Cutter
With his cell phone set to record and stashed away in his pocket, Cutter headed to Wyland's white BMW. Gravel and rocks crunched beneath the heels of his biker boots with each step. This was the moment of truth. The moment everything depended on.
He still hadn't received a text message back from Squirrel, but he could understand that. Squirrel and Smalls were probably throwing darts or playing a hand of cards, and he just hadn't heard. It wasn't a big deal, either. He and Smalls were brothers in the MC, after all, and Cutter trusted both men with his life, and with Liona's. Besides, he couldn't worry about that stuff now. He needed to stay focused, needed to keep his eyes on the prize.
He realized, as he walked up to Wyland's little sports car, that something was wrong. Now that he could see better through the heavily tinted black windows, he began to see that no one was in it. He stopped next to the car's passenger side door, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. That wasn't right. Where could Wyland be? He frowned and looked around the park, a wave of uneasy confusion washing over him. He looked out to the pond, to the indistinct figure out there feeding the ducks. Could that be him? He frowned and shook his head. He could image Wyland doing a lot of different things, but feeding the ducks wasn't one of them.
As he stood there, though, he heard something. A faint, distant sound, like the jingling and singing of wind chimes just beyond the edge of his hearing. He stood still, very still, and held his breath. It was coming, he realized, from inside the car. He leaned down to the passenger window and, cupping his hands around his face to block the glare, peered inside. There, resting in the middle of the driver seat, was a cheap burner phone that was lit up, ringing. He didn't see a red light on the dashboard, or anything, to mark the car as having the alarm turned on.
He straightened up, shaking his head, and walked around to the driver side. He tried the door, but it was locked. He looked around the park again, to make sure it was still as deserted as it had been, then put his jacket-clad elbow through the window. The sound of shattering, tinkling glass filled the air as Cutter brushed away the jagged edges of glass and reached inside to unlock the door. The phone, meanwhile, continued to ring without pause.
He picked up the phone. On the front of it was a local number, keyed to the contact name “Oldest Friend in the World.” His stomach dropped. Wyland. At least, a name like that as the contact seemed to match his sick sense of humor. This felt like a setup, like a trap of some sort. He needed to get Wyland on the phone, one way or another. He answered the phone and pressed it to his ear.
“You're late, Desmond!” Wyland chirped on the other end of the line, with that normal, amoral and upbeat attitude of his. “Figured you would have found this phone a little while ago. Oh well, time moves on without us, with no care for our feelings one way or another. Am I right? Or am I right?”
“Thought I was acting in good faith when you dragged my ass out here, Wyland. What the fuck happened here? Thought you and I were doing this meet face-to-face.”
“Good faith?” Wyland asked into the phone. All the false sanity had been dropped from his tone of voice. Now, he just had that cruel streak running through it. “Just like all the good faith I put in you all those years ago, you miserable piece of shit? Faith when you tried to steal my girl?”
If this was how he wanted to play it, then so be it. Cutter shook his head and pulled out his cell phone from his pocket and held it up so it could record their conversation. “Look,” Cutter said, “I admit it. I fell in love with her, and I told her about it. Is that why you came after my MC? Why you came after the Vanguard?”
“I came after you because you're all criminals, through and through. I wanted to see you all behind bars, because that's where scum like you belong.”
“That why you beat Liona, then?” Cutter asked, trying to steer the conversation towards something more incriminating. “Why you abused her for so long?”
“What?” Wyland said. “Who told you that? I love her. Everything I've ever done was for her. It was for our life together.”
Cutter sighed. No luck on that front. “So, do you still want to do this deal, then? Me testifying against the Bolt Riders in exchange for immunity for me and my club?”
Wyland laughed. And laughed. And laughed. “Testify against the Bolt Riders? Who are they, some other biker rejects?”
“You said-”
“Let's get this clear, Desmond,” the assistant DA cut him off, the words practically slithering out of his mouth, “I'm going to bring you down, and I'm going to bring the rest of your crew down with you. I know you've been protecting Liona, and that's fine. I'm glad you have, even. She means the world to me.”
“I've been protecting her from you, you son of a bitch.”
“That's just what she wants you to think, Desmond. Deep down, she knows I love her, and that her life is with me. Her future is with me. That's why she chose me all those years ago, and not you. And, that's why you've come back into our lives and stolen her away from me. You want your revenge, you want to ruin my life.”
“What? No-”
“You showed up on our wedding day, Desmond,” Wyland chided. “Everyone knows it, people saw you. A bride was seen riding away on the back of a chopper being ridden by a man matching your description. Same vest, same paint job, same everything. You stole her from me, but I'll get her back. I promise you.”
Somehow, in Wyland's twisted mind, he'd flipped the script around. He'd convinced himself he was the hero. Either that or he knew he was being recorded, and that Cutter was trying to trip him up and admit guilt, some other piece of incriminating evidence. But, how could he know?
“Just remember, Desmond, you're not always around. One of these days, she'll pick up her phone when I call. Hell, she's probably there alone right now. I think I'll just call her, or maybe swing by. I'm just around the corner, anyways.”
Cutter shook his head, pounded his fist on the roof of the white BMW. He was nearby. This had all been a setup to get him away from the clubhouse. “No, you son of a bitch,” he yelled into the phone. “You keep away from her?”
“Away from the woman who'd already agreed to marry me?” Wyland asked like Cutter was daft. “I just want to talk to her, Desmond. There's no harm in that, is there?”
Cutter could hear that cruel smile of his coming through in his words. He clearly planned on more than a little chat. But, thank God, Squirrel and Smalls were still there. They'd keep her safe, or die trying.
“Probably won't stick around to say hello. But, maybe, just maybe, Liona will want to come back home with me. If I can convince her, you know. But, I'm going to really take her on a trip down memory lane, first, maybe change her mind. Fingers crossed on that. Once she sets herself to something, she's more stubborn than a mule.” He paused and laughed. “But, hey, you love who you love, for whatever reason. Am I right, Desmond? Or am I right?”
Fuming, seeing red, Cutter hung up the phone. He sprinted back to his bike, clearing the parking lot in no time flat.