by Danah Logan
We stay like this for-fucking-ever until I finally can't sit still anymore.
I pull out my phone and stifle a curse. I have three missed calls from my mother. "Fuck!" I rake a hand through my hair and fist the strands.
Rhys leans over and peers at the screen. "Uh-oh. I assume you haven't gotten around to telling her?"
I glower at him, and he shuts his stupid trap.
Since we have no clue how long George will be, I hover my thumb over my mother's name before I draw in a breath, hold it, and press call.
It rings twice before a shrill voice pierces my eardrum. "Finally. Weston Sheats, what the hell is going on? Your father got a call from your aunt. She forwarded us several articles from gossip websites."
I grind my teeth. "Hi, Mom." And just like that, all my pent-up rage turns into a little boy who has disappointed his mother. My day is getting better and better.
"Don't you 'Hi, Mom' me, young man," she snaps.
"Is that Wes?" my father's voice comes from the background.
"Yes, our son finally graced us by returning my calls." She is pissed.
"Put him on speaker!" Guess he's not far behind.
"Please tell us what the press is saying is not true." Mom's tone softens.
"What are they saying?" I honestly have no idea. I have stayed off all social media and news pages since Lancaster's article.
"They say you are involved with Francis Turner's daughter."
I stand and start pacing the length of the room. Rhys doesn't stop me this time. I wanted to tell my parents in person, but had no idea when that would be. "I am."
"Weston!" Mom inhales sharply.
"Son, tell me this girl is not pregnant with—"
"She is." I don't have it in me to lie or draw it out.
There is silence on the other end, and I find Rhys's eyes. He looks at me with understanding. He's been through his own personal hell with his parents for years.
I glance at the ceiling and decide to lay it all out there. I don't have much more to lose at this point. "King and I met last year. I didn't know who she was since she doesn't use her father's last name. She knew who I was but was scared to tell me because—well, you can guess. We started dating"—okay, that's a stretch—"one thing led to another—you can guess that part as well. I figured out who her father was and drove her away for several months until Lilly found her, brought her back, and D told me to pull my head out of my ass and man up." I'm out of breath, I'm speaking so fast. "I didn't know she was pregnant until she came back, and even then, she never asked anything of me. She is the most selfless person I have ever met, and...and I love her."
More silence.
It's that moment that George walks in, and I disconnect the call before my father can chew me out for my irresponsible actions. I'll deal with that later.
"What did you find out?" My hands begin to tremble, and I cross my arms over my chest, tucking my phone into my armpit.
"They finished processing King. Lilly connected me with Agent Camden. She pulled some information—unofficially, of course. King is being accused of the murder of Isaiah Ellis, her former employer. His body was found by a hiker a few weeks after he was reported missing. Animals had unearthed the body." I fight the urge to gag at the visual forming in my mind, but George continues, unaffected. "Ellis was under investigation for gun trafficking and prostitution, suspected to be selling to a number of wanted individuals. Due to the damage the animals had caused, a thorough autopsy was performed. The cause of death was a stab wound to the neck. Ellis bled out. The knife left a unique mark on his C4 vertebrae, and it was determined that it was a curved blade." That's all George has to say.
King's Du Hoc.
"How did they tie it to King?" Rhys verbalizes what I can't.
George sighs. "She was the star attraction. She vanished around the same time as Ellis. The club's website featured several photos and videos of her dancing with—"
"Her knives," I finish for him. She told me that she was never without them. The room suddenly has gotten too hot. A sheen of sweat has formed on my forehead, and I wipe my hands on my jeans.
"Why did they not search for her publicly? Have the media do the work for them?" Rhys wonders aloud, and the mere thought of a public manhunt for King has my legs giving out. I flop into the chair behind me.
"From what I understand, it was kept a missing person case to continue the investigation of his customers and suppliers. They spun it in a way that he went into hiding."
"Genius, but fucked up," Rhys mumbles, and I want to clock him. Seriously?
"King and Ellis's right-hand man were the only employees unaccounted for since his disappearance, and Victor Sidhrov was found with his throat slit last year."
