The intense sincerity that was stirring deep in her blue eyes made my chest expand. “I guess I don’t really have a choice in the matter.”
An instant grin tugged at the corners of her full lips. “Good. We only have a few minutes tonight. Let’s jump right in. Did you kill Alex Numar?”
“No.”
“Why do you think you’re the one they fingered for his death?”
I didn’t like where this was headed. Nothing about it settled well with my core. Jolene was the last person I should be talking to about this. “You know why.”
“Do I?”
“Numar is the new VP for the Pistol Kings.” I searched her face as she pieced together the information. Her eyes darkened and her brow pinched at the bridge of her nose.
“The Pistol Kings? I thought the VP was Stefan. Numar? Wasn’t he just a grunt a while back?”
I nodded. “He handled a lot of the dirty work, which in turn, helped him move up the ranks.”
“Dirty work? He was the one who …?”
I dropped my head. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her.
With a quivering voice, she continued. “He set the house fire.”
“He killed our baby. Our son.” My shoulders sagged as I lifted my head. “But I didn’t kill him. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t planning on it when the time was right, but this messy amateur bullshit wasn’t me.”
“It may not have been you, but it was your gun.”
The muscles in my back snapped as I shot upright. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Your gun, the pistol Pop gave you when you patched in. It has your name engraved along the barrel.”
My insides twisted, leaving me swimmy as the blood drained from my face. My pulse raced as I erupted from the chair.
“I didn’t do it, Jo. You have to find out who’s behind this. It’s a set up.” I stalked the length of the room. My voice became louder with each declaration.
“Come on, you’ve got to calm down.” She tried to get me to sit, but the door flew open.
“On the wall, Steele.”
“We’re not done here, Officer.” Jolene put her hands up to protest.
“Ma’am, you’re going to have to step aside.” He never took his eyes off me. “Steele, on the wall.”
I ignored the command and bolted to Jolene’s side, gripping her face between my enormous, cuffed hands.
“Jo, you’ve got to believe me. I didn’t kill him.”
More officers stormed the room and detained me, slamming me into the wall.
“I’m not sorry that son of a bitch is dead, but it wasn’t me! Get me outta here, Jo!” I yelled as they dragged me out of the room. I rolled my neck and tried to put myself in check as the team of officers escorted me back to my tank.
“Lights out.”
I fell back on the thin, vinyl-covered foam mattress. Leaning my head against the cold concrete wall, I pictured Jolene’s distorted, scared face. For the first time, I allowed myself to examine the possibility that I might be going away for murder. I didn’t have a guess in hell who would be setting me up, but I sure as shit intended to find out. It wouldn’t be easy. Having been in the life for the last ten years left one hell of a list of enemies.
My gun. It didn’t make any fucking sense. Jesse had given me that Ruger SR9 the day I got my bottom rocker. He’d even had it engraved, ‘Ronin X’. I would never forget the way the old man’s hard eyes softened as he call me son, telling me how proud he was to officially be able to call me family, adding, the only family that matters.
That gun was my only prized possession. When I found out that Jolene was pregnant and I was going to be a dad, I put the gun away to give to my own son one day. After the fire and the miscarriage, I couldn’t bring myself to carry it, much less look at it, not after experiencing such a painful loss.
As far as I knew, it was still tucked away in a box in the back of my closet. Buried, deep with my memories. If it was used to murder Numar, it was an intentional frame job. Whoever the killer was must have had a way to get into my room.
Shit.
I didn’t like where my thoughts were headed. Nothing made sense. Nothing would ever make sense again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
(Jolene)
The distinct stench of skunky weed wafted through the dingy motel room. I managed to get my hands on Ronin’s arrest warrant. Alex Numar had been shot six times at close range. The ballistics report showed the bullets belonged to the gun found at the scene. Ronin’s gun, and to make things easy for the prosecutor, the only fingerprints on the weapon were his.
According to the police report, Numar was on his knees. Shot, execution style. Execution style, as in the Executioners style.
