by Zoey Parker
With that, Ben disappeared out into the hallway, the sound of his receding footsteps echoing in Kira’s brain as she considered his final warning. Fuck. I’m totally fucked.
The guard came back the next moment to usher her out of the meeting room and back into her cell, where her cellmate was still in bed, doodling in a magazine. Kira went back to sit on her bed. She stared blankly at the grey wall across the room, willing the universe to give her a sign to tell her what to do.
“You got the public defender?” It took Kira a couple seconds before she realized that she hadn’t imagined the sound of a question aimed in her direction. Her cellmate was now looking over at her, an expectant look in her eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, I did,” Kira said, clearing her throat and nodding for good measure. She thought it would make her feel better, saying it out loud, but instead she felt more insecure, her body prickling with heat as she thought about the smarmy man who was in control of her fate.
Her cellmate shook her head and scribbled harder on her magazine. “Too bad for you,” she said, rolling over onto her side.
“Why? What do you mean?” Kira asked. She straightened up on the bed, now fully alert despite the despair that lingered in her chest.
Her cellmate sighed and placed her feet on the ground, slowly adjusting her body so that she was sitting up, facing Kira head on. “This your first time in the joint?”
Kira hesitated answering, but then finally she nodded in response to her cellmate’s question.
“Ah, I see,” her cellmate said, shaking her head sadly. “You look richer than most of the people that I see coming in here. Can’t you afford a cheap lawyer? Anybody’s better than the public defender.”
“I—I don’t know,” Kira said honestly, blowing out her breath in frustration. “I don’t have any money, but there’s a chance that someone in my life will help.” She realized after she said the words out loud that she didn’t really believe them. She was talking about Brent, but they’d only fucked a handful of times, without even talking to each other in the meantime. And anyway, he hadn’t come to see her even though she felt like she’d been in jail for days at this point. Where the hell was he? He must not give a fuck, Kira thought to herself. Her stomach flopped like a fish trying to escape from her body. He must have given up on me. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe he should just focus on Dylan anyway.
“I know how that goes,” her cellmates said with a wry, wise smile, like she knew exactly what Kira was thinking. “You know, you should stop waiting for whoever you think is going to show up. Trust me. I’ve been there. They never actually come, no matter how much they promise that they will.”
Kira’s tongue went dry as a block of wood in her mouth. Somehow this strange woman guessed her deepest, darkest worries. She shook her head, trying to get the negative thoughts out of her mind. “Well, I’ll get out of here soon enough,” she said, more to herself than to the woman sitting across the room.
“Yeah, sure,” her cellmate scoffed out. Then she refocused her attention on the magazine in her lap, scribbling harder, ignoring Kira.
Kira sat in silence for a minute, a thousand thoughts turning around and around inside her mind. “Well, I’ve got this boss with a lot of money. He needs me to get out of here so I can take care of his son.”
Her cellmate stopped drawing on her magazine and looked up at her through her eyelashes. “Oh, yeah? He’s rich? What does he do?”
“He’s a therapist,” Kira explained, even though she really didn’t know why she was bothering talking to this person. There was no point making friends here, not if she planned to get out of jail as soon as possible. But still, words spilled out of her mouth, like a train that just wouldn’t stop coming. “Well, he’s something other than a therapist. I mean, he’s out at all hours. I don’t know what it is, but he’s got a second job. He’s super rich. I live in his house with him and it’s fucking huge,” she said with a laugh.
“Nice,” her cellmate said dryly, raising her eyebrows skeptically. “It’s weird that you’re even here in the first place if you have such a powerful friend.”
Kira could tell that her cellmate didn’t exactly believe her. “He really has a lot of money. I’m sure he’ll get me a lawyer,” she protested weakly, even though she didn’t quite believe the words that were coming out of her mouth.
“Sure, sure,” her cellmate said, rolling her eyes. “What’s this magical guy’s name, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Brent,” Kira said defiantly, without any hesitation. “Brent Barkley.”
Her cellmate coughed out a laugh, her eyes going wide as her whole body convulsed with laughter. “Wait, wait, seriously?” she asked in between huge bellowing laughs.
“Yes,” Kira said. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling her face heat up in response to her cellmate’s laughter.
“Brent Barkley? Brent Barkley the therapist? Seriously?” the cellmate asked in between chuckles, wiping at the sides of her eyes. “Really, you’re not shitting me?”
“No, I’m not,” Kira said reflexively, rubbing her own arms to comfort herself when her cellmate collapsed into another fit of wild laughter. “What’s so fucking funny?”
“It’s just so cute,” her cellmate said, wheezing a little as she tried to catch her breath. “You talked about him like he was just any other rich guy.”
“Isn’t he?” Kira asked.
Her cellmate huffed for breath for a few seconds before shaking her head. “He’s the president of the Soul Catchers, man.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Kira asked, still not comprehending her cellmate’s statement.
