Three times I’ve woken twisted up in the bed clothes and covered in sweat. This time, it’s something else that awakes me. A quiet knocking on my door, and a man’s voice saying, “Beth.”
“Hold on.” I reach for my robe and pull it on, at the same time glancing at the clock by the side of my bed. It’s Monday morning, five am? The time makes me worry. What’s happened?
I waste no time rushing to the door and opening it. “What’s up?” I can tell by the look on Dirt’s face that it’s not going to be anything I want to hear.
“A car’s pulled up outside. Two men look like they’re checking out the house. I need you to ring the police now, Beth.”
Call the police for help? After they questioned me?
“Now, Beth.”
If that’s what Dirt’s advising, it’s advice I should probably follow. Immediately I run back into the room, pick up my phone and dial 911.
“I think someone’s trying to break in,” I tell the dispatcher who answers my call fast. I give the address and hear the reassurance that the cops are on their way.
I hear noises from downstairs, and then, a crash. “What do I do?” I speak into the phone, while quietly opening my bedroom door.
“What’s going on?” Mom appears, wrapping her dressing gown around her.
“Shush,” I hiss loudly, then explain into the phone. “Sorry, I wasn’t speaking to you. But there are men here, coming into the house.”
“You’ve got visitors,” Dirt says fast and softly to my mom. I notice for the first time there’s a gun in his hand. “Beth’s on the phone to the cops—it was Demon’s suggestion—it’s just a matter of staying safe until they arrive.” He pauses, and his brow creases. “Normally you’d lock yourselves away until the cops get here. So, go into your room, or your bathroom if that’s got a bolt on it. I’ll stay hidden and won’t intervene unless things get nasty.”
The same advice comes down the line and straight into my ear. “Keep yourself and your mom out of the way. The squad car is almost with you now,” the calming voice says. Well, she’s trying to be calming, but it’s not working.
I’m vaguely aware of Dirt slipping back into the shadows as the hall light is switched on downstairs, illuminating both me and mom standing at the top. There’s a man with a gun, and he’s pointing it our way.
“Get down here.”
We’ve dallied too long. No chance to hide away now.
“I’ve got to go,” I tell the dispatcher fast. “There’s a man with a gun.”
“Stay on the line,” warns the voice on the phone.
But he’s seen me. “End that fucking call and get down here.”
I’ve no choice but to do what he instructs. Dirt must have slipped away unseen, as when I grab hold of Mom’s hand—whether to give comfort or receive it, I’m not entirely sure—and slowly descend the stairs, the man makes no comment about anyone else being in the house.
“Where is it?” the man almost screams when we reach the bottom step. “Where’s the fuckin’ smack? Connor said it was here.”
“What are you doing in my house?” Mom sounds scared, and I don’t blame her. I’m shaking too. “I have no idea what you think I’ve got. Please leave.”
“I’ve called the cops,” I warn him. “They’re on their way.”
His eyes widen. “You stupid bitch. So you better talk fast. Where is the stash? Where did Connor put it?”
“Stash?”
“He’s talking about drugs, Mom. But why the hell he’s asking us, I don’t know.” I open my palms and gesture that I have no idea what he’s talking about, noticing my hands are trembling.
“There are no drugs here,” Mom states shakily and truthfully. “Please get out of my house.”
The man steps closer, he looks from me to my mom, then for some reason, homes in on me. He takes another pace which puts him in front, his head only just above the level of my shoulders. As he looks up into my face, I recognise this particular sneer. He doesn’t like feeling at a disadvantage. I’ve seen his reaction often, like many short men, he doesn’t like women being taller than him.
“Give me what I want, or I’ll kill this one.” He raises a gun and points it at me.
“No,” Mom screams. “No. And I can’t give you what I don’t have. This is all a mistake!”
I look at the barrel of the gun, wondering if this is the last thing I’m going to see, wondering whether the police will get here in time. As I stare death in the face, the thoughts which hurt most are that I’ll never have a chance to see Ink and explain, will never be able to tell him how much he means to me, that I understand why he hates me or how I’d give everything to be in jail and him walking free. Those are the regrets I’ll take to my grave.