I jerk upright again, my adrenaline level spiking at his insinuation. "Do they think she killed him, too?" That's ridiculous.
"We haven't been able to get our hands on his autopsy report. From what we learned, the knife is what connects King to Ellis's murder. And the witness."
"What witness?" Rhys looks between us like he's watching a tennis match.
I close my eyes. "The girl that was raped."
"Correct." George sounds almost apologetic. "She placed King at the club. The report says she confirmed that King dropped her off at the hospital. She did, however, state that she didn't see her killing Ellis. The girl was drugged and injured."
"Can't we use that?" A flutter in my belly gives me hope.
"Lilly contacted her legal team. Unfortunately, the knife is strong evidence," George explains.
My throat closes, and I can't swallow. "I want to see her. I need to know she's okay." The shadows in my vision are back.
"There is nothing we can do at this point. The jet is on its way to LA to pick up the family's attorney. But he already informed Lilly that he doubts anything can be accomplished over the weekend."
"WHAT?" He's got to be fucking kidding me. "They can't leave her in there over the weekend. She's fucking pregnant."
Jesus Christ.
I kick one of the plastic chairs with my boot, and it shoots across the room.
I peer at the clock on the wall. It's barely three on Friday. At the thought of her being in a cell for the next two-plus days, I can taste the bile coating my tongue.
"There is nothing we can do—" George starts, but I refuse to hear him.
"I'm not leaving."
"Bro," Rhys tries, but I plant my ass back down.
"Guess we're staying." Rhys plops down next to me, moving the chair next to him in front to prop his feet up.
I side-eye him, wanting to tell him that he can leave and needing him to stay equally. In the end, he makes the choice for me, and I am grateful for my friend.
"Okay, let me see what else I can find out," George relents and makes his way back out.
Saturday morning, I'm sandwiched between Den and Kiwi. Den showed up not long after I got comfortable in my plastic chair, and Kiwi joined us late last night. He threw a complete hissy fit that no one called him, and he had to find out from Zeke, who got texts from Mack, who was told by Chelsea, who heard it from Mags. Zeke was at practice, which delayed it even more. That being said, neither D nor Kiwi has left my side for longer than a quick pee.
Den is leaning against my shoulder, and I'm about to doze off again when Lilly and Marcus walk through the door. I'm out of my seat so fast D bumps into Rhys on her other side—who had been snoozing soundly—and he falls off his chair in a loud thud.
"What the hell?" No one pays his bitching any attention.
I scan both their faces. "Where is George?" If they are here, that means he is not.
"He got a call and had to leave," Marcus explains.
Leave? What the—?
Lilly's bodyguard has dark circles under his eyes, and it's apparent he hasn't slept either. He even lacks his usual hatred toward Den.
"Jaxon is meeting with Agent Oatis right now," Lilly says as she helps her husband off the floor.
> "Jaxon?" Who the hell is that?
"My legal counsel for, uh…non-business-related matters." Lilly bites her lip, and I understand.
"Thank you." For once, I am grateful for her financial means and influence.
"He said he would come in here when he was done," she elaborates as she holds out a tray of coffee I didn't notice until now. She unplugs one cup from the tray and hands it to me. "Cocoa?" She smiles softly, and I take it, attempting to return the expression—unsuccessfully. I'm tired, and all I want is to see my girlfriend and feel my baby girl kick.
I never expected to feel so strongly for anyone, let alone two human beings.
It takes two more hours before Jaxon makes an appearance, and everyone stands at attention as soon as his foot is over the threshold. He is nothing like I expected a defense attorney to look. I expected a scrawny old dude, not a guy looking like a linebacker that just stepped out of a men's health magazine.
Lilly is the first to speak. "What did you find out?"
Jaxon takes his time to loosen his tie and sets his messenger bag down. I'm gonna strangle him with his fancy neck decoration if he doesn't start talking soon.
"Miss Turner—"
"King," I bark. I'm sick of hearing her referred to as Turner. "She has no affiliation with her sperm donor. She hasn't used that name in years."