“The Soul Catchers?” her cellmate repeated. “The motorcycle club in the area? The one that runs all the drugs and guns through this state? You heard of them?”
The name sounded a little more familiar now that Kira thought about it, but she still refused to accept what her cellmate was saying. “No, no, he’s a normal guy. He’s just a normal dude. I mean, he does have a bike and a bunch of tattoos, but…” She trailed off, unsure of what to say. “He’s not…he can’t be.”
“Well, he is, girl,” her cellmate said with a face-splitting grin. She stood and and walked over to the toilet in the corner of the room. “Get used to the idea.”
“How do you know?” Kira asked. “Why should I even believe you? You could be talking out of your ass to freak me out.”
Her cellmate rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to her magazine, scribbling random patterns all over the front page. “Whatever. Just telling you what I know, man.”
Kira stared at her cellmate for a long moment, studying her face to try to determine whether or not she was telling the truth. “Brent…Brent Barkley, right? That’s his name? You’re sure?” she asked.
“Yep. One hundred percent sure,” the cellmate said as she began flipping through the pages of her magazine. “I used to hang around that MC, you know, back in the day when they actually had money and power. Now they’re just weak.”
Kira felt the contents of her stomach churn inside of her gut, rolling like the inside of a volcano, ready to erupt at any moment. “You…you’re serious?” she whispered, her voice barely audible even in the perfect silence of the empty cell around them.
“Yep,” her cellmate said, still not looking up from her magazine. “It’s the truth, kid. Whether or not you believe it, that doesn’t change reality. He’s a motorcycle club leader. Just chew on that.”
Kira fell silent, her body falling back against her bed, and then rolled up against the hard, grey wall. She reached out to touch the concrete of the wall next to her bed, imaging that it was the soft hair on Lucian’s head, but it wasn’t. She couldn’t fool herself. She was stuck here, and the only hope for salvation was a goddamned motorcycle gang member, somebody who broke the law regularly without even telling her. Goddammit, Brent, she thought to herself, curling in on her body like a small bug. Why couldn’t you just tell me? Why couldn’t you
warn me so I would know not to have any hope? Fuck you!
All of her hope was gone, drained from her body like water a burst pipe, spilling out onto the ground all at once. Her savior wasn’t a real savior. He was a criminal. He couldn’t save her from this. She was stuck, forever separated from her child. I want to die, Kira thought, curling in closer on her own torso. She wrapped her arms as tightly around herself as they could go. I want to fucking die.
Chapter Twenty-One
Brent
By the time Brent rolled up to his house, he was about ready to pass out, his whole body aching with exhaustion as he parked Kira’s car in his driveway. He was so tired that it took him several seconds to notice the seven or so motorcycles that were parked in his driveway, right next to his garage. What the hell was going on?
“Stay in the car, Dylan,” Brent said as he undid his seatbelt and got out of the car. “Just stay put.”
Brent squared and his shoulders and straightened his back as he walked up his front sidewalk. His heart pounded when he noticed several dark figures crowded on his front stoop.
“Yo, Brent!” a familiar voice yelled as he approached his front porch.
“Did you go by the clubhouse?” another voice said as he scaled the front steps, breathing hard as he approached the group of people gathered around his front door.
Brent finally looked up to inspect the faces of the various men on the front porch. “Yeah, I’m locked out,” he said to Howie, who was sitting on the front step, his face warped with overt worry.
“It’s Jethro,” one of the senior members, Oliver, said. He stepped up to wrap his arm around Brent’s shoulders. Brent felt stiff and uncomfortable, unsure of whether or not to trust the man hugging him, but he finally relaxed into his grasp, looking around to the other men crowded around him. “Jethro got all the young bucks fired up, and they took over. Ran us out.”
“It’s true,” Howie said. His eyes were full of sadness as he looked directly at Brent. “He came in with guns, right when all of us were playing cards in the main bar room. We didn’t have a chance.”
Brent didn’t know what to say. He stared blankly at each man as they took turns hugging him, pressing him close to their chests one by one by one. “Okay,” he murmured, feeling weirdly distant from all of the people crowded around him.
“We’re ready to go, Brent,” Howie said. “Just say the fucking word, and we’re on it.”
“On what?” Brent asked. What were they talking about? They’d already lost the war. Jethro and the younger members had taken over the MC, without even calling for a vote. It was apparently that easy to turn all of the older, more seasoned members away. What else was there to do? They couldn’t exactly go to the clubhouse and start a firefight, not without expecting to die themselves. What exactly could they even do?
“Taking the club back,” Oliver said, his eyes wild and full of some fiery emotion that Brent couldn’t access at the moment. “We’re ready to fight for you.”
Brent felt empty, numb, full of dull, formless matter that couldn’t be transmuted into anything living. He felt like all of his organs had been replaced with thick grey cloth. “For me?” he parroted blankly.