Time seems to stand still.
“You’ve got one more minute, then this one here takes her last breath.”
“I can’t tell you as I don’t know,” Mom cries out. She starts to move toward me.
“Stay back!” I swear he’s frothing at the mouth as momentarily the gun points at her before swinging back to me.
“Leave us alone, please.” Finding my voice, I begin to beg. The thought of Mom being killed worse than if it was me.
Suddenly another man runs through the smashed front door. “Cops are on their way.” He looks panicked. “Just heard this address on the radio. Have you got the shit we came for? We’ve got to go, now.”
The cheeks of the man standing close blaze bright red. His jaw tightens. Maybe my senses are all on high alert as adrenaline floods through me, but I read his intention almost before he decides what he’s going to do. No drugs. He’s failed. And that threat he’d made? Well, he’s going to follow it through. But before his finger has a chance to even twitch on the trigger, my arm shoots out and chops down on his with all my strength behind it.
Not expecting a woman to fight back, he’s not got a tight grasp on it and his gun flies out of his hands.
Mom might be aging, but she’s not old. She is, however, fast, with all her faculties intact. She’s quick to make a dive for it with a rather impressive improvised roll and has it in her hand and pointed in his direction.
“Get out of my house!” she roars like a lioness protecting her cub. “And don’t come back. We don’t have what you’re after. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Arch,” the man standing by the door calls out, his voice shrill with fright, “we don’t have time. I’m going with or without you.”
To my utmost relief, Arch, proving he’s not deaf and hearing the gradually loudening sirens, doesn’t argue with his companion and they disappear the same way they came in. Moments later I hear a squeal of brakes. Only seconds after that, another vehicle draws up, and now it’s state troopers in uniform entering the house.
Neither Mom nor I mention they were looking for drugs as I don’t want to give the cops more ammunition to use against me. Instead, we say they’d broken in, and we’re in the dark as to the reason.
They bag the gun, complimenting me for disarming the intruder, but don’t take the death threat seriously. Then they go through the motions which don’t take long, the broken door is the only sign the men had been here. Even though I was almost killed, they write it down as a failed home invasion where nothing was actually stolen.
After being given unnecessary advice about calling someone out to fix the door, Mom, driven by fear of the men returning, snaps, “They held us at gunpoint. What if they come back? Aren’t you going to do anything?”
One of the cops shifts awkwardly. “Look, ma’am, it’s very unlikely they’ll come back. Just keep your phones with you and call us immediately if you hear or see anything suspicious. They’ve probably moved on to another house. I doubt you’ve got much to worry about.” He glances around the room which is pleasant enough but doesn’t scream money. “We can get a patrol car to cruise past when they’re in the area.” That’s supposed to be comforting? “There’s been a spate of home invasions rece
ntly, looks like you’ve just been unfortunate. Ma’am,” he addresses her directly again, “you said they wore gloves, so there’re no fingerprints unless we find any on the gun. You can come to the station and look through our mug shots, see if you recognise them, but unless you can point them out, there’s nothing for us to go on.”
If it really had been a home invasion I’d have been annoyed, but as it is, I’m just glad to see the back of them when they leave.
As soon as the troopers pull away, Dirt appears.
“Those were some slick moves,” he says approvingly, but his face is tight. “Thank fuck you disarmed him and got the gun.”
“I thought you were supposed to protect us,” says Mom. I notice she’s looking extremely pale.
“I couldn’t take a shot as Beth was blocking him.” He almost glares as he adds, “Why do you have to be so damn tall?”
Glancing back at the stairway, I see what he means. I was directly in his line of sight, and the man completely hidden by me.
“You can’t go and identify them,” he warns. “If you do, there’s no doubt the cops will know they have something to do with drugs, and that will just bring more trouble to Beth’s door.”
He’s right. Christ, what a mess.
