by Hazel Parker
Sure fucking sucks.
I sighed. Maybe I had just seen what we had in a very different light than Amber. For her, post-divorce, maybe she just needed a little bit of that sexual release to feel good. Maybe she just wanted someone who was the complete opposite of her husband. Maybe she wanted a little bit of that bad boy.
Or maybe I’d just fucking dreamed it all.
Of course, that was ridiculous and stupid, but guess what else felt really damn stupid and ridiculous? Me, right now, for being alone.
If she had left me here, had she also left me for the trial? Had she woken up flustered, realizing what she had done, and removed herself?
I was suddenly very afraid to look at my phone. If Amber had a soul—and for everything that I feared about her, I didn’t fear that—she would have left a message explaining everything. And if I saw the message and it said that last night was a mistake and that she was moving on…
To not even get a goodbye…
Fuck!
It was just a bitch to think about. No wonder Amber thought I was emotional; shit like this just got to me so easily.
OK, calm down, Splitter. You don’t know anything yet. She could very well have just gone for breakfast or something like that. Or maybe she had work. Do you really think after everything that she said and everything that happened that she would suddenly just wake up and leave you to suffer in bed?
No, but…
I checked my phone before the worries got to me. I couldn’t tell you how relieved I felt to see that Amber had left me two messages. But that was just the preview—as my mind was want to do, it immediately swung back to the worst case scenario, fearing that the messages were something to the tune of breaking up.
I opened my messages app.
“Hey, really sorry to leave you this morning. I still like you. That hasn’t changed.”
I supposed as far as first messages went, it was hard to feel much more secure than that one. If she had said something like “OMG I luv you now sooooo much,” I might have felt a little pushed away. This felt like the right balance of being appreciated while being professional.
“Got notice that trial is going to begin in two weeks. State really wants to get this done as quickly as it can. We need to go into grind mode now. I’ll come to you tonight.”
Well, shit.
The message flashed me back to another point of contention that had gotten lost in the second attack by the DMs—what was I going to do about the witnesses that were listed? I didn’t know the first thing about the law, but what Amber said made too much sense to me. Make it like a middle school contest, where the state makes me look like a loser who would commit bad things like this and then let the conviction come down.
I had to act, and unfortunately, I did not see how Amber could help.
“Place smells like sex.”
My ears perked up at the sound of Trace walking into the shop. In a hurry, I quickly leaped out of bed, grabbed my clothes, and threw them on. I didn’t have my jacket—that was in the main lobby—but I didn’t think Trace was going to be too mad about that at this point. I walked out to the main area to see Trace and BK standing there.
“Oh, hey,” I said.
“You nailed her, didn’t you?” Trace said.
I just smirked.
“Was it good?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, thinking that my answer applied in more ways than one. “It was a long time coming, but yeah, and she’s coming tonight.”
“Nice,” Trace said. “However, to not dwell on the physical so much, what’s not nice is this.”
He then pointed to the brick on the ground, which I had not moved in all of the chaos and sex from the night before. I knew I was probably in for some trouble given that I had not mentioned this to him last night. But what was I supposed to do, cockblock myself? That wasn’t going to fucking happen.
“DMs?” BK asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Happened while we were talking. I thought they were going to shoot at us again, but they only did this.”
“Makes me think someone’s on the lookout for shooters, then,” Trace said. “They aren’t stupid. They want to lay low too while this investigation is going on into us.”
“Actually,” I said.
Both BK and Trace stared at me.
“There’s a new development in that,” I said. “Amber showed me an evidence document. It seems like the state is going to base almost their entire case on eyewitness testimony and character assassination.”
“So they’re weak,” Trace mused.
The problem was, one that I had failed to realize earlier, the state wasn’t really weak. They weren’t overwhelmingly strong to the point that I had to surrender and accept a plea deal, but they were strong enough to feel confident going to trial. Nothing persuaded men and women on a jury like a compelling testimony, and the greater the number of people set to take the witness stand, the greater the chances were of that happening.
“I wish,” I said. “I… I’d like to have a town hall to discuss this. I need to see what you guys think because I’m going to have to ask a favor of all of you.”
BK and Trace exchanged a look, a grim one that I knew well from my time with them. It was one that said, “Well, this is probably going to suck, but it’s what we do.” Trace looked back to me and nodded.
“I’ll start making calls.”
* * *
An hour later, we were all seated in the hall. Everyone puffed on cigarettes except for me, which I made up for by sipping on whiskey. Still on a high from the sex and the intimacy, I didn’t feel the need to smoke.
Well, that, and Amber wouldn’t have a round two with me or stay with me if I kept smoking. And now that that didn’t seem to be in as much doubt as before, I wasn’t going to press my luck.
“Thanks for coming on short notice,” Trace said. “However, I’m not the one who needed this meeting. So, I’m going to hand it over. Splitter?”
I cleared my throat, took a sip of my drink, and spoke as all eyes went to me.
