Trix
The next few weeks pass in a blur. Mason and I have nothing but time to settle in to our new lives together. Mason’s back to training at the UFL; bypassing doctor’s orders to take four weeks off, he took one.
I’ve started working part-time at the Youth Center until something full-time opens up. If there’s one look that could rival Mason’s when he came to rescue me in the desert, it would be the relief and joy on Denny’s face when I showed up at the Youth Center. His bright eyes and larger-than-an-eight-year-old-face-can-handle smile only solidified my purpose in life: to love kids who don’t get enough at home.
Other than the occasional nightmares and Mason disowning his brother, I’d say life is good. Great even. Better than I ever expected.
Turns out Detective Hodgeson was right. The DA didn’t press charges for Elijah’s death, and all the guys came out of that night as local heroes. We were able to put the night behind us and focus on moving forward.
But, there’s just one last thing I have to do.
I check the clock on the bedside table, waiting for the last number to click over from nine to zero when the strong arm that’s tossed over my body tightens around my chest. One big hand cups my breast, and I’m pulled back into the cradle of Mason’s torso.
“How long you gonna stare at it?” His groggy voice at my ear sends waves of goose bumps across my skin.
I sigh. “I’m willing it to freeze.”
“How’s that working?”
“It’s not.”
His low chuckle makes me grin. “Shooting ice with your eyes, huh?” His lips brush the shell of my ear. “Been watchin’ too many Disney movies.”
I turn in his arms, and he loosens his hold to allow me room before tugging my body flush with his. He slides his massive thigh between mine, and our legs tangle beneath the sheets. My body warms, and I’m amazed at how even the softest, most innocent touches feel erotic.
He kisses my forehead. “Nervous about today?”
I sigh and nuzzle into his neck. “I don’t want to go.”
“Then don’t.” His tone is serious and laced with anger.
“I have to. You know I have to.”
He nods, but the way his muscles tense says it all. He doesn’t want me to go.
After Hatch was released from the hospital and put in prison, his lawyer said they’d grant my parents and me a private meeting. I immediately turned them down, not interested in hearing what he has to say or bringing up the past that would only upset my mom and dad. But my parents insisted on going. And I can’t let them go alone.
“It’s fucked up I can’t be there with you.”
I peer up into the most loving and loyal set of blue eyes that soothe my frazzled nerves. “His lawyer set the terms. Besides, it’s probably best to keep you two separated.”
“Psht. Guy deserves to get his ass—”
I press my lips to his and hold them there until his muscles unclench and he exhales. “Let’s not talk about him.” I check the clock over my shoulder then turn back to the handsome and nearly naked man in my arms. “I have twenty-five minutes before I have to be in the shower.” I slide my hand beneath the elastic of his boxers and tease him with my fingertips.
He groans.
“There has to be a better way to spend the next twenty-five minutes that doesn’t involve talking about Hatch, right?” I bite my lip to keep from smiling as he flashes me a crooked grin.
He grinds the long and hard muscle of his thigh between my legs, his hands moving to my ass. “I can think of a few things.” He falls to his back, pulling me with him so that I’m straddling his leg. “But it’ll take a fuckuva lot longer than twenty-five minutes.” He nips at my mouth, dragging my lower lip between his teeth.
“Okay, I won’t wash my hair.”
He runs his smooth lips down my jaw to my neck, sucking gently.
“Mmm . . . or wear makeup.”
He smiles against my throat. “So how much time do we have now?”
“Almost an hour.” I bite my lip as his mouth glides against my throat.
“Oh, I can do plenty in an hour.”
“Give me all you’ve got. I’ll need it to get through today.” My hips roll on their own accord, seeking out friction.
“Mmm.” He sucks at my lips. “I’ll leave you aching, baby. Sore and needy.” He lifts his thigh, his hands on my ass, rubbing me to him. “Only thing I want you feeling today is me.”
“It’s not too late to back out.” I watch through my rearview mirror as my mom worries her hands in her lap, her gaze fixed on a lot of nothing outside the car window.
She must know I’m looking, because she simply shakes her head. Her hair is pulled back in a low, loose bun, and the circles under her eyes speak of lost sleep.
“Dad,” I whisper. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
He reaches over and pats my hand. “We already endured the worst of the pain when we lost Lana.”
