I remembered the last time I’d sat in an interrogation room at the station. It was after a long night in lock-up while they waited for me to sober up. Then, bringing me in to question me was all but pointless. They had a room full of witnesses, and I wasn’t even denying I was guilty.
Of course, had I known the judge was going to be a dick and give me five years even with the confession, I might have fought a little harder. Even my lawyer had been stunned by that move.
Overall, I’d just thought the shit was annoying. I was hungover and had spent the night on a fucking bench. The gravity of the situation hadn’t really penetrated.
Having left Avery a mess made this time feel a fuck of a lot different.
Still, I was fighting a bit of amusement at watching the officers they’d pulled for questioning do their thing. It wasn’t unknown in the department that some of their own were friendlier with the Disciples, but it also wasn’t widely known just how far that friendship extended, and it was better for all involved if we kept it that way.
The knowledge that not all the boys in blue were firmly on the “right” side of that fence meant any time one of us were brought in, there was a scramble to figure out who should have been handling our case. Someone made the asinine decision that a couple fucking rookie detectives should face off with me.
I knew who they were. We always knew everyone on the HPD payroll. Detective Harold Clyne was a transfer from a department in Wyoming. As far as we knew, he’d moved because there hadn’t been any room for him to move up there. His partner, Detective James Brooks, had come up through the HPD. As a beat cop, he hadn’t had any dalliances with the club yet. Looked like today was his day.
The pair of them were standing on the other side of the table from where I sat. They'd already brought in a pad of paper and a pen, which they’d said nothing about when they set it down. They didn’t need to for me to catch the drift that it was for my confession, should I be willing to make their lives really fucking easy. Hell, I had last time, and someone had no doubt shared that shit with them.
Yeah, good fucking luck. I wasn’t confessing shit.
“We could get this process moving if you’d just tell us where you were Friday night,” Brooks shared.
No fucking shit. We could get the process moving real fucking quick if I confessed I had no fucking alibi for the time when the crime was committed.
I knew I was only here for questioning. Hell, they hadn’t even slapped cuffs on me when we’d left the farmhouse. But giving them the fact that I had the opportunity to ride over there and beat the shit out of that no good motherfucker might have tipped the scales and landed me with charges.
“Sorry, boys. I’ll be waiting for my lawyer,” I told them, kicking back in the chair.
They didn’t see through the act. I knew it when Clyne’s jaw tightened before they shared a look and walked out.
Truth was, I wasn't calm. I wasn’t in the mood to kick back like I didn’t have a fucking care in the world. I didn’t know what they had, and I wasn’t going to risk saying a damn thing outside of asking for my lawyer.
If they had enough to charge me, it wasn’t going to go well. I knew there weren’t a lot of juries out there who were going to give a convicted felon the benefit of the doubt, particularly when the “victim”—if you wanted to call the asshole that—had no record, something Jager had already discovered.
I had no idea what the fuck was going to happen if I got put inside again. Second time in for assault would probably buy me a long stint. Meanwhile, Kate was still a fucking mess. Owen had already lost his dad, and now his uncle would disappear on him too. And Avery…
She’d probably be fine. My brothers would make sure that fucking bastard didn't touch her. But would she wait for my ass until I got out?
What if it was ten years before I was a free man?
Fuck.
I was left there stewing in that shit for a long time before the door opened again. When it did, it was so Brooks and Clyne could escort in Laura Walters. The woman was hell on heels, literally. A fucking shark in the courtroom and always dressed like she was now—tight fucking skirt, stilettos, fitted blazer that did nothing to tone down the rest of what she was working with, and perfectly done up hair and makeup. She knew what she was doing. Courtrooms were a fucking performance and battle of wits as much as they were an actual practice of the law. The woman had been gifted an appearance that was a tool in her arsenal, and she had an even more impressive brain to know to use it.
“I would like a few minutes to speak with my client,” she announced as soon as we were inside.
The two detectives didn’t fuck around in stepping out. Laura was known in Hoffman, and it was known you didn’t test her—no matter if you held a badge and weapon.
She sat in the chair across the table that had been ignored until then and leveled her attention on me. “Let’s get through this quickly,” she began, no-nonsense as always. “I’ve been informed the evidence against you right now is just the victim’s statement. From what I know, he can’t put you at the scene. They’re building a case based on his testimony that you threatened him prior to the incident.”
