by Hazel Parker
Focus. Because if you don’t, you’ll remember how you’ve betrayed her trust without her even realizing it right now.
“Are you actually hungry?” she said. “I don’t get hungry easily. But, then again, I’m not a… how big are you? Two hundred?”
“Try two-fifty,” I said with pride, flexing my guns to show her just how big I was. “But yeah, I do need to eat frequently.”
I just didn’t mention that most of my food didn’t come from fast food and that this would be truly unusual. In fact, it would be completely out of character.
But that was the least of the things that I was hiding.
“Well, hurry up then,” she said, giving me one last kiss. “It’ll give me a chance to go over a few of the files so we can prepare some cross-examination practice.”
“You got it,” I said, grabbing her hand and letting go at only the last possible second before walking out the door.
And as soon as I got out that door, I muttered, “Fuck!” to myself as loud as I could. I just got to my bike, revved the engine, and drove to the nearest fast food place I could find that was open.
When I got my In-n-Out, I didn’t even bother to complete the meal. I had a few bites of it, but I was just so stressed and so disappointed in myself that I didn’t have much of an appetite. The only thing I was completely certain of was that I paid with a credit card so that my alibi would show I was at In-n-Out. Otherwise, I don’t think I could’ve been bothered to act in any fashion that supported the endeavor.
When I pulled up to the clubhouse, I checked my phone. I had a single text from Trace.
“Hey, we’re headed home now.”
Means they finished the job.
Maybe they killed some witnesses. Maybe they intimidated some.
What have I done?
I walked back into the clubhouse to a smiling and oblivious Amber. She had no idea what was going on, nor was I about to give her reason to.
At this point, our relationship, truthfully, if I could even call it that, was just a ticking time bomb.
Chapter 16: Amber
When Splitter first walked in after getting food, I had wanted to surprise him by telling him I’d spend the night at his clubhouse with him. I wanted to have one more round with him, wake him in the morning for a third round, and then move on with my day. It would have the advantage of releasing all our sexual energy and having a good time.
But when he got back, he seemed just so distracted and so distant that I couldn’t help but feel my libido drain bit by bit. On the heels of what was the best sex of my life—easily—I did not want to ruin it by confronting him about it. Perhaps it was a little bit of the avoidance that Splitter confessed to having.
In any case, though, because I never mentioned the idea of spending the night, I did not feel especially bad about leaving him. I did want more, but if Splitter was going to be as distant as he was, I did not want to press him into doing anything.
It was very confusing for me to try and make sense of it. Had he regretted the sex? Was there something about the trial that was starting to get to him? He did pretty well during the cross-examination in maintaining a calm demeanor—admittedly, I had not tried that hard to break him and make him emotional, but it wasn’t like I was pitching him softball questions. He had taken my feedback about answering only the question and nothing more very well, and he had listened to my particular critiques.
And when I did leave, he gave a strong kiss and a big bear hug goodbye, leaving me to believe that it wasn’t anything to do with me. But what I intellectually believed and what I emotionally believed were two very different things. I knew logically that what I had done wouldn’t push Splitter away.
But emotionally…
It was moments like these that made me think that I needed not to be taking on cases, nor did I need to be dating so hot off of my divorce. Moments like these made me fear that I had made a grave mistake giving into the relationship with Splitter.
Just go home. You did your job tonight. You helped Splitter in preparation for the trial. You did what you need to do.
The words weren’t especially reassuring to me, but it was the best I could muster. As I drifted off to sleep that night, I found myself deciding that I had to ask him in the morning what had happened. I’d need to do it sooner rather than later, but I just couldn’t let things like that go unanswered.
If we were going to be something more than just a casual fling, conversations like that could not just be avoided until the last possible second. They had to be tackled head-on, on the spot, and without hesitation.
* * *
When I woke up the next morning, I didn’t need long to start thinking about Splitter. My mind raced to what it had before I went to sleep—why had he been so distant? Why had he been so removed from me? What had been said that had prevented him from opening up?
He was violating my first rule, I knew. He was already violating my second one with some frequency, but I had let the rules slide more once we were becoming intimate. That might have been fine now, but it was going to be a problem the longer I let the rules slide. I really did strongly believe in not swearing, and while I would never expect Splitter to stop swearing altogether, I had to be stronger about getting him to not do it around me.
I decided that when I talked to him later that morning—as in, when he woke up—it would be something else I would mention. I didn’t want to think of it as a “big talk,” and I didn’t want him to get that impression, but better to have a kind of big talk now than have a much bigger talk in a couple of weeks.
I went about my usual routine, brushing my teeth, doing some yoga, and relaxing with the morning news before I grabbed my phone. I texted Splitter “Good morning :-) When you wake up, please give me a call. Just want to go over some things.”
I was tempted to add “nothing big,” but I didn’t want to set poor expectations. Besides, the smiley face, in my mind, had given Splitter a sign that this wasn’t some breakup talk. The good morning didn’t hurt, either.
