I’m hoping wherever I stay tomorrow night is cheaper because I don’t have a lot of money, and I don’t want to risk going to the bank. Withdrawing money is something the Devil’s Skull could easily track if they were to get my bank information.
You can’t underestimate them. I meant what I said earlier about the Club living by their own rules. I’ve heard murmurings around town of dirty cops that they keep in their back pocket. It’s how they’re able to get away with the shit that they do.
Murders. Robberies. Who knows what else? They’re a terrifying bunch.
And you’re the stupid girl who ran one of them off the road.
I think the initial shock of the accident wore off while I was trying to get Michael situated and get out of town. Now that I’m all alone in a scary, quiet hotel room. Tears rise to the surface, and I feel like I’m suffocating. I’m assuming things will blow over, and I’ll be able to return in a couple of days, but what if I’m wrong? I may never be able to go home. If the Devil’s Skull don’t kill me, I might end up spending the rest of my life in jail.
Cuddling up into the fetal position on the bed, I sob uncontrollably. I miss my father. I’ve never needed him more than I need him right now. I’m angry about my earlier interaction with Michael. Will I ever see him again? Will I get the chance to tell him I’m sorry for how we left things?
Suddenly, I’m exhausted, as though all of my energy has faded away. I close my eyes and silently pray that when I wake up tomorrow, this will all have been a dream. With tear-stained cheeks, I cry myself to sleep.
Chapter Six
Blade
Hawk and I share the same sentiment about finding the bastard who did this to Iron. I follow Stone out of the recovery room, and the entire Club is waiting for us in the rec room. The second they hear the door open, they jump to attention and look to us for answers.
“How is he, Boss?” Cap asks.
“Iron’s condition is critical, but his vitals are stable,” Stone begins, his face more grave than usual as he explains the extent of Iron’s injuries. “At this time, Hawk isn’t sure about an injury to Iron’s neck. Since he can’t do a scan, we’ll have to wait until Iron wakes up for him to tell us if something is wrong.”
“What are we going to do about the other driver?” SoCo questions.
“First and foremost, we need to confirm that it was, in fact, a hit and run.”
“But the paint on the fender...” SoCo interrupts.
“I know,” Stone agrees. “And the fact that the cops were on their way tells me that someone at least saw what happened and called them.”
There is a collective nod around the room as I look at each of my brothers’ faces.
“Blade, I want you to pay a visit to Captain Turner and see what information he can find for you. Specifically, who called it in.” Stone requests.
“Consider it done, I acknowledge.
“I need everyone else out, scouring the town—all hands on deck. If you find a small, light blue hatchback, I want you to check it for any sign of damage. Do not approach the vehicle owner. This is merely a fact-finding mission. Got it?”
A chorus of ‘Yes, Sirs’ echoes through the room.
“Let’s ride, then.”
I HATE WHEN I HAVE business to tend to at the police station. I may be virtually untouchable, but that doesn’t mean I like rubbing elbows with cops, no matter what the situation.
I don’t like them, and I don’t trust them.
As soon as I walk through the front door, the chin of the young, female officer behind the counter practically dislocates as it hangs open. She can’t take her eyes off of me. Her male co-worker looks from her to me, and venom fills his gaze.
Any other time, I would flirt with the girl, knowing that I could taint one of Whispering Valley’s finest and get her on her back with nothing more than a mere smile. Also, it would piss her fucking fresh-outta-the-academy co-worker right the fuck off in the process. However, my reason for coming here tonight is more important than messing with bottom-of-the-barrel cops.
“I’m here to see Turner,” I inform them.
“Captain Turner?” the little shit asks.
“That’s the one,” I confirm.
“Do you have an appointment?” the kid challenges.
“Tell him it’s Blade. He’ll want to see me.”
I hold back the bitch-slap that I’m aching to deliver when I see his eyebrow raise with attitude.
“Captain Turner requires all visitors to have a pre-scheduled appointm— hey!” he shouts as I walk around the desk and through the door leading to the small office area in the next room.
Turner focuses his attention on me as soon as I enter. Cutting off the officer who’s speaking to him, he greets me with a handshake.
It’s not returned.
“We gotta talk,” is the only thing I say.
“Come into my office,” he instructs.
Once we’re seated, I tell him why I’m there.
“Earlier this evening, there was a call placed to your dispatch regarding an accident on 468, Blackrock exit.”
“What about it?” he questions.
“I need to know who called it in.”
“Okay, it may take me a little while; I have—”
“I need it now,” I encourage him with a threat in my tone.
With a click of his tongue, he picks up his phone and presses a few numbers.
“Mary, I need the logs of tonight’s incoming calls,” he demands.
“I want the recording, too,” I add. “It was called in around five thirty.”
“And make a recording of all calls we received from five twenty through five forty,” Turner pauses. “Thanks.”
“Anything I need to be aware of, Connelly?”
“You know you’re not privy to Club business, Turner. You’re just our little bitch boy.” I throw in a wink at the end, just because I feel like pissing him off further.
The look of fury on Turner’s face is priceless. I don’t know the details—for deniability reasons—but several years ago, Stone began a working relationship with this pig. I questioned him about it a few times, but Stone totally and emphatically shut me down. I stopped asking, but I’ve remained curious about their relationship.
We sat in Turner’s office, in complete silence, for the next ten minutes while we waited for Mary to bring us the information I requested. She drops off a laptop and a thumb-drive, as well as the paper call log.
Turner passes them over to me, but I only take the call logs.
“Make yourself useful and fire up the computer, will ya?” I order.
While he does so, I begin looking through the list of calls placed to their emergency line this evening. There were only two calls placed around five thirty; one at five twenty-three and the other at five twenty-eight. We left the clubhouse at exactly five thirty, so our mystery caller has to be the five twenty-three call.
Turner inserts the thumb drive into the USB port and hands the computer over to me. When I open the drive, I see a list of five calls made between five twenty and five forty. I start with the first one, wanting to listen to them all in the event I’m wrong about the timing.