Down on Me (Club 24 #7)

by Kimberly Knight

  Being by the ballfield was a happy place for us and since Spencer was stuck in the house now, I wanted to take her out so she’d hopefully remember all our good times together.

  “I miss it down here,” she said, confirming my plan was working.

  “We should come every weekend for a picnic.”

  She smiled. “I’d like that.”

  “And then in a few months or maybe next season, we can take Kyle to his first game.” I nudged my head toward the brick wall around the stadium.

  Her eyes lit up. “We are totally making a sign about his first game. Maybe we’ll get on TV.”

  I stilled at her words, thinking about Michael’s people seeing us on TV. I didn’t want to scare Spencer and tell her that our nightmare may not be over. Instead, I said, “That would be awesome.” Because it would be if, by then, I’d figured out if Michael really did still have his vendetta toward us.

  *

  As I arrived at Club 24 the next day, I decided to hit the treadmills to clear my head. I needed to come up with a plan to put this Michael situation behind us. It was my fault that Spencer couldn’t leave the house to take our son for a walk around the block without freaking out and running to our safe room and I needed to fix it.

  The how was nagging at me, causing me to lose sleep. When Spencer thought I was asleep; I wasn’t. Typically I was getting only a few hours a night because my brain wouldn’t shut off. Hell, it wouldn’t shut off period.

  I was five minutes into my run, Eminem blasting into my eardrums, when my phone lit up with my little brother’s mug on the screen calling from Houston. I pushed the stop button on the machine and slid the answer button on the phone a few rings in.

  “Do you know you always call at the wrong times?” I panted, trying to catch my breath as I spoke.

  “Are you fucking my sister?”

  “First of all—gross. And second of all, no. I was in the middle of a run so this better be good.”

  “I was calling to see how things were going with the nightclub.”

  “Why don’t you come here and find out?” I wiped down the machine and started to walk toward the stairs to my office.

  He tsked. “Because I’m overseeing this location.”

  “You do realize I manage five locations and you just work for me there?”

  “With a business partner!” he scoffed.

  I started to walk up the stairs. “You act like it’s so hard to fly to California for a few days to make sure your staff isn’t stealing from you. It’s been three months since you’ve been here.”

  I knew they weren’t. Jason and I had a close watch on the nightclub especially since it was new. So far it was running smoothly, but we’d never expected Blake to run back to Texas shortly after he opened the damn thing. And all for a fucking woman.

  “That’s why you’re there and I have managers.”

  I groaned as I sat in the leather seat at my desk. “Remember what you told Spencer before we agreed to let you open the nightclub at my gym?”

  “Calm your tits, bro. The nightclub will be in the black this quarter. I promise.”

  “What’s wrong with coming to see your nephew?”

  “Because he’s a baby and won’t remember me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess, things are good with you and Stacey?”

  “You know how she is. I can’t go to San Francisco or anywhere without her thinking I’m cheating on her.”

  “Do you blame her?”

  He paused for a beat before responding. “No.”

  “Then bring her. Spencer would love to see her.”

  “How is my poker shark?”

  I swallowed, not wanting to tell him the truth even though he was family. “She’s good. I’d bet she’d love to see you, too.”

  “Okay, but I don’t know how soon. You know Stacey.”

  “I’m sure she’d love to come out here.”

  “That was before I owed a nightclub that had smokin’ hot chicks in it nightly.”

  “We,” I corrected.

  “Whatever.”

  *

  My mind was still on the fact that I needed to solve the Michael situation an hour or so later as I tried to do work. I really needed to focus on my job since I had been out so much due to everything going on. Unfortunately, that wasn’t happening.

  “Lunch?” Jason inquired as he walked into my office a few minutes later. “Bec said she’d bring us chicken shawarma if we wanted it.”

  My stomach growled at the thought of the Greek chicken and hummus plate I’d usually get at the restaurant. I looked at the time on my computer screen, not realizing where the morning had gone. “Yes, extra garlic sauce.”

  He pulled out his phone, typed on his screen and then looked back up at me. “She’ll be here in thirty.”

  “Sit, I need to talk to you.”

  He raised an eyebrow and then sat.

  “I’m sure Bec told you about Spencer?”

  He titled his head as if he were confused.

  “She didn’t tell you that we think Spencer has postpartum depression?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  I gave Jason a run down on what had been going on with Spencer and how she had good days and bad.

  “I knew something was up, but I figured it was this Michael bullshit,” he admitted.

  “That’s why I asked you to sit. What if I go to the prison?”

  Jason’s eyes became huge. “You want to go talk to him?”

  I shrugged. “Do you have a better idea?”

  “We can go, but I suggest we don’t tell our wives.”

  “We?”

  He chuckled. “I’m not letting you go to San Quentin by yourself.”

  San Quentin wasn’t your average prison. It was California’s only prison that housed death row inmates and it was scary as fuck. The prison was thirty minutes from the gym and fifteen minutes from my house, so I didn’t see how going there during work would interfere with anything or tip Spencer off.

