headboard.

  I was celebrating.

  I had my freedom.

  I had a motherfucking promotion.

  And I had two lovely sorority girls from the house across the street going down on each other right in front of me.

  My life was good.

  Getting the charges against Crossbones dropped was easier than I imagined. I all but walked the evidence out the front door and into one of Grey’s vehicles. I made that shit disappear and then I absolved my sins in the holy waters of Don Julio 1942. I was in the big-time now; I needed a tequila that was on my level.

  The girls moved up into my lap, having grown bored with each other. The brunette kissed her way down my chest and onto my waiting dick, while her friend thrust her tits in my face.

  Yep. Life was beautiful.

  “Hey Mike, you home?” David called from the living room.

  “In here, man.” I was feeling so fucking generous that I wanted to share one of the girls with him. So, maybe I was banned from ever telling him about the MC, but I could help him celebrate life outside of prison on a subconscious level.

  The door opened. “Hey, got someone I want you to—”

  His mouth fell open and I raised the half empty bottle of tequila up in a toast before bringing it down to my lips. “Which one do you want?”

  “Goddammit, Mike. What the fuck is this?”

  A tiny blonde head appeared and moved around from behind him before he could stop it. It was the girl from last night—it might as well have been last year. So much had changed in the last twenty-four hours. She took in the debauchery on my bed with wide eyes, but I thought I detected a little glimpse of lust before she ducked back out and David followed after her.

  “Beth, come back. Honey, he’s an asshole.”

  I sighed. “Party’s over, girls. You gotta go.”

  This was the second time in twenty-four hours that I’d been cockblocked.

  The brunette’s lips slid off of me with a soft pop and she grinned. “You sure about that? I think someone was getting close.”

  I shook my head. “Nope, not even in the vicinity of close, sweetheart,” I patted her head. “You get a little more practice and maybe we’ll get there. I’ll call you.”

  Her friend had already begun pulling her clothes on, while—what the fuck was her name? BJ? Yeah, that seemed right—while BJ pouted on the bed.

  Tits McGee looked down at her inside out shirt and then over to me in confusion. She’d been tripping on some strong shit when I called them over. “But, Mike? You don’t like have our numbers? How will you call us?”

  I swiped my badge up off the nightstand. “I’m a cop, sweetheart. Remember?”

  She’d already forgotten that she just lived right across the street, it appeared. That was a good thing, given my track record lately.

  Tits McGee nodded jerkily and whispered softly, “Right. Cool.”

  BJ crossed her arms over her chest and huffed loudly. “I just don’t get why we can’t stay. Doesn’t your roommate want to join us?”

  I thought about the wide-eyed blonde running from the room. “You know, I think he’s gonna pass on the sex tonight. C’mon, up. Out, out, out.”

  I stood up and swayed heavily as the floor moved beneath me like waves. Somehow, I managed to get my boxers on while remaining semi-upright.

  BJ stomped toward the door, while Tits McGee grinned like an idiot at every object we passed. I was fucked up; she was somewhere way beyond that.

  I walked out into the empty living room and threw the front door open. David’s truck was still sitting in the driveway, so he was somewhere on the property. “Okay, there ya go, ladies. Tits, BJ, have a great night.”

  BJ turned back around on the porch. “Wait. That’s not our na—” I slammed the door and locked it before she could finish.

  “Nice, Mike. Real fucking nice. I bring Beth here to meet you and you’re smack dab in the middle of an orgy.” David stood in the doorway to the kitchen, frowning.

  I offered, “Well, it was more of a ménage than an orgy,” His gaze darkened and I began talking faster. “What I mean to say is that I am very sorry and it will never happen again. Now, where’s this girl of yours?”

&
nbsp; David relaxed and pointed toward the back door. “She’s out by the fire pit. Now, before you fuck this up royally, I really like her. Okay?”

  I nodded and fell into the wall. It took me several tries before I was able to get back on my feet. “Yep, got it. Don’t embarrass you.”

  He grabbed my arm and led me into the kitchen. “Jesus Christ, Mike. Did you not bother sobering up after last night?”

  I shook my head. “I’m celebrating. Got a promotion at work—you’re looking at Detective Sullivan.” Then I pushed myself off of him and threw up in the sink.

  “David? I think I’m gonna head home. I’ve got training at my new job on Monday…gonna turn in early.”

  Wasn’t today Saturday?

  Was I supposed to be at work?

  I took a long drink from the faucet before turning around. Beth’s eyes widened again, but she was polite enough to extend her hand toward me. “Hello, I’m Elizabeth.”

  I wiped my hand on my boxers before shaking hers. “Mike. Pleasure to meet you.”

  She was way out of my league—David’s too for that matter.

  He stepped in and pried her hand from mine. “Alright, let me walk you out to your car,” He turned to me, “I’ll deal with you later.”

  I nodded and waited until they walked out before rinsing my mouth under the faucet again. I really needed the room to stop spinning for a fucking second so I could regain my bearings.

  “So, are we gonna discuss the real reason that you’ve gone off on a two-day bender?” David shut the front door behind him and walked over to where I stood hunched over by the sink.

  I shrugged. “Turns out, I’m not real good at celebrating within reason. I gotta work on that. So, enough about me—tell me about this girl.”

  Please, for the love of God, don’t ask me anything else.

  David’s entire face changed once I mentioned Elizabeth. That was definitely a new one for me. The guy had two expressions—surly and ‘don’t fuck with me.’ Sure, he’d smile from time to time, but he didn’t give that shit away freely.