He nods. "King and the baby are well. She is in a single holding cell with access to food, water, and a bathroom whenever she needs it. She was checked by a doctor earlier today, and I was assured that she would be treated according to her special circumstances."
"What about bail?" Den surprises me with the question.
"We won't be able to request bail until Monday morning."
"MONDAY?" I'm advancing on him when Marcus steps in front of me, placing his hand on my chest.
"Breathe." His tone is strained, which does the trick. I have no idea why, but it clicks that there is nothing we can do. Marcus doesn't like it either. He cares for King and also wants her out.
I close my eyes and let my head fall forward. Marcus grasps me by the back of the neck and pulls me into him. I let him, which probably surprises everyone as much as it does me.
"We'll get her out," he says so low that I'm the only one who can hear him.
"Wes?" I jerk away from him and look toward the door. The last person I would expect to see here stares back at me with her hands covering her mouth.
"Mom?"
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
"King, my name is Jaxon. I'm your legal counsel."
I'm gaping at the man standing in the doorframe. Legal counsel? Is he shitting me? There is no way in hell this dude is a legit attorney; he looks like a male stripper. A high-pitched giggle bubbles up in my throat, and his eyebrows hitch. Why I find this funny is beyond me. Probably because I already cried myself out last night, and I'm running on two to three hours of sleep. Neither Nugget nor I were able to get any rest on the hard-as-a-rock cot. Hence, my sanity borders on unstable—it's definitely the picture I'm painting.
As sudden as it came, the laughter subsides, and I snap my mouth shut. I give Jaxon my best once-over. "I didn't ask for an attorney." My brain has lost its capacity for more words.
When I had refused to answer any questions and stared at the agents for what must've been hours, they finally gave up and led me to my current accommodations. Before they closed the door on me, I was informed with a smug expression that a judge would decide on the next steps on Monday. Agent Douche literally singsonged Monday. That was when the dam broke. It was freaking Friday. The old King was in charge until they dropped that tidbit on me. Three days. I would be in here for a minimum of three days. Even my former self couldn't suppress the emotional tidal wave of paralyzing fear for my baby and my future after that. I curled up in a ball and let it out until numbness set in.
Unfortunately, the void of feelings only lasted for so long. Sitting still ended in bouncing my leg until I made myself seasick with the motion. Fantastic. Next, I paced. Back and forth, back and forth. Eventually, assuming I had tired myself out enough, I took a break. As if on command, my lower extremities started their up and down routine again. Goddamn it. So, I jumped up, starting the marching process all over.
During lap number twenty-six, my thoughts started to wander. What would the news do to Wes? Did Marcus go and find him on campus? Where was he now? We had just started figuring things out between us. Would he be worried? Would this be his wake-up call? The final straw? No, I refused to believe that.
Agent O-hole wouldn't divulge to me what evidence they had. Clear strategy, since I refused to talk to them either. Did Gray not erase all the security footage? Did the girl I helped rat me out? I can't imagine that she would have; I saved her freaking life. But who knew? Maybe she thought I was as bad as E.
Magic Mike clears his throat, and I blink, focusing on him. Oh shit, I totally spaced out.
"I am on Lilly's legal team." He slants his head and waits for it to click.
Oh.
"Oh!" I chew on the inside of my cheek. "Did you—?"
"My team, yes. They handled the last family situation," he states matter-of-factly.
I nod and scoot to the end of my bed—I'm using the term loosely. "Would you like to sit?"
He gives me an appreciative but professional smile. Lowering himself next to me, he scans me up and down. "I was assured you were checked out earlier this morning, and both of you are well?"
I wring my hands in my lap before placing them on my belly. "Yes, the doctor said everything is fine."
He nods and pulls out a notepad. He asks me more questions about how I was treated, and I tell him that they didn't mistreat me. I wasn't coddled, but they also didn't abuse their power, if that's what he's fishing for. He writes down my answers and then some more. I try to get a glimpse of the novel he's jotting down, but no dice. He's had practice on how to position himself and obscure his handwriting—I wonder if he will be able to decipher it himself later. Jaxon is also cautious about how he phrases things, and I notice him glancing toward the door several times.