I hit send and shifted over to my email. I deleted the usual spam, the speaking requests, the media requests, anything that was not directly related to my job.
And then I saw the message that said “URGENT: FW: Two men killed overnight in LA.” It was from Edwin. The body had five chilling words.
“Splitter know anything about this?”
I looked through the email and saw that two men suspected of having ties to the Devil’s Mercenaries motorcycle club had been murdered the night before. When I saw their names, I had a horrifying realization—they were two of the witnesses.
In the middle of reading the message, I saw something else pop up—another email from Edwin.
“Had two of our witnesses state they would not speak in court anymore,” he said. “If the Saints are tampering, know that witness intimidation carries a heavy sentence. For all of them.”
Splitter…
Did you know about this?
Suddenly, why Splitter had been so distant last night made too much sense. Way too much sense. He had to have known what was going on.
But how had he gotten the names? I had only shown him the list in passing; it wasn’t something that I had intended to print out and give to him. And it wasn’t like I had caught him spying on my computer. What had happened?
And how much did Splitter know?
I knew that he wasn’t going to respond to my text now, or if he was, he was going to deflect and say we should save it for tonight. But I wasn’t in the mood to wait until tonight, not with the prosecution now breathing down my neck for potential tampering. To say this was bad was an understatement—if it was proven that Splitter and the Saints had engaged in this…
What else would get out?
Would my relationship with Splitter get exposed?
Would my inability to stay focused on the case get exposed?
Would all of my legal efforts have been for naught, resulting in Splitter going to jail—alon
g with the rest of his club for their actions last night?
“Lord,” I said to myself. “Give me the strength today. I’m going to need a lot of it. I’m going to need an awful lot of it.”
I quickly hurried to my room, put on the minimum amount of clothes I needed to remain professional, grabbed my keys, and headed to my BMW. I noticed a cameraman situated on my street, but I just ignored him. He called out and asked if I was headed to any particular client this morning, but I still ignored him, though the temptation to flip him off or even, I daresay, curse at him was strong.
You’re not going to do any good if you don’t get control of yourself, Amber, I told myself. Be stern with Splitter and with others but be in control first. Without that, what you’re doing won’t mean anything.
I backed out of the driveway and drove aggressively at the speed limit en route to Green Hills. My not speeding was my way of making sure I did not lose total control, but the anger I was starting to feel was immense. This was not a coincidence; it just was not. One witness getting killed, especially a Mercenary, was one thing.
Two of them? And then having multiple witnesses say they weren’t going to testify?
If the Saints had intended to lay low, they had done the exact opposite. They had stuck their tongues out at the state authorities, given them the middle fingers, and then pretended that nothing had happened. The only thing working in their favor was that the state could not prosecute on the basis of coincidence, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t apply a ton of pressure in the hopes that they would crack.
In short, there were many ways for the Saints to come under back-breaking pressure that had nothing to do with official charges. I’m not sure if they knew that or if they even cared about that, but as their lawyer, you can bet I cared.
When I pulled into the shop, I saw that Trace had just arrived before me. He was hopping off his bike as I got out of my car.
“Amber, you’re here early.”
“You guys are morons,” I snapped.
“What do you mean?”
“The lawyer in me doesn’t know what you did,” I warned. “But I am not stupid and if you think that the authorities aren’t going to notice, you’re beyond stupid.”
Trace gave no reaction, but he wasn’t dumb. He knew that I knew, and he knew that if I knew, others knew. He recognized he had just made things worse for himself.
Realistically, at this point, his best hope was that the state would have to drop the case against Splitter but then withstand years of incessant pressure. And when I said years, I meant until Edwin moved on—and since he was a young DA who had just gotten elected to office, there was a very good chance that that wasn’t going to come anytime soon. They were going to be on his shit list for decades.
I stormed into the clubhouse, finding a couple of younger members cleaning up. They gawked at me, but I walked right past them, heading into the bedroom where I had left Splitter two nights before and almost spent last night with him. It was probably for the best, anyway; if I had woken up to him by my side and then seen that news, I might also be responsible for a murder.
I knocked on the door twice, heard Splitter yell, “One sec,” and stood with my arms crossed. I still had my sunglasses on, but I was in no rush to take those off. If it added to the effect—something I had learned very well how to do—that could only help.
He opened the door and smirked when he saw me.
But his demeanor quickly soured when he saw I wasn’t smiling one bit.
“What’s going on?” he said.
“Remember how I said in my message we needed to talk this morning? Well, turns out that we have a lot more to talk about than I thought.”
I stormed into the room, slammed the door behind me, and stared straight into his eyes—which were reeling, hard. He really had no idea where I was going with this, but he knew it wasn’t good.
