by Joanna Wylde
He nodded, then pulled away, nodding toward Marsh.
“Nice to see you again,” he said. “Looks like a good time.”
Marsh smiled at him, but there was something ugly in his eyes. I watched as Talia slithered over to him, settling herself across his lap like a little girl.
“Were you really in jail?” she asked Painter, coyly licking the edge of a shot glass.
“Yup,” Painter said. “Got out this morning. Parole violation.”
“What’d you go down for?”
“Weapons charge.”
Marsh frowned. “How long was your sentence?”
“Three years.”
“That’s too long for a weapons charge,” Marsh said, his voice suspicious. One of the brothers stood up, moving to stand behind Painter. I glanced over to see two of the off-duty cops watching us.
“It’s complicated,” Painter replied shortly. “Let’s just say it could’ve been a hell of a lot worse. Had priors, too.”
A waitress came over, looking at us warily. “You guys need anything?”
“We needed something half an hour ago,” Talia snapped, glaring at her. Jesus fucking Christ, the woman was crazy. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“I’m real sorry I wasn’t over earlier,” the waitress said. “We’re just slammed. I’m sure we can—”
“We deserve a free round,” Talia said, standing up and taking a threatening step toward the poor woman. Everything had to be about her winning. Always. “This is your fault, not ours.”
Painter and I shared a glance. We had a bar full of cops, more on the street, and now Talia had decided to pick a fight with a waitress.
Just shoot her. No jury would convict you.
“Baby, let’s go dance,” I said, reaching for her hand. “I want to feel you up against me.”
“I’m busy,” she snarled, glaring at the waitress. “Are you going to get us the drinks?”
The poor woman nodded her head, obviously terrified. “Sure, I’ll be right back.”
“See?” Talia said triumphantly. “It’s all about how you talk to them. I’m ready for that dance now.”
Grabbing my hand, she dragged me toward the small dance floor. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a big guy wearing a bar T-shirt talking to the cops, pointing toward our group.
Yeah. This wasn’t gonna end well.
Painter leaned toward Marsh, probably suggesting we clear out. I watched as Marsh snarled something in reply, then several of the Nighthawks moved in on them, and I had one of those moments of blinding, crystal clarity.
My brother Painter had put his ass on the line to protect me, and unless I pulled off a miracle in the next ten seconds, he’d be going back to jail for violating his parole. There were too many witnesses.
Turned out I didn’t even have that long.
Marsh exploded toward him, punching him in the stomach, and his pet Nighthawks pounced like a bunch of rabid dogs. Painter went down as I threw myself into the group. I wasn’t the only one. The bouncer and the cops charged into the mess. Then Marsh decided a knife would make the situation better.
Was he trying to get arrested?
I grabbed Painter by the arms, determined to get him out of the bar as Marsh launched himself toward the off-duty cops. A spray of bright red blood hit us, and then a body slammed into me, knocking me over.
It was one of the cops.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I watched in horror as a geyser of blood exploded from him, pumping in time with his heartbeat. Motherfucking moron had just shanked one of the off-duty cops. In a cop bar. That’s when Rome appeared—somehow shoving two men almost twice his size out of the way—and slammed a wad of something down over the wound.
“You! Call EMS,” Rome ordered the bouncer as a dazed Painter pulled himself to his knees next to me. Talia appeared behind him, slamming a glass pitcher over his head. Then Sadie and the other girls were screaming at her to run as Painter pitched forward. I caught him, dragging him back again as uniformed cops swarmed us.
Everything seemed to slow around me.
The waitress was hiding under a table, head down between her legs. Rome was calmly giving orders, blood spatter coating him as he fought desperately to save the cop’s life. Talia and company had found a break in the fence and were slipping through it.
Then uniformed cops surrounded us, and I snapped back into reality. One of them yelled for everyone to lie down on the ground, hands behind their heads. Damned hard to do, considering I had Painter’s dead weight to support.
