by Hazel Parker
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, killing 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 b
ecause 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 evening. 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.
Now that’s a voice I can agree with in full for once.
I pulled up to the Savage Saint’s clubhouse a short while later, taking my laptop bag with me. I noticed that, perhaps not very subtly placed, someone stood on the roof of the building with what looked like a poorly concealed gun. Appearances—or what were supposed to be appearances, given how poorly he was doing it—suggested that he was just relaxing, enjoying a night amongst the stars.
What it really meant, obviously, was to keep eyes on anyone that dared to come after the shop. It wasn’t laying low, but I supposed that if I were in the Saints position, I probably wouldn’t be letting myself be such a pushover, either.
I knocked on the door and walked in. Splitter sat on a stool, sipping on some whiskey, wearing a wry grin.
He had on his club jacket with nothing on underneath and jeans that I already had thoughts about taking off.
“Oh, that’s hot,” I said, not even bothering to play the buildup game. I went over and kissed him on the lips. He pulled me close, again squeezing my ass and then nibbling on my neck.
“Splitter, Splitter,” I said, laughing as I tried to push away. “You gotta decide now. Sex, or the case first? Because if you keep going like this…”
I’m not going to be able to stop myself. You’ve awoken something in me that I didn’t know was there, and now, you’re going to “pay the price.”
“Mmm,” Splitter moaned as his hands lifted up underneath my sweater. “Tempting as it is…”
Then he stood up, lifted me into the air, kissed me… and then placed me on a chair.
“Let’s take care of the hard stuff first,” he said, pausing, and then smirking. “And then you can handle my hard stuff.”
“Oh, is that a promise?” I said. “Never mind, don’t answer, we have to focus. Focus!”
“Focus!” he said, practically screaming the word.
We both burst into laughter at the absurdity of our flirtation. We were going to have the worst focus ever in the next hour or so.
Not going to be very funny if you can’t keep him out of jail.
“Can I get you a water?” he asked.
“Yeah, sure,” I said, using the opportunity to open my laptop, rid myself of the erotic thoughts, and actually focus. “No alcohol tonight?”
“Eh,” he said. “I think we’ve gone a little crazy recently. Laying low now is the goal.”
Hmm, actually following my advice on that? I suppose I could do better at that too.
“Well,” I said, but I stopped myself—I was on the verge of making another sexual joke. I had never felt like this, and I suspected that the thrill of having something new was affecting me in ways that I wasn’t prepared for. “I’m glad that you are doing that.”
It was the best I could offer up that didn’t risk venturing into less productive territory. I wasn’t proud of it, but I had no choice.
Splitter came back with a glass of ice water, placed it before me, and did a cheers with a glass of whiskey.
“Woah now,” I said. “Remember what you said about how a gentleman never asks a lady to do something that he himself is not willing to do? Seems to me you might be in violation of that rule.”
Splitter was taken aback in a pleasant manner, muttering, “Damn!” before apologizing and going to get some water.
“You’re going to make me be sober, huh?” he said.
“It’s helping you to lay low. Now then. Let’s go over this.”
I rubbed my hands through my hair.
“Before I do, though, where’s your nearest bathroom… that is not a filthy mess?”
“Oh, that little detail,” Splitter said with a laugh. “You’re asking quite a bit there. We are mechanics, you know.”
After he laughed to himself, he pointed himself to the bedroom that we had spent the night in.
“There’s one in the hall, but I’m not sure you wouldn’t catch something in there just from sitting on the toilet.”
“Well, that’s delightful,” I said.
I stood up, put my hand on his shoulder, and avoided the smart comment as I made my way to the bedroom.
The sight of the bed, with the sheets not yet made, and its familiar smell took me back to the previous night. I remembered lying on those covers, feeling him all over me… feeling him inside of me… feeling his mouth in between my legs…
Oh, it was getting to be too much. It was getting to be much too much.
I hurried into the bathroom, hoping that being someplace besides that bedroom would get my mind focused. Even though it did look clean, I still didn’t trust that this particular room—which seemed to be more communal than I cared to know—was clean, and thus finished what I needed to do so quickly that I was sure I’d have to find a nearby restaurant just to finish my business.
On the other side of the door, as I washed my hands, I thought I heard Splitter coming in, but I figured he was probably waiting for me to come out so he could use it as well. But didn’t he say there was a bathroom in the hall…
I opened the door, and I can’t lie: what I saw was what I think I had really wanted this whole time.