“He admitted it. Swabs taken from the victim after the incident were a definite match. He raped her.”
“Just to get this straight, you’re telling me that you can arrest me, and then drop charges or whatever? Get me back out of jail?”
“As long as you don’t get caught committing a crime inside,” he said.
“Can you give me until the end of the day before you arrest me? Let me get my affairs in order?”
“Sure. I can--”
“Hold up a minute,” Crip said. “I can’t let you do that, Meat.”
The club started with five men. Of those five, there were four left. Stretch was almost blind, and he was weak after a long bout with pneumonia that he never fully recovered from. Crip, Pee Bee and I were the other three.
In my eyes, it was the responsibility of one of us to resolve the issue with the snitch. Pee Bee had a life with his new wife in front of him, and the Filthy Fuckers MC would cease to exist without Crip as the leader. Both men, however, were far too stubborn and prideful to negotiate with.
A decision had to be made.
So, I made it.
While the detective’s eyes were fixed on Crip, I swung my right fist into his jaw. The impact of the punch knocked him into the exterior wall of the shop.
“Holy shit!” Pee Bee shouted.
I’d always wanted to hit a cop, and looked at that wild swing as my only opportunity to do so. It was also the only way I could secure my position to be the one behind bars.
“God damn it, Meat,” Crip said with a dull laugh.
As he stumbled to stay on his feet, I turned to the side and put my hands behind my back. “There. Arrest me for assault on a law enforcement officer.”
“You cocksucker,” he groaned. “You blindsided me.”
“Had to do something before one of these two beat me to it,” I said.
He rubbed his jaw. “I was going to arrest you on a bullshit charge.”
“I just wanted to make sure it was me that got arrested,” I said.
As if he needed Crip’s approval, the detective looked at him and raised both eyebrows. “Well?”
“If he’s got the guts to do that, he must have a plan that he thinks will work.”
I glanced at Crip. “Appreciate it, Brother.” I turned toward the cop. “I need to stop at the CVS before you take me in, though.”
He looked at me like I’d asked him to let me sleep with his wife. “For what?”
“Can’t tell you,” I said. “I don’t want you to have to deny anything if this goes to trial.”
“I’m not cuffing you now.” He motioned toward the car. “Just get in.”
“Damn it, Meat,” Crip said. “Use your head in there.”
I glanced at Pee Bee and then Crip. “In case I don’t make it back, I need to tell you fellas something.”
“We’ll take care of your sled,” Crip said. “I’ll put it in the shop.”
I found the thought of rotting away in prison ironic, considering the content of my recent book. “My guess is I’m not coming back,” I said. “I’m serious.”
“You’ll be back.”
“You haven’t seen this place.” I gazed beyond him and shook my head. “I’m not coming back.”
I shifted my focus to Crip. “I’m not an editor.” My gaze fell to his boots. “I haven’t been for some time. I just want to come clean before I go. It’s the only thing I haven’t been truthful about. Been eating at me for a while, too.”
He slapped my left shoulder. “Pretty proud of you on the one you just released, TD. From what I hear you might hit the New York Times Bestseller’s list with that one.”
His response caught me off guard. I looked at him with wide eyes. “You knew?”
“Known for some time now.” He grinned. “Peyton reads all your stuff. She loves it. She’s getting ready to read the new one again right now.”
“So does Tegan,” Pee Bee said. “She loves ‘em.”
“Alright, then.” I swallowed a lump of pride. Emotion soon replaced it, all but bringing me to tears. “Well, let me go do this deal.”
I glanced at each of them. “I love you, my brothers.”
Crip rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms and then met my gaze with wet eyes. “Filthy Fuckers Forever.”
Pee Bee and I responded in unison. “Forever Filthy Fuckers.”
Chapter Fifteen
Bobbi
I had been a blubbering mess on and off all evening. The book had taken me on a ride I wasn’t prepared for. Becker being covered in Stephen Sanders’ blood when the police arrived caused them to arrest him for suspicion of murder. His predisposition to carry a straight razor was brought up in a pre-trial conference, and then presented to the grand jury. That one grain of evidence was enough to indict him.
His straight razor was entered into evidence, as was his blood-soaked shirt, a photo of the trail of blood that led to his home, and a photo of the bloody handprints on the door.
Becker claimed that he met Stephen in a coffee shop, and that their conversations led to him fashioning an engagement ring out of twenty-four carat gold. Incapable of producing the ring, phone records, emails, or text messages to support his claim, it was dismissed by the jury as being a lie.
At Becker’s demand, the members of the MC did not attend his trial. He feared in doing so that they would each subject themselves to biased minds and eyes of the detectives, prosecutors, and onlookers that had charged him with a crime that he did not commit. Protecting his only family was his first concern.
Despite his demand, the president of the club, Crip, sat silently in the rear of the courtroom throughout the entire trial.
After deliberating for thirty minutes, the jury convicted Becker of the murder charge.
A tear rolled down Crip’s cheek at the thought of losing his brother as Becker was led away in handcuffs.
