by Bella Jewel
“It’s me, Zariah. I know you don’t want to see me, but I need to talk to you. It’s extremely important. I won’t hurt you. I’m not here to fight. Please, open the door.”
I go into my safe and grab my gun, shoving it into the back of my pants, and then I walk out and open the door to see Reece standing, his face quite sad. I feel bad for him, how can I not? I know he loves Jayden and not seeing him would be so hard on him. God, it would kill me if I couldn’t see him. Still, I have to stand my ground with this.
“Why are you here, Reece?” I ask.
“Listen, regardless of what went down last week, I know that you were doing the right thing for our son. I know that because I would do the same thing. You are right, I need help, serious help. I’ve spoken to a lawyer and had some plans drawn up. I’d like you to look at them and see if you’d be agreeable to the terms. I don’t want us to fight about this, I don’t want to have to go to court, but I do need my son, Zariah. I am dying without him.”
I take the papers and stare at Reece, shocked that he’s actually going about this the right way. I was certain that Tarryn would get in his ear and make him fight this tooth and nail. I guess he’s smarter than I thought because he has to know he’d lose if he fought me, and he isn’t going to risk his son like that.
“What are the terms?” I ask.
“I am getting help; you can see who with in the documents. I have a full treatment program and a doctor has put me on medication also. We will start with supervised visits with Jayden, a court appointed person will carry them out. We’ll be in a public place. Just a day together every Friday. Then, and only with the approval of a licensed professional, we will move to two days and then eventually I’ll take him back for my normal times with him staying at my house.”
I swallow, my stomach twisting.
“I know you’re anxious, I understand that. I won’t be able to take him without your approval and without being cleared by doctors and psychologists. If that takes years, it takes years. I’m going to do the work, I won’t hurt him, Zariah. I promise you I won’t hurt him. I just need you to give me a chance. Please, I’m dying without my son.”
I stare at the papers in my hands, then at the man standing in front of me. I’m not going to keep him away from his son forever, not when he’s working so hard to be a better person. His terms are fair, but I do need to get a legal check before I can give him an answer. “It sounds fair to me. Let me take it to my lawyer and have it signed off. I don’t want to keep you from your son, Reece. He loves you, and I know you love him. You have to understand, though, his protection means far, far more to me than anything. If he ever comes home and tells me you’ve hurt him, it’ll be over. Do you understand?”
Reece nods. “I do. Can I ... see him?”
I exhale, and then turn and call out Jayden’s name. He comes running after a few minutes and, when he sees Reece, his whole face lights up. “Daddy!” He runs toward him and throws himself into Reece’s arms. Reece holds him close, hugging him tightly and kissing his face. My heart breaks, because I want them to have all the time in the world together. I know they will again someday, but that time won’t be soon. It’ll be supervised for a while, but Reece is making the right choices.
Who am I to take that away from him?
Why do things always have to be so damned complicated?
“HOW ARE YOU?” STEVEN asks two days later when I go to his house to do some more work.
It’s hard. God, it’s so hard for me to stand here and stare at him, talk to him, interact with him, knowing full well the kind of criminal he is. He’s a dangerous man, mostly because he hides it so well. I want to just come out and ask him questions. I want to tell him I know what he’s done, but if I blow this now, it’ll be over for me and I can’t risk that.
The only way I’m going to get what I need is to play this very, very carefully.
“I’m good, how are you?”
He smiles. “Good. Ready to get back into the case?”
I nod and walk into the house and down to his office. He has it all set up, laptops out, coffee on the table, and it kills me that he’s so good at what he’s doing here. He doesn’t seem evil at all. Not even a tiny bit. That’s the thing that scares me the most. That he is so horribly clever. I take a seat and we get into the case, discussing new leads, interviews, and evidence. We talk for hours, going over things, and for a moment, I forget who I’m with.
I get so involved, it’s hard to remember that the man I’m sitting with is a monster.
This case, having the chance to work with him, it was a dream come true.
Now, it’s a god damned nightmare.
“I’ll go make us some lunch if you want to call a few people on our list and see if you can schedule some interviews,” Steven says, standing.
“Sounds great.” I give him a quick smile and start dialing some numbers on my phone.
He walks out of the room and, the moment he’s gone, I put my phone down and quickly glance at the door. Then I stand and rush around to his laptop. I know it’s far-fetched to assume he’d keep anything just lying around, but I also know he doesn’t think I’m suspicious of anything, so he no doubt assumes I won’t snoop. Why would I? If it were three days ago, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t have even considered it.
Now here I am, quickly flicking through his computer like a fucking maniac. My heart is racing, my fingers are trembling, and I keep glancing at the door expecting him to be sitting there, about to catch me out in the act. I search some folders, a few emails, but so far I can’t find anything that indicates he’s in contact with anyone. I dig a little deeper and come across a folder titled SK. It’s not the sort of title I’d usually click on, but I’ve looked everywhere else.
I open it, and what I see rocks me to my very core.