“The state is going to try and attack me by using eyewitness testimony and character testimony,” I explained. “They’re basically going to try and make it seem like we are all thugs and assholes and that even if we can’t be one hundred percent sure of what we did, we should still be in jail for the sake of society. I know that that may sound good since that would suggest they don’t have a strong weapon to attack us with, no hard evidence, but Amber has promised me that that is not a good thing. For them to have as many witnesses as they do—over a dozen—makes me think that they’re just going to fucking bludgeon the jury with stories about how terrible we are.”
I took another gulp of my whiskey as a few of my fellow officers groaned and mumbled “fuckers.”
“Amber is going to do her best to tie it up and prevent the witnesses from all speaking or from looking good, but there’s only so much she can do. A lawyer can get us maybe thirty percent of the way there, but the only way to ensure that these witnesses aren’t as effective as we fear them to be…”
Everyone knew what I was about to say. But no one was about to smile about it, not with the seriousness of the situation.
“Is to take matters into our own hands.”
Again, everyone knew what that meant.
“Here’s where I need your help, though,” I said. “The state is going to be monitoring me like fucking Big Brother. I need to make a clear trail of where I was when some of our ‘internal matters’ take place with the witnesses, which means I need to be using my credit card far away, caught on camera far away, and smiling and having a good time from far away. I cannot, in any way, be tied to what goes down. Which means I need to ask for your help and the help of the entire club. I know that a Saint never asks for something of others that he wouldn’t do himself, but I’m asking you for an exception here.”
I hated the request; I really fucking hated it. I hated it! I wanted to be the one intimidating those assholes, kil
ling the DMs, and making my presence known in Los Angeles. I wanted to be cleaning up my messes, not relying on the help of others. To sit back and let others do the work was such a bitch move, and, God, I fucking hated it.
“Splitter isn’t wrong,” Trace said. “If he’s caught even within a mile of anything that goes down, it’s going to immediately raise questions. Of course, if we go through with this, it’s going to raise questions anyways, but then again, what’s not going to raise questions with us these days?”
“We could have a goddamn charity ride for the animal shelter and the feds would want to know if we’re doing it to cover up a murder,” I growled. “Our runs are going to be monitored. Anything more than one person, maybe two, will get so closely examined, it’ll be like they’re in our goddamn heads.”
“Truth,” Trace said. “Any objections? Does anyone not want to do this?”
We were Saints. Of course, no one was going to object. But that didn’t mean that I didn’t worry a bit. All it took was one person expressing just a tiny little bit of doubt for things to suddenly go haywire, and then slowly, things would unravel, until everything had gone to shit.
And then it would be all over.
“Good,” Trace said. “I think you all understand the problem. If something happens to Splitter, it happens to all of us. This man is crazy, and I fucking love him for it. We cannot lose him. We do whatever it takes.”
He banged the gavel, declaring the matter closed.
“I’ll come to you individually with details on what you need to do. Expect that within the next day.”
Everyone began to leave. I started to do the same, shuffling behind Trace’s desk, but before I could get out the door, I felt him tug on my shirt. I turned, and he motioned with his head to take a seat. I waited until everyone had walked out the door before I did as he requested.
“Between you and me,” he said. “You really did sleep with Amber?”
“Yes,” I said. “Where is this going?”
He leaned back in his chair, took a long, long, long puff of his cigarette, and snorted the smoke through his nostril.
“I’m not going to lie; I’m very uncomfortable with what I’m about to say to you, most especially because if the same was ever suggested to me for Jane, I would be outraged.”
Well, that’s a hell of a way to start a conversation.
“But if we’re going to make this work, I need you to get some information out of Amber,” he said. “I need names. I need you to get that off of her. Whether you spy on her or hack her computer, I don’t care.”
“That’s cold,” I said.
“You know what else is? The inside of a prison cell.”
Appropriate, then, that such words would send shivers down my spine.
“She’s going to have access to information that she may not be under any obligation to share with you. Look, I could be totally wrong, don’t get it twisted. She could very well have all of this information handy and be willing to share with you. But I just think that as a lawyer, she may want to keep things simple for you. In that case, you have to be willing to pry. OK?”
“Fuck,” I grumbled.
I hated that he was right. I hated that it was going to put both of us in a very awkward spot—most especially if Amber found out that I had taken said information from her.
“Listen, ultimately, brother, while you are a Saint, you are also my friend and you are, most importantly, a free man,” Trace said. “It’s your life. Whatever you want to do with it, I’m not going to stand in the way. But if you want us to do this, we need you to get names. If she’ll give that to you without question, no problem. But if she fights you? You’re going to have to get it out of her.”
Left unsaid was that if she didn’t give it to me, I would have to manipulate her. I would have to use our emotional connection to take advantage and get that information.
I sincerely prayed that it would not come to that. I didn’t want to think that I’d have to choose between a potential love interest and my potential freedom.