That’s probably why they Tased me.
Fucking awesome end to a fucking awesome day.
• • •
“Good news, at least for you,” the lawyer said. Dobie Coales had been one of the Reapers’ attorneys for nearly ten years now, but we’d been friends since grade school. He looked like a big, dumb good ol’ boy, which had served us well many times, because the man was fucking brilliant. Couldn’t imagine anyone I’d rather have at my side, all things considered.
I’d spent a charming night in the Kittitas County jail, which was always good fun. Now it was Sunday afternoon, and Coales sat facing me across a table, holding a file folder of papers I sincerely hoped included some strategy for saving my ass.
Coales was good.
Very good. If there was a way out of this one, he’d find it for me, although I figured my cover was blown. We hadn’t gotten all the information we wanted from Marsh, but I didn’t give a shit anymore. All I’d been able to think about last night was Tinker.
Specifically, what the rumor mill was telling her about yesterday’s incident.
This wasn’t exactly the way I’d wanted to introduce her to club life.
“I take it that means the guy Marsh stabbed is alive?” I asked. That’d been my biggest concern. If he’d killed a cop and I got roped in as an accessory, not even the club would be able to save my ass.
“He’ll survive,” Coales said. Thank fuck for that. “Not sure how much damage yet, but they haven’t said anything about lost limbs or brain injuries.”
“He wasn’t lookin’ so good.”
Coales shrugged. “Guess he had a rough night, but he’s stable. They don’t seem to think his life is in danger at this point. That’s the important part.”
“How about Painter?” I asked. Coales’s face went carefully blank. “Ah fuck. He’s going back to prison, isn’t he?”
“Probably,” the lawyer admitted. “Although we’ll do everything we can to fight it. Things went south with the probation department back home while you were in Hallies Falls. His old probation officer is gone. Facing corruption charges.”
Dobie said the words blandly, as if he hadn’t been the one paying those bribes. Heh.
“Shitty to be him,” I replied. “We got any worries there?”
Like, is he gonna testify against your ass for arranging the whole thing?
“Aside from losing our influence? No, I don’t think so. It’ll take time to rebuild, though. Time Painter doesn’t have. Shame, too. Guess his girlfriend is knocked up.”
“Wow,” I said, leaning back in my chair. Should’ve told Marsh to fuck off when he asked for Levi. “That sucks.”
“Won’t argue there,” he said. “But you can’t do anything to help him, so let’s stay focused on your situation. We’ve found some friends in the prosecutor’s office locally. Talked to one of them this morning. Seeing as you weren’t wearing Nighthawks colors and didn’t instigate anything, they’re willing to look at you as a bystander who got caught up in something, rather than a conspirator.”
“How much did that cost?”
Dobie smiled. “Less than it would cost for a full defense at trial. I’m always looking to save my clients money. Good news is you’ll be out on bail later this afternoon. Still need to work through the formalities, of course. Prosecutor won’t decide whether or not to charge you you until there’s been a full investigation proving your innocence.”
“Always,” Coales said, smirking. “I have to say, in my professional opinion Marsh Jackson is a fucking moron. Not only did he attack an off-duty cop, he had enough meth on him to be charged with intent to distribute. I guess attempted murder wasn’t enough. The rest of the club will likely be charged as accessories. The picture we’ll be painting to the public is that you’re the innocent victim of these terrible drug dealers. Gangs like the Nighthawk Raiders really are a scourge on society.”
I snorted.
“Do you stand in front of a mirror and practice saying shit like that with a straight face?”
Coales smirked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Just remember, all we need is a story plausible enough that they won’t suspect we paid off the prosecutors. I’ll admit, it’s a touchy situation, considering an off-duty cop got hurt, but I really do think we’ll be okay. They say that kid—Rome—probably saved the guy’s life. He’s an EMT, did you know that?”
I raised a brow. “No shit?”
Coales grinned at me.
