“Why can’t we see him?” I whine as Malcolm and I leave the front office of the jail a few days later. The officer checking people in couldn’t give us any details at all. Nash simply ‘isn’t being allowed visitors at this time’.
“Fuck, I don’t know!” Malcolm exclaims. “Maybe the sheriff is just being a dick, or maybe they’re about to transfer him to county. There’s no telling what’s going on. The attorney said he would look into it this morning.”
“What are we supposed to do until then?” I ask.
“Wait patiently,” he grits out.
I know I’m getting on his nerves, so I shut up and drive myself back to the Aces bar. The rest of the guys in the club are all gathered there, sulking in the pool hall, drinking before noon because they’re worried about their friend. I am too, which means I’m sitting my ass down on a barstool and staying here until they get answers whether they like it or not.
Sleeping since Nash was arrested has been impossible. All I do is toss and turn, worrying about him, terrified that something bad will happen to him in the jail and that I may never get to see him again without handcuffs on his wrists.
I lay my head down on my crossed arms on the bar just to rest because my body feels exhausted from lack of sleep and all the anxiety.
Why didn’t I just tell Nash that I knew about the charges last Thursday and drive him across the Mexican border? If I had, he wouldn’t be in this situation right now.
“Sorry, Malcolm. I tried to set you and Lucy up for a visitation, but it was denied,” Jay Hughes, the attorney the guys hired for Nash, explains as soon as he walks into the pool hall in his grey suit and tie.
“Why the hell was it denied?” Malcolm snaps.
“Apparently Nash got himself put in solitary. And until he’s out, he doesn’t get to have any visitors except for his counsel.”
“Shit!” Malcolm grumbles while punching the wall.
“W-what do you think happened to get him in solitary?” I ask in concern, my arms crossed over my chest.
“I asked about infractions, but Nash’s record was clean on those. So, if I had to guess, I’m sorry to say that he could be on suicide watch.”
“No!” I exclaim.
“We’ve got to get him the fuck out of there!” Malcolm roars.
“There’s no way he’s getting bond,” Jay explains. “Unless there’s some huge breakthrough in the case, he’s not going anywhere until there’s a trial, which could take months.”
“Months!” I repeat.
“Sometimes trials get put off for a year or more if there’s a backup at the lab and we’re waiting on evidence from them.”
“He can’t wait a year!” Malcolm shouts.
“If Nash agrees, I could ask for a speedy trial. The downside to rushing is missing something critical that will tank the case in court. As far as I’ve seen, all they have is a witness. No prints, no DNA, no videos or anything else tying him to the scene. So, do you think it’s worth the gamble?”
“Yes,” Malcolm says confidently since we know that the DA’s witness is about to go MIA.
“All right. I’ll go talk to Nash this afternoon; and if he agrees, I’ll file the paperwork.”
“Thanks, Jay. We appreciate your help on this.” Malcolm holds out his hand for the attorney to shake, and then he’s gone.
After he leaves, I go to work double-time on tracking down this chef, Cora Walsh, and locating all the properties owned by her relatives. Then, I take a little drive over to the closest one in her parents’ name.
I’m only outside for ten minutes before I see a young, redheaded woman walk past a window. Good thing I’m not a sniper and the MC doesn’t want her dead. She’s not making this very difficult. It’s definitely her. She doesn’t seem to have used any filters on any of her photos online, and her hair is a dead giveaway.
When I get back to the pool hall, I practically skip inside I’m so happy to have made progress for Nash.
“I found her,” I singsong to Malcolm, who is sitting at the bar.
“No shit?” he asks in surprise. I slip him a piece of paper that he lifts and reads.
“What’s the plan now?”
“Let’s get everyone to the table again and scan for bugs,” he grumbles, getting up and taking the paper with him.
I head into the room with them without any electronic devices and lean against the wall to wait for the men to take their seats.
“Thanks to Jetta and Lucy, we’ve got a home address for the chef. She’s been laying low, probably afraid even though the DA promised to keep her name off the record. She knows we’re not stupid and would eventually realize it was her. That’s why she hasn’t been at work and the house she’s staying in is deeded to her parents.”
“How are we going to handle her?” Wirth asks.
“You’ve got the chop shop to run, Devlin and Fiasco have their construction jobs, I’ve got the MC businesses and a kid to take care of, so I’m thinking we let Silas handle this one. Not to mention he may be the only one of us who has the balls to kidnap and hold a woman hostage.”
“Fuck yeah,” he agrees excitedly.
“You cannot, I repeat, cannot kill her no matter what, do you understand?” Malcolm asks the man. “I would prefer if you don’t hurt her either, if at all possible.”
“I’ve got this,” Silas agrees. “I won’t let you all or Nash down. And the woman? She won’t even know she’s a hostage.”
“How the hell are you gonna manage that?” Devlin asks with his brow furrowed.
Cracking his knuckles, Silas tells him, “Now I can’t go around giving away all of my secrets.”
“You’re a sick bastard,” Wirth says with a shake of his head.
“Keep her in one piece,” Malcolm reiterates, as if it’s necessary. “And no mind-fucking either.”
“I’ll do my best,” Silas agrees when he gets to his feet. Malcolm then hands him the piece of paper with the address I’m responsible for finding, making me feel a little queasy. “Give me…seventy-two hours; then report her missing.”
“Seventy-two?” Dev asks.
“Yeah, man. It’s going to take a little time to line shit up.”
“You sure you can handle this?” Malcolm asks.
“Yep,” Silas answers.
“All right then. Good luck. Stay in touch as much as possible,” Malcolm replies.
“Might be tricky to reach out with what I have planned, but I’ll check in when I can.”
With a nod from Malcolm, he takes off.
And I’m not the only one who looks nervous. If his best friends are worried, that’s not exactly reassuring.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Nash
* * *
Solitary confinement is lonely; but honestly, I would rather be alone with my thoughts than crammed in with half a dozen other stinky bastards in a six-by-eight cell.
Here, it’s quiet, peaceful, unlike the constant chaos in gen pop. I’m free to close my eyes and drift in and out of sleep with my memories of the past weekend with Lucy.