"Marcus did the right thing," he suddenly states, and my head whips in his direction. He holds my gaze steadily, and without saying a word, he conveys how serious the situation is. Marcus took my blade. He told me to stay quiet. Is my knife the evidence? My stomach hardens, and my mouth goes dry. No! I want to demand more details, more information, but another glance by my attorney toward the entrance to my current living quarters stops me.
What's going on? Is someone listening? He cannot leave me hanging.
"The evidence they have is pretty conclusive." He studies me as he speaks. "However…" He pauses, glancing down at his notes. "We received new information this morning."
"Information?" I whisper. What's with the riddles?
"Yes. That's all I can say at the moment." Putting his notes back into his messenger bag, Jaxon leans forward, propping his elbows on his thighs—almost too casually.
So not attorney-like.
We sit in silence until I ask the question burning on my tongue. "Have you seen Wes?"
He turns his head sideways. "No, I came straight here, but I do know he's at the station. Been here since yesterday."
Yesterday?
I don't deserve this man.
Jaxon gives me a small smile and pats my knee. "From what I gathered, your friends will camp out here until we get in front of the judge."
"Friends?" Who else—?
He huffs out a laugh. "I don't know all the names. Oatis is pretty annoyed by the number of people, though. It seems he thought this would be a cut-and-dry case for him. He didn't expect your…connections."
A flutter in my chest gives me hope, but then I remember that he said the evidence is conclusive.
"Can I see Wes?"
"Unfortunately not. I'm sorry." He is genuinely apologetic, then he reaches in his pocket and pulls out a card. Holding it out, he says, "This is my direct line. Call me anytime. I will be back t
omorrow to check on you."
Jaxon gets up, and I want to scream at him not to leave me. He has almost reached the door when I blurt out, "Is Jaxon your first or last name?"
He glances over his shoulder. "Neither."
With that, he's gone. What the fuck?
I peer down at the card I'm clutching in my hand. All it contains is a phone number. I'm starting to believe this is all a cruel joke.
The food in this place is surprisingly edible, but then again, I've lived on a lot worse—or nothing at all. They leave me alone. I get to use the bathroom whenever I need it, but I try to hold it for as long as possible. This tiny room makes me feel safer than being in the company of the police officer on duty, which has changed several times since my arrival.
After Jaxon left, I sat cross-legged on the cot, rubbing circles on my belly, which equally soothed my baby and me. I was too exhausted to keep pacing. Going over every word of my wannabe attorney has left me with emotional whiplash. He gave me some of the information I needed. At the same time, he gave me nothing at all. What were my chances of getting out of here? Would I deliver my baby in jail? Trials could take months.
I rub my hands over my arms, trying to chase away the cold chill the realization brought on. I need a distraction. I'm not tired, but there is also nothing to do. In the end, I count every speck of dust on the walls and ceiling, but with no window, I have no sense of time. I go by my internal clock, aka Nugget, so when she settles down, I decide it is time for me to get some rest as well.
I'm happy. Wes and I are hiking at the reservoir, swinging our daughter between us. She giggles, and seeing the sparkle in her eyes makes my heart explode. The scene switches to the local park by the university. Wes is chasing her across the playground. Their laughter drifts over to me, and I smile. I'm about to call out to them when clouds roll in at an unusual speed—almost like fast-forwarding a video—and cover the sky. I reach out. I want to warn them to come back, but Wes and my little girl vanish in front of me like a mirage. No! The park suddenly turns to ash, and I spin in a circle. What's happening? Where are they? Come back. Breathing becomes harder, and I cover my mouth. The ash begins to rise around me and form walls. I try to run in the direction I last saw my family but slam against a solid barrier. I'm in a prison cell. Alone. Let me out. I can't breathe. I need my daughter. I need Wes. I cry out, but no one answers. I scream and scream for Wes and our daughter until my voice is hoarse—