“What’s happening to us?” Mom suddenly cries out, her hand finding the back of a chair and she eases herself down. “I’ve a son leaving a fortune in drugs in my house, a daughter who’s having to lie to the cops and now strangers holding us at gunpoint demanding to know where their drugs are, and I can’t admit they’ve been taken by an outlaw MC.”
Suddenly she’s crying, and I’m rushing over, pulling her into my arms.
“What the hell is going on, Bethany?” The bravery Mom had shown when faced with a gun-toting criminal has fled now. I’m surprised to feel my own cheeks are wet, as the situation catches up with me too.
Vaguely from behind me, I hear Dirt talking into his phone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ink
“The cops have spoken to Beth? What the fuck for?” I hiss at Sykes. I’ve tried my best to keep her out of it. Why would they speak to her? I’ll tan her backside if she’s fucked up and dropped herself in it. The only thing keeping me sane is the thought that they haven’t got both of us locked up.
Sykes frowns. “I don’t know. But you did have a relationship. I suspect they’re talking to all your contacts.”
I suppose that makes sense.
“Oh, and Demon rang this morning. I didn’t let him say much.” Sykes reads my irritation. “If I as your lawyer know too much, and especially if I pass that on to you, then it’s possible something will slip out while you’re being questioned. But what he did say was, Beth’s got a story that holds up and he’s satisfied with it.”
I sit up straighter. “She’s innocent?”
He shoots me a look. Yeah, okay, so she was carrying a fuckload of H and was the reason I got locked up. But if Demon says she’s in the clear, he means it. There could be a good reason for what she did. Though fuck knows I’m unable to see it. Could she have been coerced or forced in some way? Jeez, now I’m worried about her. If she was, it must have been that asshole brother of hers.
“Is that all Demon said?”
“You know he wouldn’t give me much. He had nothing to help with your case. Unless you’re going to give her up?”
No fucking way. Especially now Demon’s given me hope. If she’s gotten herself into trouble, I’m not going to worsen it.
“Cops let her go, though?”
Sykes nods.
At least that suggests she didn’t give herself away. Maybe she got my message that I wasn’t interested any longer and is happy to leave me here to rot. I lower my head into my hands. Christ, this place is making me go nuts. That’s what I want her to do, isn’t it? Truth is, the thought hurts, and it’s not likely to be the behaviour of the Beth I remember.
Now I’ve been locked up for thirty-six hours, my anger has started to fade and another sentiment is taking its place, a sense of loss. Lost chances. Knocking my palm against my head, I’m not sure how the confirmation that Beth acted with good reason helps me or not. Christ, I wish I was out of here and could talk to her.
The idea police are presumably trying to connect her to me is extremely concerning. Fuck. What I did becomes worthless if they arrest her. Should I change my story to some bullshit, shifting all the blame from her? Fuck it! I need answers.
“Has she got a lawyer?” If not, she’ll need one.
“Mel’s father arranged it. Good move. It shows her independence. If the club had sent her to me, the cops would try to make something of that.”
“Do we know what she told her lawyer?”
He shakes his head. “Eventually, witness statements will be shared with me, but not now. Ottoman, her lawyer, plays it straight down the line. As do I. It would be unethical to step on each other’s toes or share confidential information.”
Unethical be damned. But if Sykes got a reputation as being crooked, he wouldn’t make a good lawyer. I try to suck it up. “So what happens now?”
“You’ll appear in court for your first advisement hearing tomorrow, Tuesday.”
I frown. Looks like I’ll be spending yet another day locked up without hope of bail. “That’s more than forty-eight hours.”
He shrugs. “Seventy-two isn’t unknown. It could be a good sign if the prosecutor is having difficulty building a case.”
I just raise an eyebrow. Sounds fairly solid to me. I was caught with a bag carrying two kilos of heroin.
The detectives want to speak to me again, it’s why Sykes has come in. It’s the old familiar routine. I’m shackled with my hands in front of me linked to a chain on the floor just in case I get the sudden urge to reach over the desk and strangle one, or both, of the pair. Looking at it that way, it’s probably lucky I’m handcuffed. At least it stops me acting on the impulse.
