They, thank God, believed him and stepped in to help.
Only, it wouldn’t help when the men and women on the jury, as well as the judge, had all been brought to the dark side.
Which was where we were at now.
The sentencing.
Out of all the things I’d done wrong in my life, Trick was the worst mistake of all.
I wished, for his sake, that I’d never met him.
Fresh off deployment, wanting to help with his sister, he’d innocently been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I would’ve rather died than seen him go to jail.
Yet, we all knew that was where this was going.
Me getting on the stand was the last-ditch effort that my stepfather was taking.
I watched him across the crowded courtroom, my breath in my throat.
My arm throbbed, and the last thing I wanted to do was get up on that stand and relive what my father had done to me all over again.
But I’d do anything for Trick.
He’d saved my life.
Throughout the entire process, Trick never once looked at me.
He stared at the wall behind my head, and I felt like a hollowness had taken root in my soul.
“I call Swayze Marrin to the stand,” my stepfather’s voice filled me with horror.
God, this was the last thing I wanted to do.
I was still fucked up.
I walked with a limp, might always.
My nose was crooked as hell now thanks to my father breaking it.
And my arm still ached from where my father had snapped the two bones in half by stomping on my forearm.
I tried not to limp too badly as I took the stand.
I also tried not to look at anyone else but my stepfather.
He was safest.
“State your full name.”
I felt my insides churn. “Swayze Molly Marrin.”
My stepfather smiled warmly.
“Swayze, can you tell us about that night? Why were you there?”
“My father called and told me that he wanted to see me for my birthday, that he had something for me,” I explained.
“And was he on time?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No.”
“How late was he?” my stepfather pushed.
“Um,” I hesitated, thinking back. “About three hours or so. I don’t know the exact time that I got there.”
“Do you know why he was late?” he wondered.
I tried not to look around at the courtroom. That way nobody would be pinpointed when I said what I said next.
“He was doing a drug transport and got a flat tire,” I said. “That’s what he said anyway. He parked the van filled with drugs somewhere and came to the bar because it was closest. He was going to borrow my grandfather’s truck.”
“How do you know this?” my stepfather asked quietly.
“Because I overheard his conversation on the phone,” I answered. “When he saw me in the hallway, he yelled at me and told me to go to his office. I did. When I got in there, he picked up the phone and called someone. After he was done talking to them, he looked at me with this weird look in his eye. He was stoned or something. I’d never seen him look like that before. When I told him I had to go home and got up to leave, he pushed me to make me stay in my chair. He pushed hard, and the chair tipped and I fell over it backward. When I got up, I was mad, so I tried to leave again. And he punched me in the face.”
“What else did he do?” my stepfather urged gently.
I swallowed hard.
“My nose started to bleed. And it was like he saw that and just… blew up,” I admitted. “One second he was punching me, and the next I was on the ground and I couldn’t even lift my hands to cover my face,” I explained. “I tried to lift my left one, and my entire forearm just flopped over to the side in one grotesque move. Forearm one way. Elbow the other. Hand flipping another way.”
The round of questioning went on and on and on.
“What happened when Mr. Wheat came into the room?” my stepdad asked then. “Was he mad?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But he sounded upset. When I heard his voice—it was at this point that I couldn’t get my brain to open my eyes. My face was too swollen—he sounded ravaged. He told my dad to stop, but the kicks kept coming. Then all of a sudden they stopped.”
“So you didn’t see anything?” my stepfather pushed.
I shook my head. “No. I was too broken to even open my eyes.”
My stepfather smiled. “No further questions.”
That was when the other lawyer stood up, his eyes narrowed on me.
I swallowed at the gleam in his eyes.
“Is it true that before this, your father never touched you at all?” the cross-examiner, Mr. Trent, asked.
I licked my lips. “My father had never beaten me up before. No.”
“Are you saying that he hit you?” Mr. Trent asked.
I shrugged. “He spanked me.”
“Therefore, this was nothing over a usual punishment?” he pushed.
“If you count bruising my butt so badly that I couldn’t sit for a week, no,” I countered.
“Before that day, he’d never taken it that far before,” Mr. Trent pushed.
“No,” I confirmed.
“Why did he get upset in the first place? Did he tell you his reasoning?” the lawyer asked.
I again explained what had happened with the phone call. Then the blood. Followed by the subsequent beating.
“You didn’t mention that before this all went down, your father caught you in the hallway with an older man,” Mr. Trent drawled.
My stomach clenched.
“We weren’t doing anything,” I told him. “When my father came into the hallway, we were barely even touching each other.”
“How old were you at the time?” he wondered.
I gritted my teeth before saying, “Seventeen.”
“And Mr. Wheat was twenty-one?” he pushed.
I shrugged. “We didn’t exchange our ages.”