“Yup,” he said. “And he’s well enough known and liked in the EMS community that they’d be covering his ass regardless of our influence, and as of now they’re lumping you in with him, not Jackson. The prosecutor already has his bad guys—patch-holding bikers carrying drugs. He plays that up for the public, nobody will give you another thought. They have bigger fish.”
“And Painter?”
Coales sobered.
“He’s being transported back to Kootenai County,” he said. “They’ll set a hearing, and we expect he’ll be sent back down to California to finish out his term. Not a lot we can do about it at this point.”
Leaning back, I stared at the wall above his head, considering the situation.
“And you said his girl is pregnant? Melanie?”
“Can’t remember her name,” he said. “But yes, apparently she told him yesterday. He left her to come over here, and now he’s going to prison. At least he’s only got a couple years left on the term.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s a great comfort,” I said. “What a fuckin’ waste. He’d been here maybe five minutes before shit went down.”
Coales shrugged.
“It is what it is. Ruger and Horse will be waiting for you outside when you get out, along with your bike. None of the Nighthawks have made bail yet—fucking up a cop is a real good way to find yourself in legal limbo. They’ll drag out everything and make it as difficult as possible. We’ll also reach out to the bail bonds community and see if we can’t complicate their situation. Think Pic plans to use that window of opportunity to clean house up in Hallies Falls. They’re expecting you to debrief as soon as you’re back in town. Try not to get yourself arrested again in the process, okay?”
“Thanks,” I told him. “I have a request, if you can help.”
“What’s that?”
“You said it’ll a take a couple more hours for me to get out?”
“Yes. We have to deal with paperwork and bail and some pissed off cops,” he said. “I’m confident it’s settled, but we still have to jump through the hoops.”
“You think you can arrange for me to share a room with Marsh Jackson for a few minutes before I go?”
Coales raised a brow. “Possibly. But think it through first because you’re almost out of here. Why take that risk?”
“Because I owe him,” I replied. “And the club owes me, so can you make it happen?”
“It’s a lot easier to get my clients out on bail when they aren’t picking fights. Something to think about.”
“He just tried to murder a cop. Every person in this station is itching to beat him bloody but they can’t. Let me do the dirty work for them and everyone wins.”
Coales leaned back in the chair, studying me thoughtfully for a minute.
“As your counsel, I need to tell you that this is a bad idea.”
“Noted.”
“Then I’ll see what I can do.”
• • •
They put me in a holding cell at the far end of the hall—enough distance that the deputy supervising could pretend he hadn’t heard anything. According to his uniform, his last name was Graves and he looked nervous, but determined.
“Wait in here,” he said under his breath. “Two transfer officers will bring him in. We’ll give you about ten minutes, then I’ll notice the transfer officers made a mistake and come take you back out again. As far as we’re concerned, they got the wrong door and didn’t realize you were in there. You can’t kill him or cause new damage to his face, and if anyone asks it was self-defense.”
I nodded, wondering how much Coales had paid him. Graves might be doing it for free. He certainly had the motivation—law enforcement was a brotherhood, too. Stretching my neck, I paced the cell until I heard footsteps coming down the hallway, more than one set this time. Then the door opened and Marsh Jackson stumbled through, arms and legs chained for transfer. Nice touch, although I felt a little hurt that they thought I’d need the advantage.
“Hey, Marsh,” I said. He looked like shit, and not just because he’d sobered up. His nose was swollen, with bruising under both eyes. Probably broken. One of his hands was cut up, too, but beyond that he didn’t seem injured. Kind of surprised me—I’d have thought he’d go down fighting, and jacked up like that he’d be tough to take. On the other hand, they were the ones with the Tasers . . .
“Cooper,” he growled. He’d had enough time to come down off his high now, but not enough to rest and recover. Marsh Jackson was not a happy camper. “You talk to anyone else yet? They kept me in solitary all night. The Nighthawks should’ve sent a lawyer by now—they’d better have a good fucking excuse.”