As he reached the door, Becker turned to face Crip. Dressed in a suit and tie that he’d bought for the occasion, Crip stood and raised his clenched fist in support, and in protest.
“Dirty Diablos Forever,” Crip whispered.
Becker paused and gave one last nod before being ushered through the door. “Forever Dirty Diablos.”
After being sentenced to life in prison, Becker was soon diagnosed with cancer. While receiving treatment in the prison’s second-rate hospital, he met and befriended one of the prison guards, Allison.
They spoke of life, love, and of hope. They were both convinced that love existed, but neither had managed to be fortunate enough to find it. Their conversations about life, love, each other’s system of beliefs carried over from week to week. Their desire to have met that one person who would change their life became the topic of choice. As the weeks rolled past, they learned intimate details of each other’s lives and shared dreams for their future.
Despite the fact her visits with Becker were limited to the thirty-minute wait times he typically had before and after his treatment, she managed to fall deeply in love with the man she believed him to be.
As his cancer worsened, she researched his legal case. She found that there were witnesses who had come forward, but were never called to testify. Their testimony, although damning to the prosecution’s case, was not entered into evidence. After reading several versions of the story, all of which included descriptions of the man in the black hoodie, she hired an attorney.
When word came that Becker was getting a new trial, she couldn’t tell him. His condition worsened to a point that removing him from his cell was impractical. What little treatment they felt was still needed was done in the confines of his cell.
So far, I was fifteen chapters into the book, and there was no sex, but I didn’t care. A gratuitous sex scene would have done nothing but cheapen the story. As it was written, I simply loved it. The characters were true to themselves, to each other, and to the story.
Allison now sat and nervously waited for the jury to return from deliberation. The new tri
al, conducted in Becker’s absence, had gone well, or so she’d hoped.
Emotionally exhausted, I rolled to my side and removed a face wipe from the package on my night stand. After cleaning my smeared makeup, I tossed the wipe in the waste basket and inhaled a deep breath. The last chapter ended with her saying a prayer. I hoped for the best, feared the worst, and flipped the page to the next chapter.
She prayed not for Becker’s freedom, but for justice. As the jury entered the room, she looked up, hoping to see a hint in their eyes of the verdict they would soon reveal. With their heads hanging low as they sauntered into the courtroom one by one, the jurors gave little indication as to the decision that had been made.
Allison feared another conviction was imminent.
The bailiff, a dedicated man who had served seventeen years under the honorable judge, cleared his throat.
“All rise!” he bellowed.
The courtroom fell silent.
She clenched her shaking hands into fists, stood, and then pressed them against her thighs.
The judge walked to his seat, unfolded his glasses, and then sat. As he draped the wire temples over his ears, the bailiff once again cleared his throat.
“You may be seated.”
The judge pushed the glasses halfway up the bridge of his nose. After situating the paperwork in front of him, he looked up.
He’d taken an oath to remain impartial. This particular case, however, troubled him from the beginning. The jury’s outcome in the first trial left him biased toward the very system that he swore to uphold.
He was knowledgeable of the jeweler’s claimed craft, having seen one of his remarkable rings on the wedding finger of a friend’s wife preceding the first trial. His knowledge, however, was never entered into the court’s record, nor would it be allowed.
There were facets of the law that had always concerned him. Correcting these deficiencies was the responsibility of the appellate court, which he openly hoped to serve upon one day. For the time being, he presided over the lower court a proud man. He believed, in summation, that the problems inherent to the legal system were minimal, and would one day be resolved.
During the original trial, he sat silently as the prosecution presented their case, and as the defense defended to the best of their ability. The guilty verdict sickened him to the point that he wept the night of the conviction. The law, however, had no provisions for him to second guess the jury.
The judge said a silent prayer and then gazed toward the jurors. “In the matter of the United States versus Becker Wallace, have you reached a verdict?
The foreperson stood. “Yes, your honor, we have.”
“How do you find the defendant?”
The foreperson unfolded a sheet of paper, studied it, and then met the judge’s gaze. “In the matter of the United States of America versus Becker Wallace, we, the jury, find the defendant not guilty of murder.”
Allison’s knees went weak.
The judge removed his glasses and wiped his eyes. He thanked God for the justice he believed had been served. As a matter of record, and of respect, he promptly polled the jurors, asking each of them if the verdict read was the verdict they’d reached. After they all agreed, he thanked them for their service, and released them.
All but tripping over her feet, Allison shuffled along the aisle, down the steps, and to the attorney’s side. “Is that it?”
The attorney smiled. “That’s it.”
“When can he be released?” she asked excitedly. “I need to get him transferred to a better hospital.”
“As soon as the paperwork’s processed.”
“How long does it take?”
“A few minutes,” the attorney responded. “He’ll be released this afternoon.”
She wiped the tears from her cheeks and somehow managed to swallow the lump that had risen high in her throat. “God bless you.”
She lifted each foot, removed her high heeled shoes, and placed them in her purse. She then walked nonchalantly toward the door in her stockinged feet. After stepping into the hallway, she glanced over each shoulder and then rushed to the staircase at the far end of the hallway.