“I know, but”—my eyes dart from the long stretch of highway to my mom, who’s still gazing out the window—“is rehashing all this good for you guys. I mean I don’t know if mom can handle reliving it.”
“We’ll see.” He turns his gaze out the window, and in minutes, the signs for the State Prison of Nevada come into view.
I pull into the lot, remembering to breathe, not looking forward to being reunited with Hatch, and wishing like hell Mason were here with me.
We walk silently through the lot, and I can’t help but notice the lack of color. The buildings are all the exact same shade of beige as the earth that surrounds them. The pale brown gives it a non-threatening look; like the desert, it appears benign, abandoned of life, when it’s anything but.
We move through the screening process, and once we’re deemed safe, a guard leads us to an empty room. The floors are concrete, and nothing is inside but a metal table and chair bolted to the ground, surrounded by a few foldable ones.
“Have a seat.” The guard is all business as he motions to the flimsy plastic chairs. “Prisoner will be in shortly.”
The door shuts behind him, and I jump as the sound echoes through the room. My dad takes the middle seat, and my mom and I the ones on the outside. His jaw twitches beneath his beard, the only sign of nerves or anger I’ve seen on him. Minutes morph into an agonizing wait until finally the door opens. My mom sucks in an audible breath, and my dad grips my hand and pulls it to his thigh.
A slender guy wearing a tan suit and glasses, with dark hair that’s thin on top, steps into the room first. “Mr. and Mrs. Langley.” He nods to my parents and turns to me. “Miss Langley.” Another nod. “I’m Charles Yarner, Mr. Dusinsky’s lawyer.”
Okay, so Hatch’s last name is Dusinsky. Not the most threatening biker name, I have to admit.
Neither my parents nor I do more than give a quick acknowledgment.
Two guards move through the door followed by two others. The last two flank a shackled Hatch. His face is still riddled in fading yellow bruises from the beatdown Rex delivered, and it looks like his nose is at a different angle from what I remember. His bright orange suit makes his large frame less intimidating, and his shaved head and face make him almost unrecognizable.
Hatch keeps his eyes cast to the floor as they move him to the table and deposit him in the bolted-down seat. I hear a clicking sound as Hatch’s hands are manipulated behind him and handcuffed to his chair. Once done, the guards back away, but take stations at the four corners of the tiny room.
“Mr. Dusinsky has agreed to—”
“Charlie, I got this.” Hatch’s growled command is followed by the lift of his chin as he finally manages to look me in the eye. Remorse is heavy in his expression and his eyes soften. “Hey, sunshine.”
My dad clears his throat, and Hatch’s lips twitch before turning toward my parents.
“Mr. and Mrs. Langley.” He shifts in his seat as much as he can while being locked to it.
“Feel good?” The question flies from my lips before I think better of it.
Hatch’s eyebrows drop low, questioning.
I shrug one shoulder. “Being handcuffed to a chair. How’s it feel?”
He doesn’t drop his gaze from mine. “Not good.”
Good.
“Mr. Dusinksy, we don’t want to draw this out any longer.” My dad speaks with a firm voice that calls the attention of the room. “We’re here because we’re interested in everything you know about the night our daughter was murdered.”
My mom’s answering whimper causes my chest to seize.
Hatch makes an affirmative grunting noise and, sitting tall, addresses my dad. “Figured as much.” He eyes the guards then starts in. “I was working my first job with Elijah. We’d met before. I saw he was a bad dude, considered his crew partnering with my MC.”
He sits back, his eyes focusing just over our heads. “I was meeting with a new contact. Pulled my bike off the road and stashed it in the bushes at mile marker sixty-nine. It was private, dark, no witnesses, the way Elijah liked shit done.
“Doing a pickup with a dude who didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. Left his bike right there on the side of the road. Tried to make the deal quick, but he put a gun to my head and tried to take the shit he owed me plus the money. I was halfway to killing the asshole when a woman walked up.”
“Svetlana.” I can see it now, bike on the side of the road. She probably heard the man’s cries of pain.
“We were in a gorge. Didn’t even hear her pull up or see headlights. She asked if we needed help. It was dark, but I saw the moment her eyes figured out what she was seein’ wasn’t fucking legit. She started to back away, and the fuckface I was beating begged her to get help. I couldn’t let that happen.”
My dad leans forward, his arms on the table, and Hatch’s eyes dart to my father’s tattoos. “Are you telling us she witnessed you murder a man?” My dad’s voice cracks with the truth.