  “Can we just—go?” I wondered.

  He shrugged.

  “Let me Google it.” I turned to my computer and started to search. I pulled up the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation website and entered Michael’s name. A list of several Michael Smith’s came up, but I found him at San Quinten and selected the location. Instructions on how to visit the prison popped up with the address and phone number.

  “Says Thursdays, Saturdays, and Sundays between seven and three. There’s different levels, but since we don’t know what Michael is under, we should probably show up at seven.”

  “Tomorrow’s Thursday—”

  “We’ll go tomorrow,” I said. “Sooner the better.”

  *

  I tossed and turned all night thinking about what I was going to say to Michael with the glass partition separating us or what I’d say and do if the prison allowed me to sit at a table with the man I wanted to strangle.

  I never thought I would face him again. What do you say to the man who kidnapped your wife? To this day, I hadn’t spoken to him since he tied Spencer up, held a gun to her head and videotaped her sending me a message for ransom. The image of her still haunted me as she looked into the camera and spoke to me, pleading for me, “Babe, Michael from your college wants you to bring one million dollars to Great America by noon tomorrow. You need to put the money in a backpack and bring it with you to the Top Gun roller coaster. Get on the ride, but leave the backpack in one of the storage cubbies people use for their stuff while they are riding. Once you do that and they have the money, they will let me go. Don’t bring anyone to help you or contact the cops. If you do, his friend Colin will kill me.”

  I knew he wouldn’t confess to hiring someone if it were true. Why would he? Why would he give me a heads up? I wouldn’t if I were in his shoes. But there had to be a way for me to know if he was up to something. Everyone had a tell and I was good at reading people. That’s how I was successful at poker.


  Did I walk in and ask him how his stay in prison was going? Ask him if he had dropped the soap lately? Ask how making license plates differed than owning a gym? All those questions would piss him off and I knew it. Me going into the visit wasn’t going to be a pleasant occasion. I could go in there and ask if he had any friends on the outside. But he wouldn’t tell me. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that the only solution was to wing it. When I was staring him directly in his eyes, I’d know what to say … I hoped.

  Lying to Spencer had become easy. Why would she suspect that I’d be stupid enough to become face to face with Michael again? I was definitely stupid. Jason and I made plans to meet at Peet’s Coffee & Tea, ten minutes away from the prison, and then we’d drive together.

  Jason parked then got into my Range Rover. “Ready?” he asked.

  I wasn’t. “I guess.” I started the car and put it in reverse, my palms became sweaty.

  “Do you know what you’re going to say?”

  “I’m going to wing it.”

  “You’re going to wing it?” Jason questioned, surprised.

  “I have no idea what to say. I can’t just ask him if he has people after me.”

  “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

  “Maybe it is, but this is my family we’re talking about.”

  “What if he doesn’t have any plans to come after you and now you’re putting thoughts into his head?”

  I hadn’t thought that until then. “I …” I stammered. “Don’t they monitor the phone calls and shit?”

  “Fuck if I know. I’ve never been to prison!”

  “They do,” I said, turning into a steep-pothole driven driveway, the prison in the distance and the San Francisco Bay to our left.

  “These fuckers get ocean view rooms or what?” Jason asked, looking at the sparkling water.

  I laughed under my breath. “Looks like it.” I parked, but before I could reach for the handle Jason spoke again.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  I turned to him and without skipping a beat, I answered. “This is for my family. If anything, maybe I’ll get a piece of mind after talking to him.”

  “I don’t know how that will be possible.”

  “You don’t know what it’s like to see the alert pop up on your phone that your wife is locked in your panic room either,” I hissed.

  “All right, let’s go. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  I fucking had no idea what I was doing. I was going inside a prison to chitchat with a guy I wanted to kill. I knew I was out of my damn mind, but I was out of options other than us living our lives and always looking our shoulder.

  We walked back up the steep driveway that I’d driven down. Cars were entering at the same time. “Ain’t this some shit. They could at least have a sidewalk,” Jason grumbled.

  “We’re at a prison, not an amusement park walking to the gates to get in.”

  “Still. If I get run over …”

  I shook my head and laughed. “Are you two years old? Do you need me to hold your hand?”

  “Whatever!”

  We made it to the top of the hill and turned left to go to the East Gate. A guard dressed in a green and beige uniform stood next to the iron gate with a big stop sign on the front of it. We waited in the small line until we got to the front. I was nervous, my stomach in knots at the thought of being turned away.

  “Who are you here to see?” Correctional Officer Williams inquired.

  I cleared my throat. “Michael Smith.”

  He eyed me from beneath his cap. “Which one.”

  I pulled out my phone to read him the inmate number I’d found for Michael. Luckily, there was only one Michael Smith with the same age as us.

  “Your ID?”

  I handed him my driver’s license.

  “Did you fill out the visitor’s questionnaire and get approved?”

  My stomach dropped. “No, sir.”

  He looked at my ID and then up at me and then back at my ID again then over to Jason. “Your ID?”