It didn’t look good. Everything pointed to Ronin. He and Numar had one hell of a history. I couldn’t let myself get stuck in the past. Not now while Ronin’s life was at stake.
I suddenly wished I’d had more experience under my belt. This would be my first murder trial. I had sat in on a few, but never as lead counsel. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I dropped the ball.
What the hell am I doing?
Panic set in. Everything was moving too fast. Maybe I should try to find someone else, or at least a co-counsel with more experience. I hadn’t even contemplated the fact that I could, and probably would, lose my job. My gaze darted around the room. I would be living out of my suitcase, listening to drunk sex through the paper-thin walls, and getting a contact high from the cheap ditch weed for the next few months.
A light knock on the door caught me by surprise, sending me up and off the bed. I tiptoed across the room. My insides trembled as I got ready to look through the peephole. Another knock, followed by a familiar voice, sent relief through my tense, rigid body.
“Dammit, Jo. I know you’re in there. Your car’s in the parking lot.”
I quickly unbolted the locks and inched the door open. “Damn, Ruth! You scared the shit out of me.”
In true Ruth fashion, her arms were loaded down with bags and a twelve pack of Budweiser. The mother hen of Jericho.
“What’s all this?”
“Well, I knew you didn’t plan on staying in town long, so I thought you might need a few things.”
In spite of everything going on, it made my heart swell to see Ruth. I never realized the major void I’d had since moving away from home and my family.
“And I’m guessing you thought I needed beer?”
“No, baby girl. I knew you needed the beer. Hell, I’d give you a joint if I thought you would smoke it.”
I giggled and grabbed a cold bottle of Bud. “You know better than that. Those days are long gone.”
Now it was Ruth’s turn to snicker. She leaned back in the metal folding chair that the motel used as a dinette. “So, tell me, what’s been going on with you? Got you a ball and chain back in San Diego?”
“Is that really what you came here to talk about?”
Ruth arched her eyebrows and took a pull from her beer.
I gave a weighted sigh. “Well, I’ve been seeing someone, a colleague actually.”
“Is it serious?”
“Hell no.” I twisted my face and scoffed. “To be honest, he’s an egotistical asshole who’ll probably have nothing to show for his life other than oversized toys and an insanely expensive tie collection.”
“So I guess he won’t have a problem with you staying in Jericho a little longer?”
I tried to conceal my restlessness by taking another swig from my beer. My personal life was a fucking disaster. “The only thing he’ll care about is having to break in a new piece of ass.”
“Ouch. Well, his loss. Now, hun, tell me where your head’s at. I know Jessa lured you here. It’s been a real mess since you arrived. Actually, before you arrived. Are you really gonna go through with this?”
I tucked both feet and pulled my knees up to my chest, breaking eye contact with Ruth. “I don’t really see where I have a choice
. Glenn Sanders is an inept clown.”
Ruth laughed, unscrewing the cap on her second beer. “Honey, you won’t find me arguing that point.” She took a long swallow and sighed. “My concern is for you. Yes, Ronin is important to me. He’s important to all of us, he’s family. But I don’t want to see you spiral out of control. Numar was a nasty son-of-a-bitch. I have no doubt that he deserved exactly what he got, and Ronin doesn’t deserve to go down for it. But someone else can pick up that cross. It doesn’t have to be you.”
I raised my head. Pulling back my shoulders, I lifted my chin. “Yes, it does. And I hope you didn’t come here on a mission from the prez to get me to tuck tail and run. That’s not me, not anymore. And you can tell Pop I said so.”
Ruth leaned forward, her brown locks falling across her red bandana. She rested her elbows on both knees and eyeballed me. “Listen, little girl. You may be grown, but it’s a different world here. You need to put yourself in check. And for the record, I came here all by myself. Jesse said you had made your bed and he was gonna let you lie in it. I know he’s just blowing smoke. He’s worried about you, about Ronin too. But I’m here out of genuine concern for my kid. The Pistol Kings aren’t a club you wanna be caught fucking around with.”