Barker takes the lead once again. “How well do you know Bethany Foster?”
Shit. Dive straight in why don’t you? I think fast how to approach this. I don’t know what she’s told them. Fuck straight lawyers. I decide fast and wink. “Very well.”
I swear my answer makes both of them sit straighter. “Would you care to elaborate on that? How long have you known her, and would you say you and she were an item?”
I wish that I could say what we were. I’ve claimed her, for fucks sake, just to make sure my club protects her. But somehow the idea of having an old lady has got stuck in my head, and it doesn’t feel as dreadful as I used to think it would. Having Beth to come home to? Her to fuck for the rest of my life? Her to hold, to sleep with? I could get pretty comfortable with that.
Only one problem, I doubt she’d wait thirty years for my release. Even if some magic is worked and I get out sooner, I have no idea whether Beth would want me, or whether I’ve been too successful pushing her away. How long does it take for a woman to lose interest?
Restricting myself to what I fear is the truth isn’t hard. I shrug. “She targeted me at a wedding. There was a mutual attraction. We fucked. I liked it, so we fucked some more when her friend brought her to one of our parties.”
Hastings can’t keep the look of disgust off his face. “Ms Foster feel the same way? That the only thing offered was a physical relationship?”
“It’s what she wanted,” I say, daring them to contradict, mentally crossing my fingers that our statements won’t contradict. “What can I tell you? Ms Foster wanted to take a walk on the wild side, I was only too happy to oblige. If you saw her, you’d know that body offered on a plate would be hard to turn down.” I don’t let on I know they’ve interviewed her.
“You’ve been to her house?”
“I have,” I confirm. No point in denying it.
“Did you collect the drugs from her there? Or did she hand them to you when she met you somewhere else?”
What the fuck? How have they linked her with the drugs? It’s my turn to
look genuinely confused. I turn to Sykes, but he, too, isn’t showing any sign he knows what’s going on. “I don’t understand the question,” I reply at last. “Why the fuck would Beth have anything to do with drugs?”
“The bag you were caught with had her fingerprints on it.”
It did? Damn. I hadn’t time to ask her anything at all. I hadn’t thought that she might not have been wearing gloves. Fuck, didn’t everyone on such a cold night?
“I know nothing about that,” I tell them at last. “I can’t imagine Beth would have anything to do with drugs, but as I said, I barely know her.” I’m hoping my words won’t get her into trouble.
I’m stared at by two pairs of eyes for a moment. I stare unerringly back.
Barker breaks the silence. “Where did you get the rucksack? Did it already contain drugs?”
Sykes glares at them. “My client has explained exactly how he got possession of the rucksack. He picked it up when it was dropped, only moments before he was arrested.”
Barker ignores him. “Did you go through Ms Foster’s house, perhaps? Take the rucksack while you were there? Decide she wasn’t putting out enough and get her back by trying to frame her?”
Christ. His version is more fanciful than mine.
“Whoa,” Sykes steps in. “Mr McNeish told you what happened quite clearly. Mr McNeish had nothing to do with the bag prior to him taking it off of the man he saw down the alley, the man who I suggest you should be looking for instead of keeping my client locked up. My client handled the bag for little more than a minute. How would he know where it came from?”
The detectives confer for a moment.
“Is there anything else you’d like to tell us about Ms Foster? Think carefully, Mr McNeish. If she gave you drugs to pass on to Childs, maybe you were just the messenger and indeed had no knowledge of what was in the bag. A bit of cooperation here might go a long way.”
I’ve already made the decision I’ll sacrifice all that I am to keep Beth out of this. I can’t go back on that now. I wish there was something I could do, some way to talk to her, to tell her not to give a hint that she knew what was going on. I wish I knew the story why she was there in the first fucking place. But I don’t. All I know is that message from Demon that she has a story which checks out. I can only surmise that her brother is somehow involved and rely on my club to find out. “I’ve nothing more I can tell you,” I respond at last.
Ink's Devil: Satan's Devils MC Colorado Chapter #5 Page 28