  Jason handed him his driver’s license. “I didn’t fill out the questionnaire either, sir.”

  He handed us our IDs back. “Mr. Montgomery, you need to walk down to the Rotunda straight ahead. They’ll be able to assist you. Mr. Taylor, I’m sorry but you can’t go in.”

  Jason and I glanced at each other. How was I able to go in and he wasn’t? We both made sure to dress appropriately. No jeans or denim. We weren’t wearing anything blue, green, or orange. We sure as shit weren’t in camouflage. We weren’t in shorts or sweatpants either and we didn’t have on a white T-shirt. We were both in black pants and black polo shirts, no logos.

  I hurried and gave him the key to the truck, then I turned toward the driveway that led to the building he called the Rotunda. I felt as though I was walking into the lion’s den or something. I didn’t have my wingman with me anymore.

  Cracking my neck, I decided to snap out of it. I couldn’t walk into a prison scared. It was like bleeding in the ocean with sharks swimming around you or a rabid dog sensing your fear. It wasn’t as though I was scared of Michael. I was scared of walking away without answers. All I cared about was finding out answers for my family.

  When I got to the beige building that looked like castle towers connected together, I took a deep breath and entered. I stood in line again, waiting to be called to the glass window. Finally, I stepped forward.

  I handed over my ID and told them who I was seeing. The woman said that someone would be right with me. I was confused, to say the least. The website said it could take up to two hours to see an inmate depending on how many people were visiting and I wasn’t first in line. If this was how they handled people who didn’t fill out the questionnaire, then why couldn’t Jason come in?

  A few minutes later I was called by a correctional officer. “Mr. Montgomery, follow me.”

  I looked around the room. All eyes were on me. Was this not normal?

  We walked through a metal detector and an X-ray machine you’d see at the airport. I’d taken everything out of my pockets, handed them my ID again and then we were buzzed through a grill door to what I assumed was a more secure location of the prison.

  Every thought was running through my head as I took in the ire place. Did Michael have me on a list of visitors already? Did Michael pay these guards to kill me? Was I going to be taken to The Yard so Michael and his prison buddies could kick my ass then kill me?

  We stopped at a closed door and were buzzed into that room. The officer stood to the side and gestured for me to have a seat. “The warden will be in here soon.”

  Warden? What the fuck?

  As I looked around the room with only a table and two chairs in it, I eased a little into the seat, relaxing that I wasn’t taken to The Yard. But why did I need to speak with the warden? Clearly there was some misunderstanding. If they needed me to fill out the questionnaire, then I’d gladly do it.

  Time ticked on and I wanted to call Jason and tell him what the fuck was happening, but I’d left my phone in the car because we weren’t allowed to bring it into the prison. I’d noticed that on the website when I looked up the dress code.

  The door finally buzzed and a man in a black three piece suit walked in. I sat up straight, ready to hear why I was seeing the warden.

  “We brought you in here because we’re assuming you haven’t been contacted yet,” the warden said, taking a seat in front of me.

  I scrunched my eyebrows. “Contacted about what, sir?”

  “Mr. Smith was killed yesterday by another prisoner.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Spencer

  I always thought I was a strong person and that I would never need therapy. I didn’t need it after Christy’s attack or my kidnapping. It took me awhile to get over the traumatic experiences, but nothing was like what I was feeling now. I wasn’t sure if I needed medication or not. I only knew I needed help.

  In the
coming days, I’d researched therapists in my area. I knew I needed to speak with someone who wouldn’t judge me for my flaws or find me weak or incapable of keeping it together. With Brandon having to worry about Michael and protecting us, I felt as though my depression was a burden to him, but I needed to let it out because it was slowly eating at me and the dark hole I was in was going to swallow me up.

  Living on a roller coaster of emotions was too much for me. One day I would be okay and happy. The next crying because I was angry when Niner would bark, wanting to go outside to pee.

  I made an appointment when Brandon was at work. I was going to drive myself, but after my safe room incident, I thought better of it and asked Ryan to drive me. That way she could also watch Kyle while I was talking to the therapist.

  “Thank you for driving me,” I said, staring at out the window.

  “Of course.”

  I wanted to say more to her, but I couldn’t in fear she would judge me, too. I’d already thanked her for finding out about the guy living on the next block over from my house. I knew she had my back. But this—this was something that I didn’t think she’d understand. She was great with Abby—even great with Kyle when I’d let her hold him or in the one case while Brandon and I went on our date. There was no way she’d understand the pain I was feeling and I didn’t want her two cents because she had no idea how to help me.

  “You’re a fantastic mother,” she finally said after a few minutes. I looked at her. “Don’t beat yourself up for trying, Spencer. This shit is hard. I may look like I have it together, but there are days when I want to scream. It’s hard to keep the house clean, cook, and take care of a needy baby.”

  “It’s more than that, Ry,” I sighed.

  “I know.” She nodded. “I just wanted you to know that I struggle too and it’s okay. You’ll get through this.”