I struggled to calm down. It was mind blowing just how insanely diverse my two worlds really were, and through all the years, Ruth had been supportive of both. I guzzled the rest of my beer in one drink and promptly opened another, licking the bubbles from my top lip. The alcohol tasted better than I had expected. Much better.
“I know, and you’re right. I’m sorry. But the sooner we agree on the fact that I’m staying, the sooner we can work on getting Ronin out of this mess.”
The hard expression on Ruth’s face softened. “Do you think he did it?”
“Do you?” I asked in a deadpan tone.
“I know he hated that bastard Numar. He never tried to hide how much he wanted him dead.”
“I know the feeling,” I mumbled as I dropped my gaze. “I had no idea that Ronin was still consumed with what happened.”
Ruth reached out and squeezed my hand. “Honey, he ain’t been the same since. None of us have, but he’s really taken it hard. It’s not something that anyone expects you to be able to get over.”
I fought the urge to break down and bawl from the mere motherly gesture.
“Baby girl, we’ll all get through this. We’re strong. We’re Executioners.”
I stood and popped the cap on another Bud. “Yeah, not all of us.”
“Pssh, you’re a Miller and that’s damn near the same thing.”
I offered a weak smile, unable to bring myself to acknowledge just how true that statement really was. A shiver rippled deep in my gut.
After reassuring my stepmother that there was nothing to worry about, I told Ruth goodbye. I drained my beer before opening another, and then another.
My mind finally started to relax as the alcohol left me fuzzy and warm. I recognized that it wasn’t the smartest move to get drunk the night before an arraignment.
Fuck it, I’m a Miller.
***
The incessant buzzing sent me scrambling out of the bed. I had already hit snooze on the first two alarms. My brain bounced around in my throbbing skull. Not being able to sleep without some sort of self-medication was a real bitch.
I slammed my cell phone on the rickety bedside table and started the shower. After catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I decided to start the mini coffee pot. Ground up sludge would be better than nothing.
Ruth had asked me if I thought Ronin killed Numar.
Did it matter?
CHAPTER EIGHT
(Ronin)
The heavy vacuum cord whipped around my thin, pale legs. I struggled to breathe through the sobs in my throat. Tears streamed down my tiny, six year old face.
I tried to scream, but nothing came out. Running as fast as my little legs could take me, only to be knocked to the ground by a boot kick square to the back.
I twisted my fractured body around, my damp, agonizing face silently pleading with my mother for help. I watched as she flicked the long ash off her Virginia Slim and flipped the channel on the TV.
Just as my small, trembling hands struggled to push myself up to my feet, a fist came crashing down.
That was step-dad number two.
***
“Steele, on your feet. You’re being arraigned this morning.”
My eyelids flickered, and sweat poured from the back of my neck, leaving my pillow drenched. I was thankful that I had gone back to sleep after spotting the tray of rubber eggs and burnt toast.
Transport dropped my uniformed babysitter and me off at the courthouse. As I waited on the bench, cuffed and exhausted, I thought about the dream that I’d had. I hadn’t had any bad childhood nightmares in years. I wrote off that part of my life like a bad movie, never to be watched again.
There were several orange jumpsuits lining the wall. Misdemeanors, felonies, and bond fortifications.
I scanned the area that was roped off exclusively for the inmates. I didn’t belong here. Not this time. I had done my fair share of bad shit over the years, but this was too much. I’ve never tucked tail like a bitch. I’ve always owned my shit. I didn’t do this. Not to mention, if I had killed Numar, I wouldn’t have gotten caught.
My tired body snapped to attention when Jolene marched into the room. I had never seen her look so professional and confident. The way her hips moved in that black skirt that clung to her body left me mesmerized. The white button down shirt covered enough of her cleavage to be considered appropriate, but the image of her breasts had been seared into my brain a decade ago. She looked good enough to eat.
“Docket number 15-M-1620, people versus Ronin Elbert Steel.”