Breathlessly, she leaped down the steps, taking two with each long stride. Upon traveling the three flights and reaching the ground floor, she burst through the door and stepped onto the sidewalk.
She pressed the button on her key fob and sprinted toward her car. Out of breath, and filled with hope, she yanked open the door and jumped inside. She struggled to fit her key in the ignition, eventually dropping it onto the floor. After fumbling to find it for some time, she paused, tilted her head toward the sky, and said a prayer.
“Please. Let me provide this man with the gift of life. It’s all I ask of you, Lord. Becker Wallace may not be perfect, but only one man was, and he was crucified for it. Let me get to him in time, Lord. I humbly ask this of you, and nothing more.”
She reached between her knees and toward the floor. Without searching, her hand landed on the ring of keys. She lifted them to the ignition, and with a shaking hand, pressed the key into the slot and started the car.
“Thank you.”
A scene break gave me reason to pause. I set my Kindle aside and rubbed my eyes. I’d ridden with the characters of the six-book series in the Southern California sun. I’d cried tears with them. I’d stood by their side at funerals, and when the ultrasound revealed the sex of their children.
The men were real. Their Ol’ Ladies were my besties. I now understood the brotherhood. I respected their codes, bylaws, and feeling of necessity to commit crimes in an effort to protect the innocent from peril.
Becker Wallace was the best character ever written. My heart was in my throat over what might lie in the pages ahead. I felt sorry for him, because he had no other choice than to suffer his fate without the support of the men he’d grown to love.
He had no one on his visitation list. As much as the club’s men wanted to see him, they couldn’t. In Becker’s opinion, to allow them to visit would be selfish. It would place each of them under the scrutiny of the board of prisons, and quite possibly earn them a cell right next to his.
He loved them too much to take the chance.
To think that Becker and Crip would never see one another again knotted my stomach into a wad. I hated Crip at first. I’d mistakenly perceived his love and loyalty to the men of the club as annoyance and arrogance. I now saw him as a man of honor, and I respected him.
Allison had to get to Becker in time. She just had to.
I inhaled a deep breath and prayed that she made it before it was too late.
Becker Wallace awoke. Weakened from the cancer and groggy from the medication, he looked at the man who stood over him and blinked. For an instant, he believed the man was the prison’s warden.
“Mr. Wallace, I’m Mr. Price, the Warden. The men behind me are going to move you to a stretcher. They’ll be taking you out of here.”
Becker fought against his pain. He gripped the empty bunk above and pulled himself to his feet. Assuming his cell was being inspected under the prison’s lottery system for shake-downs, he stood before the warden on quivering legs.
He stood not out of a feeling of necessity, but out of respect. The warden was the highest-ranking officer of the prison, and as much as Becker detested the legal system, he’d been taught to respect authority.
“Have a seat, son,” the warden said. “These men are taking you to the infirmary. You’re being transported out of here. You’re leaving.”
Becker feared he didn’t have the energy to be moved to another prison. The thought of never seeing Allison again came to mind. He rejected the thought, and his eyes thinned in opposition. “I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here.”
“I’m sorry, son. You can’t stay. You’ve been exonerated.”
“Of what?” Becker asked.
“Of your crimes. You’re a free man, Mr. Wallace. These men are taking you to a plane. You’re going to Houst
on. The MD Anderson Cancer Treatment Center, I believe.”
Becker’s mind attempted to process what he’d heard. He glanced at the two men standing outside his cell. One stood on each side of a stretcher.
“Exonerated?” he asked. “How?”
“You were granted a new trial. New information was presented, and there were new witnesses. You were found not guilty.”
Becker felt faint. “But. I didn’t. When?” he stammered.
“You’ve received mail about the trial’s date, but you’ve been too weak to read it,” the warden explained. “For medical reasons, the board elected not to have you attend. The verdict was read this morning.”
Becker steadied himself against the steel bedframe, looked at the stretcher, and then at the warden. “I’m free?”
“You are.”
If Becker was truly a free man, there was something he needed. Something he’d been deprived of for longer than he could recall. “I want to talk to Officer Anderson. Allison Anderson.”
“I’m sorry,” the warden said. “She resigned. She no longer works here.”
Becker’s heart plummeted. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, swallowed heavily, and released the upper bunk from his grasp. He collapsed onto the rubber mattress on the bunk below.
Lacking energy to oppose, and feeling that very little now mattered, Becker lay motionless as the attendants lifted him and strapped him to the gurney.
Swiftly, they pushed him through the cellblock and to the elevator’s doors. In and out of consciousness, he caught glimpses of lights and faces, but nothing he saw gave him reason to change his state of mind.
Becker had given up. Freedom, without the one woman he’d grown to love, meant nothing to him.
The elevator doors opened. The men hurried toward the double doors at the end of the corridor. The prison’s final guard, standing post at the doors that separated Becker Wallace from freedom, pressed the button on the wall and opened the electric doors.
Becker’s eyes fluttered open at the feeling of the warm humid air as it rushed past him.
Fifty yards ahead, a fueled airplane waited, running.
F*CKERS (Biker MC Romance Book 7) Page 108