“I’ve learned from a few sources that you were quite young when you lost your virginity,” Mr. Trent said. “That you were considered a ‘problem child’ by a lot of people. Your parents and the school included.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I got great grades in school.”
I was graduated now, actually. I finished by the skin of my teeth.
The grades might not have been as good as I’d wanted, but they’d definitely been better than they could have been.
The line of questioning deteriorated after that.
Pretty much, by the time he was done, the entire courtroom thought I was a slut with a chip on her shoulder who deserved to have my ass beat.
When I finally stepped off the stand and went to sit next to my mother, I knew that I’d done more harm than good by getting up onto that podium.
My mother curled me into her arm, and I chanced a look at Trick.
He was tense. His arms were loose at his sides, but his fisted hands underneath the table showed that he was pissed as hell and barely containing it.
Well that made two of us.
But I didn’t have as much of a reason as he did.
And when, four hours later, a verdict was read, I knew his pissed off attitude was even more warranted.
“Patrick Wheat is sentenced to twenty years. A possibility of parole at fifteen.” The judge banged his gavel, and that was that.
It was done.
I’d officially ruined Trick’s life.
And when they took him away in handcuffs, frog marching him out of the room due to the chains holding his feet together, I knew that I would never, ever be able to fix this.
I made a promise to myself that day.
I would get into law school.
I would do what I could to fix the system.
And I would forever work my ass off to repay what Patrick Wheat did for me.
He saved me
from dying, and I would not forget that. I would not allow his sacrifice to be in vain.
CHAPTER 4
Sometimes I think to myself, why am I such a bitch? Then I just laugh hysterically and carry on with my bitchy self.
-Swayze’s secret thoughts
SWAYZE
Six weeks later
“I’m sorry that I couldn’t help you,” he said. “The people in this town…”
The people in this town were corrupt.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” my stepdad asked.
Trick’s eyes flicked from the table to Errick’s eyes. “Take care of my sister.”
“I’m appealing it,” Errick promised. “I’ll get it fixed.”
Trick didn’t look like he believed that my stepfather could make it happen.
He might not be able to. But he would try. He would never stop trying.
As long as he had breath in his body, he would fight for Trick. Because Trick had saved me. And I may not be his blood, but I mattered to my mom. And Errick worshipped the ground my mother walked on. In turn, that devotion extended to me by default.
“Don’t bother.” Trick stood up, his eyes meeting mine for a full thirty seconds. “It won’t matter.”
With that, he stood up and walked out of the room, leaving us reeling.
“I won’t stop.” Errick patted my shoulder.
I felt like crying.
“I won’t,” Errick promised.
I stood up, too, feeling sick to my stomach.
That was a constant feeling over the last year. One that I was trying to come to terms with and not accomplishing it.
By the time we got home, he went immediately to work.
I went to my room and researched places to stay in South Royalton, Vermont where I could go to college, then start law school during my last semester.
That would be within driving distance of Montpelier, which was where Trick’s sister was.
Therefore, I could always be close if she needed me.
That was the only way at this point that I could make it work. For Trick.
PART II
CHAPTER 5
I either give too many fucks, or no fucks at all. I cannot find a middle ground of fucks.
-Swayze to Trick
SWAYZE
“Who is that?”
I stiffened at the intrusion of my personal space.
I narrowed my eyes and glanced over my shoulder. “I’m sorry, did I not hear you knock?”
The man behind me, my assistant Jayco, shrugged. “No.”
“Then why are you in my office?” I asked.
Still, to this day, I was intimidated by powerful men. And Jayco was big, built, and could swat me down like a fly if he wanted to.
Still, he’d come highly recommended and I’d needed an assistant that I wouldn’t have to train.
I’d been slammed with business after a high-profile case that I’d defended, and ever since, I hadn’t been able to rest a single second.
Hence the reason Jayco was there, even though he was a pain in the ass and I wasn’t sure that I liked him as of right now.
“Why is there a mugshot of a hot guy on your computer?” he pushed.
Because that hot guy made my days worth living.
“Because it’s a reminder,” I mumbled. “Now, next time, please knock. I’m busy here.”
I wasn’t busy. I was daydreaming.
Why?
Because Trick Wheat was out of prison.
I wasn’t sure how. I wasn’t sure why. But I knew he was out.
I made it a point to always know where Patrick Wheat was.
Trick.
The man that had changed my life twelve years ago.
The man that had saved me.
The man that was…
“He’s hot as hell,” Jayco admitted. “Rawr.”
I gritted my teeth, pinching my nose with annoyance. “Jayco.”
“Oh.” Jayco bounced over to me. “There is a phone call for you on line one.”
Son of a bitch.
I reached for the phone and placed it to my ear, then hit the button for line one.
“This is Swayze Marrin.”
