“I prefer death, sooner rather than later,” I reply honestly.
“So you’re admitting that you’re responsible for the murders of six men?” Detective Rollins asks.
“I’m not admitting or denying shit. I’m telling you a fact – death doesn’t scare me.”
“You should be scared,” Detective Ashby says. “We’ve got an eyewitness who heard your name, and saw you pull the trigger. They were able to ID you in the lineup and told us there were five other men with you. We know there are exactly five other men in the MC you ride with. Tell us that’s not a coincidence. We know you didn’t kill all six men yourself. Some had different sized bullets in them. Confirm what we already suspect, and we’ll reduce your charges significantly. It’s possible you could even get out in forty years with good behavior.”
A witness who heard my name. That’s what the damn face covered line-up was all about? But that’s impossible, right? Except, the sentence they made me say was one I remember…
None of the guys would’ve been stupid enough to speak a name when we took every precaution there was to hide our identities, right?
None except for possibly one, because he’s not the brightest.
Fucking Fiasco.
Thinking back, I’m pretty sure he didn’t just shout, “What the fuck,” but said, “What the fuck, Nash!” after I blasted the guard in the kitchen that was trying to sneak up on us. And I did it right in front of the fucking woman.
Since my name isn’t very common and we were all wearing motorcycle helmets, a quick search of the DMV database and, boom…they’ve got me.
“Everything okay?” Detective Rollins asks. “Looks like you’re having some deep thoughts. Considering talking after all?”
“No,” I mutter.
Hell, I’m not even going to tell the guys about this. If they find out Fiasco fucked up, they’ll give him hell; and he’ll spiral out of control, blaming himself. Dev too since we were there helping Jetta. And there’s no way they can find out about the chef, or she’ll be wiped off the earth.
I remember hearing her fucking screams. She was terrified and probably still has nightmares worse than mine. Maybe she was scared we would come after her. Whatever her reason for ratting, I won’t hold it against her or Fiasco.
What we did, it may have been a club decision, but I don’t care about that. If I have to carry the brunt of the entire ordeal on my shoulders, I will so that no one else has to pay the price for the consequences of our actions. This punishment is what I deserve. Trying to explain that to Malcolm or the other guys will be impossible. So, to avoid those discussions until I’m found guilty at trial or plead guilty and am sentenced, I don’t plan to give the MC a chance to talk me out of it.
“Look,” I tell the detectives. “I know you’re going to do whatever you need to do here, and that’s your job. All I’m asking, no begging, is that you please don’t put me in solitary. I’ve heard that being in the hole alone like that can make men go insane. I need to be able to talk to my boys.”
As soon as the man and woman look at each other, I know I’ve hit my mark using reverse psychology, just like Malcolm used on me with Lucy.
“You know what?” Detective Ashby starts. “I think a month in solitary may be the best thing to give you time to think about your next step.”
“What? No!” I exclaim, trying to sound enraged. “You can’t do that to me! Only the guards can put me in the hole!”
This is perfect because I didn’t have to try and hang myself or kick someone’s ass to get away from the cramped living space.
Detective Rollins goes over and flags down the guard waiting on the other side of the door. As soon as it unlocks and opens it, she tells him, “This one here just told us he doesn’t plan to make it to trial alive, so he needs to go into protective custody, solitary, for at least thirty days and then have a psychologist check him out.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the guard agrees. “Let’s go, Kincaid.”
“No! Please don’t send me in there!” I shout for shits and giggles as the big man grabs my elbow and yanks me to my feet, dragging me out of the conference room with me fighting him.
As soon as we’re in the hallway and the door slams behind me, I give up and follow along like a well-behaved inmate.
“Show me to my new living quarters, Jeeves.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lucy
“There’s my girl!” Devlin says, hurrying over to Jetta as soon as she steps into the pool hall.
“Hey! It’s nice to see you again,” I say when I follow him over and give her a hug.
“Lucy? What are you doing here?” she asks me.
“Trying to help Nash,” I answer with a wince. “We’re hoping you can too.”
Charging into the meeting room, Jetta says, “How can I help Nash?”
“We need you to think hard about that night, Jetta,” Malcolm turns to her and says. “Did you ever hear the name of that chef at Cox’s house?”
“The chef?” she repeats. “Why? You don’t think she turned in Nash, do you?”
“We’re running out of ideas,” Devlin responds as he slumps down into his chair. “So, yes, possibly.”
“And if I do remember her name, what then? Are you going to kill her?” she asks them pointblank.
“No, of course not!” Devlin says, but then immediately looks to Malcolm to confirm.
“We’re not gonna kill an innocent woman, even if she did rat out our boy,” their president thankfully confirms as his fingers tap against the armrest of his chair. “But we need to find her and convince her not to testify against him. At worst, she may need to disappear for a few