Jolene’s blue eyes focused on the judge, clearly making special strides not to look in my direction.
The judge was an older man, large frame with a white beard. His nameplate read, ‘Honorable Judge Weese.’
I tried to appear calm, but my mind was racing. I glanced around the room and wasn’t surprised when I couldn’t find a familiar face, other than Davis, my arresting officer. The Executioners didn’t step foot inside a government building unless they were dragged in wearing restraints. Although I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting. Executioners first, family second.
“Mr. Steele, do you agree to waive the reading?”
I glanced from the judge to Jolene who gave me a curt nod.
“Yes,” I said, unaware of exactly what I was waiving. I never understood all the legal bullshit, blindly trusting Sanders all these years.
The judge nodded. “Moving on. Son, are you prepared to enter a plea at this time?”
As my insides quaked like prey caught in a tangled spider web, I saw the yellow legal pad that Jolene had shoved in my direction.
In large, black script, it read, ‘Not Guilty. We’ve got this.’
For the first time since being arrested, hope stirred deep within my chest.
I lifted my head, “Not guilty, judge.” The hushed whispers of the crowd caught me off guard. People got busy pulling out pens and notebooks. The two men at the prosecutor’s table leaned into one another, deep in conversation.
“Ok, quiet in the courtroom. Mr. Garner, notices?”
I eyeballed the tall, muscular man as he stood to address the court.
“Yes, 7-10-31b and 1-90-50, your honor.”
The judge scribbled something before responding. “I’m assuming you have a few thoughts on bail then, Mr. Garner?”
What the fuck was all the snickering about? I tried to steady my breathing as my muscles tightened. I wouldn’t have a shot in hell at getting out of this shit hole if I lost my temper.
“As a matter of fact your honor, yes. We ask that the court remand the defendant without bail. This is a first-degree murder charge of the worst kind, premeditated with years of plotting. Mr. Steele is a known criminal and has nothing
tying him down, no family, spouse, or children making him an easy flight risk. He’s a common gang banger.”
The man’s loaded statement was like a knife to the heart, a dull, rusty fucking blade too. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Jolene writing on the pad again.
‘Mind games. DO NOT react.’
“Ms. Miller?” Judge Weese directed his attention to the defendant’s table.
Jolene tugged on the bottom of her shirt, pulling it tight across her chest. She held her red pen in one hand and ‘talked’ with the other.
“Judge Weese, I’m not going to spend a lot of the court’s time chipping away at Mr. Garner’s list of bullet points. What I will say is that Mr. Steele has had his share of legal trouble over the years, none of which were even remotely close to this serious in nature. As far as having nothing to tie him down, clearly Mr. Garner is unaware on how community works. He’s also unfamiliar with the vast difference between a gang banger and a Sargent at Arms of a motorcycle club. Mr. Steele is a proud member of a club where he is relied upon daily, not only by the members, but by the families as well. He takes his commitment very seriously. This club does a lot of good within the community, working with programs to collect food, clothing, and school supplies for those in need. They also own a legitimate business where they hire veterans and the homeless to help within the community. Mr. Steele is a big part of this town. He doesn’t own a passport and he hasn’t spent more than a weekend out of the state in the past ten years. He’s a citizen and earns his income right here in Jericho building custom motorcycles involving an impressive clientele list. Yes, the murder of Mr. Numar was horrific, and possibly even premeditated. But to say that my client spent years plotting and planning a murder that he has yet to be convicted of is overtly premature. I’m sure there’s no need to remind Mr. Garner of the old adage, innocent until proven guilty. I ask the courts to please grant reasonable bail as we move forward to adequately prepare the next stage in our defense.”
I sat dumbfounded, staring at the woman I thought I knew. What a fucking powerhouse. My gaze moved from Jolene to the judge, who was staring at her with his face creased in deep thought. The prosecutors appeared to be as caught off guard as I was. Shit. She managed to blindside the entire fucking courtroom.
X Marks the Spot (Executioners MC Book 1) Page 5
