The way he looked across the room at me was so fucking high and mighty.
The I know your secret look, getting kind of fucking old.
I knew who that man was, and I knew why Shotgun had shot him.
“Excuse me.”
My voice was loud.
It didn’t shake.
Or cower.
Despite the way my body wanted to break down. How it wanted to give in and just crawl back inside the deep dark hole that was losing Micah. But instead, I stood, Garrett’s eyes lighting up as he eagerly moved closer to me, delighted he’d drawn me so far into his game that I’d put my hand up, now willing to play.
“Weren’t you just released from prison for beating your wife almost to death last year?”
The smug look dropped from his face instantly, his lip curling when a wave of whispers moved through the crowded room, even Mr. Singer’s eyes growing wider as he took a step back, putting distance between him and Garrett.
“Aren’t you also a suspect in her murder, given she was slaughtered less than twenty-four hours after you were released from prison.”
“All right, all right!” Mr. Singer finally called, trying to calm the class while Garrett Drake glared at me, the tension in the room so fucking thick you could carve it with a knife.
“What do you think those forensic reports will say?” I called over the commotion.
“Enough!” Mr. Singer bellowed.
I knew I’d pushed a button—the big red one—the one that said don’t push.
Oops.
SHOTGUN
“What kind of doctor is he again?”
“A pathologist,” Auron answered, leaning back into the hard wooden bench that sat in front of the hospital’s main entrance. The medical board of the hospital was meeting with Garrett today to determine whether he was getting his job back. The boys and I figured we would meet him outside after, let him know we were the reason he wasn’t.
Slate frowned, peeking around the pillar he was leaning against. “I’m gonna need a little more than that, brother.”
“There are many paths to pathology, but pathologists are generally the doctors who diagnose. They are the ones who study your medical tests, like blood, fluid, or biopsies, and detect any kind of disease or abnormality and what it is so it can be treated.” Auron’s ability to pull this kind of information from the depths of somewhere in his brain always astounded me, though it was usually just a bunch of words I didn’t understand. This time, though, I was hearing him, connecting the dots and placing the information into the back of my mind in case I needed it later. Anything I could use to get one up on this fucker.
“And this is important?” Slate confirmed.
The way Auron’s brow knotted gave me the answer I needed even without the explanation—yes, pathology is important, and Auron believed Slate was an idiot for asking, though none of the rest of us wanted to admit we were wondering the same thing. Just a lot quieter.
“Yes. Without pathology, you would say, hey doctor, what’s wrong with me. And they would respond, I don’t know.” I snorted, catching my laughter in my hand and trying to cover it with a cough.
“So, he thinks he’s God,” Shake murmured. “He’s the one who looks at your shit and says, oh yeah, you have cancer, and it’s bad. You’re gonna die. Or like, oh no, you’re clear, today you still get to live!”
Auron grinned, though it seemed more like a teacher would give a kindergartener when they got the answer correct, but in a roundabout kind of way only small children can offer explanations. Small children and apparently, Shake. “Yes, something in that ballpark, though our friend Garrett’s records show he has also worked in forensic pathology.”
No one said anything.
We simply waited until Auron realized we still didn’t fucking get it.
“Oh, like medical examiners.”
Still nothing.
“They do post-mortems and determine the cause of death in unexplained circumstances.”
And there it was.
“Awesome.” Shake chuckled, shoving away from the hospital wall. “Not just a psychopath, but a psychopath who knows exactly how to get away with murder.”
It was no joke. This guy was prepared, he was practically fucking trained in how to kill and not get caught. “I know I’m not the only one wondering now just ho—”
“How many women he’s killed,” Mix cut in, his lip curled. “I bet you’re right. I bet he’s gotten away with it so many times at this point, he thinks he’s untouchable. But there is one bonus.”
“I need fucking something.” I groaned, squaring my shoulders and shifting my feet.
“Men like Garrett, who always get away with shit, often start to make mistakes later on in their criminal careers,” he explained with a smile. “They start to get too cocky, too confident, and they fuck up.”
Those cracks were already starting to show, his ego leading him to Avery’s criminology class today, despite my warning to stay the fuck away.
He should have known better.
Because the little pushes I was giving before, making sure he knew the club was there, following him, watching his every move, those were nothing compared to the push he was about to get. It could just be the shove that sends him over the edge.
“Could be sooner than we think,” I noted, nodding at the ruffled looking Garrett as he stepped off the elevator and walked straight toward us, his eyes down, his mouth moving. “Hard day?” I called as he stepped out of the sliding doors.
His head jerked up, his foot catching on a crack in the concrete and almost sending him tumbling to the floor.
Shake managed to catch him before he fell flat on his face. “Woah there, buddy.” Shake grins, dusting off Garrett’s jacket while the guy was still flustered and confused as to why most of the club he was starting a war with were there taunting him.
“Meeting didn’t go quite how you expected it to go?” I questioned, stepping around in front of him as he shoved Shake away and fought to get his shit under control.
“How di…” he answered trailing off, his eyes flicking from one person to the next before landing on me and narrowing dramatically. “Ah… I should have known you were the type of man to shove your dick in everything. First… my wife. Now… my personal life. Though, I am impressed your reach is that far. You have to know who is the one holding the cards here, right?”
“Because you have Thayleah?”
Garrett was careful, looking around before he outed himself. “This is a big show and tell for someone who doesn’t even know if the person he’s looking for is still breathing.”
It was meant to shock me.
Meant to throw me back onto the backfoot, so he felt like he had some space to breathe.
But I was learning fast.
“I know she is because your ego is far too fucking big to keep that to yourself and not rub it in my face.”
His cackle of laughter had me screwing up my nose, the man who was caught off guard a second ago, finding his feet again. “Then what was the point of this, Shotgun? For you to let me know you have a heads-up on my schedule? To try and make me panic because this one hospital values some fucking group of guys who can ride motorcycles and asks for donations occasionally? That’s a joke, and this…” he sweeps his hand across the spread of my brothers, who now stand behind me, “… this is a joke.”