“Yeah!” Oliver said enthusiastically. “We’re going to take the Soul Catchers back.”
Brent was silent for a long time, staring at his own front door, imagining what Kira would look like if everything was normal and she was waiting for him right beyond that door, a disapproving look on her face like any other normal day. “What about Kira?” he murmured, thinking out loud.
“Kira?” Howie asked. “The girl you’ve got watching your kid?”
“Woman,” Brent said reflexively. “She’s a woman. Not a little girl.”
Howie nodded. “Yeah. Kira. What’s up with her?”
“She’s in jail,” Brent said. “In there on some trumped up child abuse charge.”
The men turned and looked at each other for several seconds before they all turned back to look at him. “What do you need from us?” Howie asked.
“I don’t know,” Brent said honestly. “I need to get her a real lawyer so she can stand a chance in court, but since Jethro and the other guys have knocked me out of the club, I can’t really help her.”
“Milton? I can call him and get him here in thirty seconds,” Oliver said. He dug his phone out of his pocket. “Just say the word.”
Brent was silent for a minute, looking towards the car where Dylan still waited for him. “Really?” he asked softly, a little afraid to speak louder than a whisper.
“Hell, yeah,” Oliver said without hesitation. “We’re ready to go, boss. Just say the word.”
Brent didn’t know what “the word” was, but he felt his heart pick up its pace inside his chest, pounding for what felt like the first time in years. “Okay,” he whispered. He reached out to take Oliver’s offered hand, shaking it firmly before letting his hand fall back to his side. “We’ve got to go to the jail as soon as possible.” Kira was waiting for him, probably thinking that she’d given up on him forever. He couldn’t wait any longer.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kira
Kira was already awake the next morning when the guard yelled out her name, screaming for her to come out of her cell. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she muttered as she put her feet on the ground. She rolled her eyes at the sound of her cellmate’s loud snoring.
The guard pulled the door back, holding it open for her to step through and out into the hallway. “What’s going on?” Kira asked, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.
“You’ve got a visitor,” the guard barked out. He gestured for her to hurry up and come out of her cell.
Kira followed him down the hall again to the meeting room. There, sitting at the table, was an unfamiliar middle-aged man in a nice suit. He stood up as soon as he saw her, holding out his hand for her to take. Kira stared down at it uncomprehendingly for a long moment, unsure of what to do until the man finally cleared his throat and took his hand back, sitting down at the table.
Kira finally realized that she was standing awkwardly in the doorway of the room. She sat down across from the man on the other side of the table. “Um…” she said uncertainly, scratching at the side of her head and clearing her throat. “Um, I’m not sure…who you are.”
“I’m Milton Reynolds,” the man in front of her said, offering her his hand again, which Kira still didn’t know what to do with, staring at it blankly until he retracted it again. “Anyway, I’m a lawyer. I was hoping to represent you, if you’re willing to accept me.”
“Wait, what?” Kira asked, totally confused. “What are you doing here? I didn’t call you or anything, right?”
“Right,” Mr. Reynolds said. He dragged up his chair so he was closer to the table and leaned over it to whisper to Kira. “Now, tell me straight, did you hurt your child?”
“What? No!” Kira said. She felt sick to her stomach just at the suggestion. “Absolutely not! What are you doing here if you think I’m capable of that?”
“It was just a question, just a question,” the lawyer said, holding up his hands defensively. “I have to ask when I take each case, just to be sure that I know what I’m dealing with. So you’re innocent. Good. That makes things simpler for me.”
“Where did you come from?” Kira asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I didn’t call you to come here.”
“That doesn’t matter right now,” Milton said firmly. He reached into a packet of papers on the table in front of him and placed a sheet in front of Kira. “I need you to sign this. It’s a consent form so I can represent you. Trust me, you need me. I’ll do my best to make sure that you get your son back.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Kira said honestly. She brushed some of the hair back from her forehead so she could see more clearly, as if she could look into Milton’s eyes and see what he was up to. “Please, just tell me, why are you doing this? I’m nobody. I’m no one. I’m jus
t some random babysitter from nowhere. And my ex….he’s a cop. He can smack me down like a fly. Why would you want to take this case?”
“I have my reasons,” Milton said. “Now, look, we have a limited amount of time here. I only have a few more minutes to talk to you about your case. So you’re innocent. What kind of information can you give me about your ex?”
“Uh, I don’t know, he’s…he’s a bad person?” Kira stuttered out, unsure of what else to say. “I mean, he’s clearly hurt my son. But I don’t know how or even why. My son won’t tell me what happened. I’m sorry, I know that’s not super helpful to you.”
Milton nodded and shuffled through the stack of papers in front of him. “Fair enough. Innocent clients are usually the most unhelpful, anyway, so that’s par for the course. I already hired a private investigator to look into your ex, so that’s taken care of. We’ll find something.”