My entire world starts to spin as I flick through photos, text messages, documents, emails, all from two people I never would have imagined could be involved in this. No. It can’t be possible, it simply can’t be possible. I feel sick to my stomach. My phone buzzes beside me, and I glance down to see Kendric on the other line. I have to warn him. I have to warn them all. Oh, god. If these two people are involved, then Steven knows we’re onto him.
They would have told him.
He knows.
Oh god.
He knows.
I have to get out of here. I close down the file and stand upright, answering the phone as I rush around the desk, heart racing, body thrumming with fear and panic. “Kendric,” I breathe as I slam my laptop shut and try to frantically shove it into the bag it was in. I need to get out of here, now. Right now.
“What’s wrong?” Kendric asks, hearing the fear in my voice.
“Steven knows I’m looking into him. He knows. I’m at his house. I’m trying to get out now.”
“How do you know he knows? Did he hurt you? Did he say something?”
“I know because I know who the rat is. The person feeding all this information. I know who it is, oh god. I need to get out of here.”
“Who is? Zariah, talk to me.”
“It’s ...”
Before I can finish my sentence, something hard is slammed over the back of my head. I fall to the floor and my phone skitters out of my hand and across the room. I cry out in pain and turn, only to be hit again, this time harder. My world starts spinning and everything begins to black in and out. I vaguely see Blanche standing above me, something hard in his hand. He looks down at me and growls, “You should have kept your nose out of this, Zariah.”
Then he hits me again.
And my world goes black.
18
KENDRIC
“Zariah!” I bark into the phone, yelling her name over and over.
She doesn’t answer.
“Zariah, fuckin’ answer me. Are you there?”
Nothing.
A crackle on the other end of the line alerts me to the fact that someone has picked it up. I go to call her name again when
a male voice fills the other end of the line. “You won’t be seeing her again. You should have kept out of it.”
Then the line goes dead.
I throw my phone across the room, roaring in rage. Alarick comes busting in followed by Cohen and, the moment they see me, Alarick demands answers.
“He’s got Zariah.”
“Who?”
“Fuckin’ Blanche.”
Alarick’s face tightens. “Tell me what you know.”
“She called me. Said he knew. I asked her how he knew and she said because she found out who the fuckin’ rat was, and she knows now that person would have given him information. Then, she was fuckin’ gone.”
“Who the fuck is feedin’ information?” Alarick barks, his fists clenched.
“She didn’t fuckin’ get to tell me. We gotta get over there, right fuckin’ now.”
“You got the address still?” Cohen asks, grabbing a gun from the cabinet and shoving it into his jeans.
“Yeah,” Alarick confirms, taking two guns. “Let’s ride.”
We move quickly, just the three of us. We’ve been together the longest—I trust these two with my life. They’re not rats, I’d bet my ass on it. Everyone else, though. They need to be left out of this until we can confirm who is fucking doing this to the club. To our fucking family.
My chest clenches as we get on our bikes.
I think about Zariah and where the fuck that dick is taking her. He could take her anywhere and we might not find her. The chances of something going wrong are very fucking high. These people don’t want the club involved, and I’m afraid they’ll go to great lengths to keep us away from it, even if it means taking us all out one by fucking one.
She doesn’t deserve this, though.
I fucking let her down. I let her think I used her. Let her think I didn’t care. Truth is, I do fucking care. I care more than even I’m willing to admit. She does something to me, brings something out in me, and that scares me. It scares me because she could make or break me. I’m afraid of that. I’m afraid of going down for the rest of my life for something I didn’t do.
Fuck.
I should have corrected her when she thought I was using her.
Little does she know, fucking her was the best damn thing I’ve had in my life in a good long time. The way she took to me, wild and free, made everything fucking worthwhile. I held back, out of anger, spite, maybe even a little fucking hurt. I can’t do anything about that now. I gotta fix this. One way or another, I gotta fix this for her.
She has a son.
I can’t let anything happen to her.
We ride without hesitation to the address found on the note Zariah scrawled out the night she figured out that we weren’t doing the right thing by her. I feel like a fucking dick for doing that, but there’s no point in thinking about it now. The only thing I can think about now is finding this son-of-a-bitch and making him pay for what he’s done to her.
The house is quiet when we arrive. After knocking, or pounding, on the door for a good five minutes, we give up and smash a window. Here’s hoping this fucker doesn’t have an alarm. Alarick covers his arm with his jacket and smashes the glass out of the way so we can climb through. Once we’re inside, we separate and start looking for something, anything. I find an office on the first floor and there, I see Zariah’s things, including her phone on the ground.
I reach down for it, picking it up and placing it in my pocket.
That’s when I see the blood. Not a lot of it, but enough to tell me she’s hurt. There is a smear of it on the floor, and a few droplets leading out the door.
My chest coils as I walk over to his desk. I rummage through fucking everything and find nothing. Not a computer or laptop, no papers that have any indication of where he might be. Fucking absolutely nothing. The only thing on there is the case file they were working on and other cases filed away neatly.
This man is smart.
He knows how to get found out and he’s covered his tracks.
He’s the best of the best, and he knows it.
That’s exactly how they’ve been able to get away with this for so long.
It’s why we can never find them.
He’s made sure they’re covered.
All of them.
