Chapter 13

Bikers don’t go gray. They turn chrome.

- Biker Patch

Silas

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it,” I said to the warden of the Huntsville Penitentiary. I wanted to get some information over the phone before I made arrangements to visit the prison.

“You’re welcome. I’ll get her in here in about ten minutes,” Warden Walker said. “She’s got to come over from the women’s side, which works well because this is where we hold the parole hearings. You worked a miracle getting her out of there when you did. She’s going to be ecstatic.”

Warden Walker and I went way back.

He’d been the Warden for the Huntsville State Penitentiary since he was a young man of thirty years old. And now at age sixty, I knew him about as well as I knew most men.

He was my informant on the comings and goings of a few men I’d locked up during my time with the CIA.

“Hello?” A timid woman’s voice answered a few moments later.

“Ruthann Comalsky?” I asked, confirming I had the right person.

She hesitated.

“My name’s Silas Mackenzie. I’m seeing Sawyer Berry,” I said, hoping it would get the intended effect.

“You’re kidding me,” she breathed. “Is she okay?”

I smiled at the true compassion and worry in Ruthann’s voice.

The genuine longing to know how her friend was doing.

I’d looked into Ruthann, too.

I knew she was also inside for something stupid that didn’t warrant hard time.

It was good that she and Sawyer had been paired together.

Both of them were truly decent people, and it was a good thing to have someone you could trust at your back in there.

Ruthann had been shafted just like Sawyer had, and I was seeing to it that she got out now.

Sawyer could use the shoulder to lean on in her life.

“She’s good, very good,” I said. “But she’s been having dreams…ones that concern me. And I want to know some names.”

I could tell I’d surprised her.

“Are you a cop?” She asked softly.

“Yeah, kind of,” I answered evasively.

She didn’t need to know what exactly I was. She only needed to know that I was getting her out, and that I wanted the names of the men that had made Sawyer suffer for eight years.

I, of course, could guess.

But it would be easier for Ruthann to tell me.

“Does she know what you’re doing?” She asked softly.

I smiled.

“No.”

“Good.”

My smile grew wider.

“Names?”

“Donner, Bryant, Holloway and Jones. Those were the four that were her main torturers,” she whispered.

“Thanks, darlin,’” I said. “I’ll see you soon.”

“What?”

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I hung up and started out of my office, heading towards the main room of the clubhouse.

I wasn’t surprised to find a few of my men

“Come for a ride with me, I need some help…and a witness,” I ordered the two men at my side.

Kettle and Torren looked up, surprised.

I’d just entered the clubhouse, and I was fucking pissed.

And surprisingly not about Shovel, but about two other people.

“Where are we going?” They asked as they followed me outside without a question.

“Huntsville, Texas,” I answered.

“What?” Kettle asked.

“Why?” Torren asked.

Torren was a good man, as was Kettle, but I had a feeling if I told them they wouldn’t be as calm as I needed them to be when we got there.

Having four hours to stew about something wasn’t a good thing, and in this situation it would be a really, really bad thing.

I was afraid if I didn’t have someone along, I wouldn’t be able to prevent myself from doing something I’d regret later.

And I was really worked up.

After letting go of everything I had on my chest to Sawyer last night, she’d fallen asleep in my arms.

And it had been perfect.

Absolutely and utterly perfect.

I’d not had a night where I’d slept the entire night through for ages, but last night, I did.

Sawyer was quickly becoming a very important piece of my life, and I was really contemplating bringing us into the light.

Especially after how she’d reacted to her mother bringing me lunch two days before.

Sawyer wasn’t stupid, that much I knew.

She knew there’d been something between us, she just didn’t know what.

And although it’d only been mostly innocent, two lonely people spending time with each other mostly because of proximity and convenience, I knew it wouldn’t be a small matter to Sawyer.

It’d be huge.

And I needed to talk to her about that.

I’d intended to talk to her about it this morning.

But then Sawyer had cried out in her sleep, startling me out of my contentedness so dramatically that I’d jackknifed right up in bed.

Then she’d started moaning about some guard named Officer Donner, and I knew that I had to take care of this for her.

Not just for her, though, but for me, too.

Something inside me didn’t sit right, knowing that she was abused in that jail.

And I’d learned all that I needed to know from her former cell mate, Ruthann Comalsky, as of twenty minutes ago.