“Swayze,” the deep, rough voice said. “Why is my sister in Texas?”
Because she asked me to come.
I hadn’t heard the voice in twelve years. Twelve long, frustrating years.
But I knew that it was Trick without him having to announce himself.
That voice.
God, it’d done something to me the moment that I’d heard it thirteen years ago, too.
I cleared my throat, trying to control my heart rate.
“There’s a home that she wanted to live in,” I explained. “It is a community-type of living. Somewhere where she can be independent, take college classes, do whatever she wants pretty much.”
There was a long pause as he digested my words.
“I don’t want her down here,” he growled.
I knew what he meant by that.
“Your mother didn’t come with her,” I expounded.
His mother was a piece of work.
The moment that I’d met her when I’d moved to Vermont, I’d known why Trick had resigned his commission.
She was awful.
She hadn’t questioned my sudden appearance in her daughter’s life.
“That’s good to know,” Trick growled. “I want you to stay away from my sister. I’m home now. I got this.”
My heart dropped in my chest.
“O-okay,” I said. “I’ll stay away.”
It would be hard, but I could do it. For Trick.
I’d do anything for Trick.
“She calls, you don’t answer,” he pushed.
I closed my eyes. “I’ll explain that you don’t want me around anymore.”
“You do that,” he said. “Make her leave you alone.”
I looked at Trick’s mugshot on my laptop.
“Okay,” I replied softly.
He hung up without saying goodbye.
I gently placed the phone in its cradle.
“Who was that?” Jayco asked, sounding curious.
Why was he still in my office?
I ignored him and went back to work. Eventually he got the hint and left.
But not before placing a stack full of file folders on the corner of my desk.
I glared at them, then got back to work.
But my heart wasn’t in it.
Not today.
I pretended to work for another hour before I decided that it just wasn’t going to happen today.
Tomorrow, I would start over fresh.
Tomorrow, I would make this work.
But today? Well, today I was going to feel my sadness.
I went to my favorite bar to drown my sorrows.
CHAPTER 6
I really have a good heart. I’m just a little mean.
-Swayze to Trick
TRICK
Living without structure was weird.
I didn’t have anyone telling me when I could shit. When I could eat. When I needed to go to bed.
Standing with my shoulders against a brick wall as I scanned the bar, I thought about where my life had landed me.
Two months ago, a man had visited me in prison.
He’d told me that he needed my help. He’d then found a way to not only get me out of prison eight years early, but he’d also given me a job. Sure, that job was menial, but it was enough for now.
Of course, that job being menial was on purpose. Because Lynn pulling me out of prison, pulling strings, had come with conditions.
One, I helped him ‘clean his town up’ so to speak.
Apparently, there was a trafficking problem in his neck of the woods, and he was convinced that I could help.
As well as helping when and where I was needed, he’d created a motorcycle club to help hide our presence.
I was now officially a Souls Chapel Revenant.
At least, that was what the cut on my back declared me as.
I scanned the bar again, my eyes halting on the door when it opened wide.
That was when the breath left my body.
Because she was there, filling the doorway, looking like someone had run over her, backed up, and run over her again.
She still walked with a slight limp.
Oh, and she could still fill out a pair of jeans.
Very, very well.
Much better than she did at seventeen.
At twenty-nine, she was even more my cup of tea than she used to be.
Her hair was pulled up into a low bun at the base of her neck, and her eyes were faced directly forward as she all but strutted to the bar.
She had no clue that she was drawing every man’s eyes in the room.
Had no clue that even with her prim and proper blazer covering her back and top half of her butt, she was still the sexiest thing in the room.
She had on high heels, and even with a limp, she still managed to rock them.
She took the seat closest to the wall and then waved at the bartender to get his attention.
The old man jerked his chin up, smiling wide at Swayze.
She took the seat with a thump of her ass onto the chair, then immediately jerked her blazer off and tossed it onto the barstool next to her.
That’s when I saw her back.
Though she had a tank top on, it was one of those racerback styles, showing off a fair amount of skin.
Skin that was covered in tattoos.
From this far away, I couldn’t see what those tattoos were, but I knew that they were sexy as hell.
I looked down at my own tattoos.
Ones that I’d gotten before prison, during prison, and after prison.
They were a mismatch of colors, lines, and words.
But I liked them.
I hadn’t realized that Swayze had tattoos.
I wondered when she’d gotten them.
They looked great, but in the dark of the bar, I knew that they had to be more magnificent than they appeared.
“Who’s that?”
I looked over at Sin, who was standing against the wall next to me.
Sin, Lynn, Bruno, Laric, Trouper, Hunt, and Zach were all in the ‘motorcycle club’ with me.
We were the men that made up the Souls Chapel Revenants MC. We were also mostly people that had served hard time.
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