“Yeah, about that,” I said, walking slowly toward him. “There’s gonna be a problem.”
Marsh’s eyes narrowed. “What the fuck? Did you talk to Talia? She’ll fix shit, you just have to give her the right orders.”
“Nope,” I told him, flexing my fingers. “But we got another issue. More important.”
“Nothing’s more important, you fucking—”
I slammed him into the concrete block wall, one arm across his throat, knocking the breath right out of his body. Then I let him choke out for a few seconds. Wanted to be sure he was paying attention.
“Time to listen up,” I said, my voice low. “You fucked up. You stole from the Reapers, and we don’t like that. Not even a little bit.”
“What?” he asked, rage flickering in his eyes. Wasn’t sure he quite understood the situation just yet, but he was pissed.
“My name is Gage. I’m a member of the Reapers MC and we’ve been watching you for a while. Here’s what happens next. First I’m gonna hurt you. I’d like to do more, but that would fuck up step two, which is the part where I walk out of here a free man while you sit and rot. Then I’ll go join the rest of my brothers and we’ll take back our town. Good story, isn’t it? I particularly like the happy ending.”
Marsh rattled the chains, glaring at me. “Big bad Reaper, beating up a man who can’t fight back. Nice.”
Then he spat in my face.
I blinked, offering a slow smile.
“Did Sadie fight back?” I asked softly. “Or was that one unfair, too?”
With that, I brought my knee up hard, slamming it into his crotch. Marsh bellowed in pain and I let him drop, enjoying the sight of him rolling around the floor. I stepped to the side and used the back of my hand to wipe the spit off my face. Then I kicked him in the lower back—kidney shot—and his body arched the other way. They’d said not to cause serious damage, but I wasn’t wearing my boots. He should be fine.
Or not.
Either way, I’d be out of here before they figured it out, and Coales could blackmail the guards into keeping their mouths shut. Gotta love the American justice system. I leaned back against the wall, relaxing but still alert in case he recovered. After long minutes, Mar
sh turned his head toward me, hatred burning deep and hot in his eyes.
Fair enough—the feeling was mutual.
“You’ll pay for this,” he spat out, blood on his lips. “You. The Nighthawks. All the fucking Reapers and their families. Even the fucking waitresses you tip should be afraid, because if they’re connected to you, they’re on my list.”
I laughed.
“Good luck with that, Jackson.”
He spent the next minutes glaring at me, as if he could set me on fire with his eyes if he just tried hard enough. Sadly for him, I didn’t burst into flames, so I guess he needed to practice that particular superpower a little bit longer. Then the door opened. Graves stood outside with two more officers—the same ones who’d brought Marsh. He smiled at the sight of Marsh huddled on the floor.
“He attacked me,” I said blandly.
“Looks like self-defense,” he replied. “We’ll find a safer place for you to wait out your processing. Sorry about the mistake.”
• • •
Half an hour later, I walked out into the parking lot, and despite the fact that I’d spent the night in jail, I felt better than I had in a long time. No more fucking lies, no more eating shit.
Horse and Ruger were right there, just like Coales had promised. Horse was a big fucker, and when he caught me up in a tight hug, he nearly broke a rib.
“Missed you, brother,” he said, his voice serious for once. “We were worried about you up there. We’re gonna clean house tonight. Pic wants to talk, and then we’ll call the Nighthawks who aren’t locked up together. Wants a full report on everyone, to see if any of them are worth salvaging.”
Together we walked toward my bike.
Fuck, it looked good.
The way it was supposed to. For one thing, they’d put the whips back on, and the custom bell I’d gotten from my dad right before he died. Then Ruger handed me a carefully folded leather vest. My colors, with my road name on the front, and Reapers MC across the back. I pulled it on, savoring the smell of the leather, and for the first time since I’d arrived in Hallies Falls things were right again.
“There’s a knife in your saddlebag, and I stashed some extra hardware on the bike for you, too,” Ruger said in a low voice.