“I woke up to an email from Edwin, our opponent in court,” she said. “Your friend, the DA? He forwarded me a news story that two of the Devil’s Mercenaries who just so happened to be eyewitnesses were murdered last night. And, on top of that, a short while later, he told me that several of the witnesses had withdrawn.”
I shook my head in disgust, wanting to maximize my displeasure with how this had gone.
“Tell me, what do you know about this, Splitter? And remember my first rule. I want the full truth.”
“I…”
He looked like he was looking for the right words.
“Don’t try and word this right, damnit,” I said, swearing for emphasis. “I need to know what you know and now.”
He bit his lip and turned. I tried my best to remind myself to be patient, and I admittedly felt a little bit of sympathy when he started to choke up, but I wasn’t going to show him any of that right now.
“I had Trace sneak in while we were having sex so he could read off the list from your computer,” he said.
Oh… why…
Why, Splitter, you were better than that. I want to believe you are better than that.
But…
You actually did that.
I was beyond floored. I was beyond hurt. I was…
I could never look at Splitter the same again on a personal level. Professionally, my trust in him might have recovered, but personally, this would sting a long, long time.
Is this what dating in the “real world” looked like? Is this what I had to look forward to?
“Why?”
I couldn’t even muster any anger right now. I was just so stunned, so hurt, that… emotions didn’t feel right. I was turning into a blubbery mess of something, and to say I was feeling emotional was to imply that I could put some sort of definition to my feelings, which I most certainly could not.
“I didn’t think that we could win the trial any other way,” Splitter said. “I didn’t think that if we went to trial with all those witnesses, that we stood any chance. I know that my brothers here have my back. I know they can defend me. I—”
“You know what’s sad?” I said, stopping him dead in his tracks. “What’s sad about this? You’ve told me that you’ve murdered people. You’ve told me that you laid down charges. And you know what? I understood. I tried to, at least. I tried to understand who you are and why you did what you did, because at least then I could give you the best possible shot. If you had done this, I would have to tell you that what you were doing was—and now is—criminal and could get you and the whole club in a world of hurt.”
But…
“But you lied to me,” I said. “Worse, you betrayed my trust. You manipulated me. You didn’t just passively forget to do something. You actively manipulated my physical attraction to you so that one of your buddies could get some names and commit some crimes, and now guess what? The entire DA’s office is probably investigating you and talking to these witnesses. If you did not do everything perfectly, you and the entire Savage Saints are going to be a prison-only club.”
Splitter continued to blubber out excuses with tears in his eyes. I just muttered under my breath, a sort of defense mechanism against following in his footsteps.
“It’s why I went to get food last night,” he said. “Because I wanted to defend myself. I could prove I had an alibi. I wasn’t the one who did that.”
“Yeah, but this isn’t just a case about you,” I said. “It’s about all of you. The DA was always using this as a way to get you to break so you could say more about the Savage Saints. I have zero doubt all of you have committed some heinous crimes, but at least you did it well, and you did it for good. You hid it, and those who cared that were closest to you were willing to protect you. But this?”
I threw my hands up. I was losing the battle to stay poised.
“You flat out used me. You lied to me. You knew that I was in a vulnerable state with my recent divorce. You knew that I was attracted to you and probably bound to make some mistakes. And with that knowledge, you took what was classified information for the cas
e and gave it to your team.”
Why, though? Why? Did you…
“Do you even care about me, Splitter? Or was I just a ‘hot woman’ to sleep with and then take advantage of?”
“No!” he said with such passion that I believed him. As much as I could believe him right then, anyway. “Trace suggested it. I hated the idea, but he was right. Not his fault, though. I did it. I care about you, Amber. I really do. I care too much about you.”
I took a couple of steps back, toward the door. I wasn’t going to stick around any longer for this.
“You know what’s shitty? I believe you. But you don’t get to say you care. You prove it. And the only thing you proved is that you care more about the Saints and your hide than you do me. And maybe in your spot, I would have done the same thing. I don’t know. I am not living your life, Splitter. But if there’s one thing you have taught me since you met me, it’s that I have to do what’s best for me. That has helped me in more ways than one. But right now, what it has taught me? Us, as a thing? It’s no more.”
Splitter turned to me, his eyes down and shame written across his face.
“I will continue to consult you via video chat and phone call, and when we get to court, I will be by your side,” I said. “But until then, consider this goodbye.”
I left before he could say anything else. I had a sick feeling that if I stuck around and let him speak to me, he would convince me somehow to give him another chance.
But there was a reason that my first rule was to tell the truth, and it wasn’t because I had a history of liars.
It was because Jacob and I had struggled so long to speak our truth to each other in full.
We never lied to each other. Whenever we had conversations about the direction of our marriage, we always had a nagging, spoken suspicion that things weren’t going as well as they could have. But after those brief conversations, we’d simply put them to the side and pretend they either didn’t happen or let enough time pass that they didn’t carry any more relevance.