I didn’t know enough to be able to say whether that was good or bad.
Laura, as always, wasn’t concerned with whether I was guilty—fuck, she was a smart woman, so she probably knew I was—she was focused on what the police and DA could put together against me. “Is there any possibility there is physical evidence to put you at the scene?”
“No.”
“Good,” she replied, but there was still speculation there. “Now, what about an alibi for the time of the incident?”
Well, that was going to be a little tricky. I knew David would lie if I asked. The dude was loyal as fuck. But I refused to put an employee in that position. He wasn’t a part of the club. He wasn’t a criminal. He was an honest guy working a regular job.
“Don’t have one,” I admitted.
“Is there a reason I can give as to why that is?”
Again, avoiding any questions of guilt and innocence.
“I was working, got stressed, needed to get out for a bit. Went for a ride, calmed down, went back to work,” I explained, leaving out the significant fact of what managed to calm me down.
She studied me, seeing through the hole in that story. I stared back at her, deadpan. That wasn’t going to be a viable story to get me out of this and we both knew it.
“Right. Then, the claim you threatened him. You’re aware of the exchange he’s referring to?”
Seeing as I’d had two fucking “exchanges” with the guy, one in front of Avery’s house, and the other when I was beating his ass down after breaking into his hotel room… “Yeah, I know what he’s talking about.”
“And did you explicitly threaten him with violence?”
I tried to think back. I hadn’t exactly been planning what I had said that day.
This shit persists, you show your face in her life again, you answer to me. Fair warning, motherfucker, last guy who fucked with me landed his ass in a coma. I served five for it, but I’ll do it again if I have to.
I was pretty certain that was the extent of what I’d given him. I relayed the words to Laura. The more specific I was, the better she could handle it.
“That’s not great,” she admitted, not that I didn’t know that already. “It isn’t explicit, but it does affirm an already demonstrated willingness to break the law we can’t avoid given your history.” Without dwelling on that too long, she switched gears. “His statement includes the fact that there was a witness to the threat, is that correct?”
I did not want to get Avery dragged into this, but there was no way to avoid it. If it weren’t as a witness to that exchange, it’d still be because she was the motive.
“Yes.”
“And I’m assuming that’s the woman you were warning him off from?”
“Yes. He was harassing her. Phone calls to her work, flower deliveries, then he showed at her house before five in the morning. This all after she made it very clear she did not want to see him again.”
Laura considered this information before clarifying, “They were romantically involved at one point?”
I had to speak through gritted teeth when I responded, “Yes.”
“And that ended badly?”
“He extorted her for seventy-five thousand dollars to get out of her life.”
She wasn’t fazed by the fact that I was outright pissed having to say that shit. She pushed right on. “I’m assuming you are now involved with her.”
It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “Yes.”
Nodding, she took a minute to consider all the facts. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it. This isn’t a cut and dry win for you. If your girlfriend will testify to the extortion, that will certainly help, but it won’t hold the same weight it would have had she filed charges at the time. It’s also likely to hold less sway over the jury when it’s revealed you two are together now. Juries don’t always care if people are sworn in. They know people lie, and they know a lot of people would be driven to do so for someone they’re in a relationship with to keep them out of trouble.”
None of that sounded promising.
“Fact is, this could go either way. It’ll depend on the jury. The motive, means, and opportunity are all there. In this case, if they were to offer a plea deal, I might find myself advising you to consider it.”
Fuck.
Laura didn’t plead down. She hadn’t been the attorney the club kept on retainer when I’d gone down before. When she’d been briefed about the charge for the sake of understanding what rap sheets any of us had, she’d pursed her lips and had said she could have gotten it down to a misdemeanor.
If her confidence was wavering now, there was a good reason.
“Let’s get the questioning over with and find out if they’re prepared to charge you now. We can’t be sure if they have some reason they believe the charges will stick until they make their move. We'll get a plan from there.”
All business. It was good, but it didn’t make the fear that I was going to be sent down lessen.
Kate. Owen. Avery.
I’d fucked it all up.
God, I was a fucking idiot.