But if it did…
“I’ll let you know.”
Chapter 14: Amber
I can say this much about the previous night.
No regrets!
I couldn’t believe that I had never bothered to have sex before Jacob. I couldn’t believe what I have been missing out on. Guilt was a powerful thing, but there wasn’t anything wrong that Splitter and I had done. We liked each other, we were physically attracted to each other, and we were being fully honest with each other.
Wow, oh wow, oh wow, that felt great.
I could barely walk the next day, struggling to not look like a wobbly fool as I went to my office. I closed the door as soon as I got in—a bit of a rarity for me—and struggled all day to focus. The various positions we were in, the different moves he did, the way his face felt between my legs…
Heavens, it was like the best movie I had ever seen in my life, except I was the actress in it and I was getting to admire the special effects after.
More than once, I had to leave to go to the bathroom, not for anything related to that, but just because I knew I’d bump into a colleague, and it was about the only way to stay focused. If I just kept myself in my head the whole time, there was a zero percent chance I was getting any work done.
And unfortunately, there was way too much work to be done.
I had woken up at about six a.m. without an alarm. I had thought about getting back to sleep, but there was just no chance of that happening—waking up early was too ingrained in my mind. I resorted to checking my email in bed while Splitter slept, hoping that he might wake up for an early-morning round two before I headed off to work, but that wasn’t to be.
And not just because Splitter slept the entire time.
No, it was because of the email I got alerting me that the state considered my trial one that needed to be expedited—and on top of that, because of the nature of the trial, they were only going to allow a three-day window for settlements. Three days was impossible to work with—it would take three days just to discuss if one would plead guilty or not to a single small crime, let alone something of a much greater magnitude. It was the state’s way of saying that they were going to do everything they could to screw us over without explicitly saying so.
I hated to say it, but no amount of praying and thoughts were going to get me through that. I just had to accept that we were going to go to trial, and we had to make plans as soon as possible.
The state had innumerable resources, making the challenge an enormous one. The two week window made me believe that they hadn’t just planned this for the last few days; they’d been planning it for months. The only way any legal team in the history of the United States would feel comfortable going to court in the span of two weeks was if they had been silently preparing the case on the side. Since I had only learned about this case a few days ago…
But, nevertheless, I did all that I could to prepare. I thought of all of the ways we could attack each witness, gathering as much background on them as I could. I tried to think of what we could factually say about Splitter on the night of the warehouse explosion; where he was, what he was doing, and so on. I tried to brainstorm some ways that we could have witnesses of our own.
It was going to be tough, that was for sure. I’d won a lot of cases in my day, but I hadn’t won them all. And the more I looked at this case…
Splitter agreed to have me come back over at nine that night. Admittedly, the tantalizing thought of some post-discussion sex was getting me in a tizzy, but at some point, we’d have to stop having sex. Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, but the closer we got to the trial, the more imperative it was to separate us so that the feelings wouldn’t be as strong. I needed a clear head and looking at Splitter during the trial and imagining all of the naughty things we were going to do later wasn’t going to help.
I kept that thought, however, to myself as I drove over around half-past eight that eveni
ng. I knew that wasn’t really a “tell the whole truth” thing but given that I didn’t even know when I would put a stop to it—or if, heaven forbid, I did not have the strength to do so—I decided it wasn’t that bad that I wasn’t going to admit it this upfront.
Goodness, Amber, really? You have sex once, and you can’t control yourself like this? What happened to you, girl?
Yeah, Splitter is cute and handsome and something that you have never experienced before. No one’s going to disagree with that notion, nor is anyone going to say that he’s anything less than stunningly hot. But you’re around Hollywood hunks with less body fat and more muscle than him.
And, for that matter, what you’re doing is seriously unethical. Not illegal—yeah, we know you checked—but no lawyer is ever going to tell you it’s a good idea. At all.
I’d had thoughts like this all week. For the most part, I did a pretty good job of tuning them out. I was able to acknowledge them, but I was also able to move past them.
The one that came to mind next, however, was one that left me a little unsure.
Let’s say you get him free. Let’s say he walks, and it’s a great victory for you.
What, then? When he’s done with you? And you don’t have a legal reason to see him anymore?
Are you still going to want to be with him? Are you going to want something serious? Or are you just going to chalk it up as a post-divorce fling that was good for what it was but nothing more?
It was sadly amusing how the very behavior that was unethical might lose its appeal once it could become ethical. I definitely did not want to give up my legal practice; that was a far, far cry from ever happening. It would take an awful lot for me to quit my work as a lawyer voluntarily.
But Splitter’s admirable loyalty and commitment to the club might very well mean that once the trial ended and we stopped seeing each other, well, we would stop seeing each other.
Just wait until you cross that bridge. You’ll never have this argument if your legal defense of him isn’t strong enough to protect him, you know. You might as well focus on getting this all taken care of.