Hatch sets his cold blue eyes on him, and there’s respect in them. “Yes, sir.”
My head swims with the intensity of the terror she must’ve felt. “Then what?”
He shrugs, the casual body language contradicting the twist of shame I see in his face. “I had to take her. Planned on scaring the shit out of her enough to keep her from talking. Elijah had different plans. Thought he’d use her to seal our partnership.”
I shift in my seat, antsy, angry, and horrified. “How does that work?” Elijah mentioned something similar the night he died.
“Do something horrific; anyone who bears witness is just as responsible. We had each other by the balls.”
Silence sweeps through the room as we all work out the story on our own.
“Did she suffer?” My mom’s timid voice breaks the thick air.
Hatch’s eyes move between my parents and me, a silent question blaring as loud as if he yelled it. Do you want me to lie?
My chin bobs once, the tiny movement so minor it’s only registered by Hatch. He turns to my mom. “No, ma’am. Not at all. She was gone before . . .”
Before the cutting started.
It’s a lie.
But I appreciate it more than I can express.
“You partake in this?” My dad’s voice is steel.
“No. I’m only responsible for getting her there, but after that, I didn’t touch her.”
“You stood by while one of my daughters was murdered, and you kidnapped my other daughter to deliver her to someone you knew was a murderer. Even with police protection, so much could’ve gone wrong. You almost took two daughters from me.”
“No, sir, I never would’ve let them hurt Trix.”
My dad scoffs. “I have a hard time believing that.”
“Understand you would, but”—Hatch’s eyes move to mine—“Trix was my friend.”
“Then why did you turn me over to him? Why not let me in on the plan you had with the cops?”
“Cops gave me one chance, Trix. I couldn’t risk fucking it up. I knew once I found the picture of your sister that you had an end game. Good one, too. Never knew until that day you weren’t into me. No such thing as a coincidence. Knew you were searching for the man who killed your sister. Knew Eli was searching for a girl. More importantly, knew if we got you to the location, I’d die before I let someone hurt you.”
“You hurt me.” My jaw still aches when I think about the punishing blows delivered by his hand.
“It’s all relative. Not gonna lie, I was pissed finding that photo. Realized our entire friendship was a lie. Don’t like bein’ used.”
“Oh, well, I’d care about your hurt feelings, but I don’t have a single fuck to give!”
My dad squeezes my hand. “That’s enough. I think we got all we came for.” He nods to the security guard over Hatch’s shoulder. “Mr. Dusinsky, I want you to know that what you’ve done to my family has changed who we are. There isn’t a day that goes by that we don’t miss our daughter. We had dreams for her, dreams to see her fall in love, become a mother, find her way through life, and blossom. We wanted so much for her, and you brutally robbed her of that. Robbed us of the joy of watching it.”
Hatch’s eyes shine and he sniffs.
My dad leans forward, never taking his eyes off the biker across the table. “I want you to know that we will walk out of here and never again think of what you did to Lana. We won’t dwell on it, and we won’t allow it to poison our lives. We love our daughter, but she’s gone, and nothing is going to change that.”
“I understand.”
“But before we leave, you should know it’s not too late for you. I’m sure you can tell that my past isn’t clean.” Hatch’s gaze darts to my dad’s full-sleeved tattoos then back to his face, but he says nothing. “Don’t let the sins of your past rob you of the opportunity to do something great.”
The biker sits stunned in his seat, and I smile wide at my dad, who manages to soften even the hardest hearts.
My dad grins and stands, pulling my mother up and to his side. “Thank you for your time. And Mr. Dusinsky”—my dad waits until Hatch meets his eyes—“we forgive you.”
Hatch’s jaw falls loose on its hinges. He blinks slowly and shakes his head.
My dad guides my mom and I follow. We move around the table toward the door, and I don’t give Hatch the satisfaction of seeing me look at him. He is dead to me, and while my father may have forgiven him, I never will.
“Son . . .” Hatch jerks as my dad lays a hand on his shoulder. “If it’s okay, I’d like to send you something in the mail. Looks like you’re gonna have a lot of free time in here. May as well make it useful.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Those are the last three words I ever heard from Hatch. My dad made good on his plan to send something to him in the mail.
For every year that Hatch was incarcerated, he received a brand new Bible.