How the ever-loving fucking hell are we supposed to find Zariah, when this man has covered his tracks so well?
Frustration explodes in my chest, and I lift the desk with both hands, launching it with an angry bellow that sends it flying into the wall. A loud crack can be heard, and the desk lands with a thud onto the ground. I’m about to turn and walk out when I see something underneath the desk. It’s some sort of compartment built in. I move closer, getting down onto my knees and rattling the lock on it.
I don’t have the key.
That’s fucking fine.
I don’t need one.
I find the heaviest thing in the room—a golf club—and I swing at that fucking desk until the compartment breaks and drops open. Inside is nothing more than a small sheet of paper that reads “Nice try. Keep looking.”
With a rage I didn’t think was possible, I roar.
He’s playing with us.
He fucking knows damn well we’re searching his house.
He also knows we’ll find nothing here.
We need something. Anything.
There has to be a way to bring this fucker down.
“What’s goin’ on in here?”
I spin around to see Alarick at the door, glancing around at the mess I’ve made. “He’s fuckin’ with us,” I bark, standing and pacing. “He knows we were going to come here and search. I can guarantee there is nothin’ in this house. He’s made sure of that.”
“That’s what I was worried about,” Alarick murmurs. “He’s too smart. We need to find a way to outsmart him.”
“How?” I growl. “How? There is nothin’, fuckin’ nothin’. He’s goin’ to make sure we never find him, and even if we do, it’ll be too late. He’s too smart.”
“There’s always a way,” Alarick mutters, his voice clipped.
“We’re runnin’ out of time. He’ll hurt her before we find her. We’ve been on this entire fuckin’ thing for months now and we’re no closer than where we started. There is no way in fuckin’ hell we’ll find him before my trial. I’ll go away and Zariah will be fuck knows where, because we don’t be able to find her.”
“You’re wrong.”
We both turn to see Cohen standing in the doorway, a picture in his hand. It’s an old picture, small and frail. He holds it out, and Alarick takes it off him, studying it.
“I found this in the boxes that are in the basement. It was with a bunch of old photos, nothin’ spectacular, but this one stood out to me.”
“Why?” Alarick asks, studying it. I walk over and stare at the picture too. It’s of a young boy and an older boy. The man is Blanche, that much is clear. He’s only a teenager, maybe a bit younger. His features are very distinct. There’s no missing him.
I don’t see how a picture of Blanche is going to make a difference to anything.
“Look at the boy, the little boy. Really fuckin’ stare at his face. Is it familiar?”
I narrow my eyes staring at the face of the little boy. I study it for minutes, maybe even longer. It is familiar, sure, but I’m not sure I recognize him.
“Fuck,” Alarick breathes. “No.”
“Yeah,” Cohen mutters. “Yeah, you’re seein’ it correctly. We just found our fuckin’ rat.”
“No,” Alarick goes on. “No this can’t be fuckin’ real. It ain’t real, Cohen.”
“It’s as real as you and I standin’ here. There is no doubt about it. There is no denying who that picture is of.”
“Who?” I bark.
Both of them look at me. It’s Alarick who speaks.
“It’s Samson.”
No.
Fuck.
No.
ALARICK IS WALKING out of the house
before any of us can stop him. He's got his hands bundled into tight fists, and he's panting with rage. We're all in shock. There is absolutely no doubt about it. I've known Samson for a long time, and I never, not ever, thought he had something to do with this. It's as though my heart is bein' ripped out of my fuckin' chest. The betrayal is real.
But right now, Samson is the only thing we have that can lead us to Zariah.
Alarick wants to kill him; I get that.
His club is his life, and you do not fuckin' betray your club.
If we kill him, though.
This is over.
That's why Cohen and I charge after him, both of us knowin' that we have to stop this before it goes too far.
Before he does something we really can't come back from.
"Alarick, stop," Cohen yells, his voice bellowing down the halls.
Alarick doesn't stop.
He charges out the front door and towards his bike.
We've got seconds if we're lucky.
"Pres," I bark, "you can't hurt him."
Alarick doesn't pause.
He doesn't even flinch.
Fuck.
Cohen and I charge at him, knowin' the only way to stop him is to do something drastic. Cohen catches him around the waist, and I step in front of him. He lets out an agonized roar. "Let me fuckin' go, you cunts."
Alarick rarely loses it.
He certainly doesn't say that word a lot.
He's wild, but mostly, he's hurt.
Achin' in a way we can't even begin to understand.
"You kill him," I growl, getting up close. "They win."
He pauses, panting with a rage I've never seen from him.
It's terrifying.
Samson will go down for this, but it'll break every single piece of Alarick open to have to be the one to take him down.
That's horrible.
So fuckin' horrible.
"Let. Me. Fuckin'. Go." Alarick seethes, baring his teeth.
"Listen to me," I roar. "You kill him, and this will never be over. I'll get locked away. Zariah will die. Is that what you fuckin' want? I know you're not that stupid, Pres. You gotta think. I know you're angry, but you gotta fuckin' pull your head in and switch your brain on. Samson is the only fuckin' person who can give us our answers. Who can lead us to Zariah, to Dax, to all of them."