Savage Kings MC Box Set 1

by Lane Hart

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Nova says as she gets to her feet. “My name is Nova McQueen, and I’m the social worker who has been assigned to this case.”

  “Thank you, Ms. McQueen. You may continue by reading to the court the case report.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” she replies before she reads from the piece of paper in her hands that’s shaking slightly. “On the morning of Sunday, June seventeenth at around seven a.m., Carteret County’s emergency services received a call from a minor, who told the operator that he had found his mother in bed and unresponsive. In his words, the child said that she would not wake up after he repeatedly shook her. When asked if there were any other adults present, he responded that he was the only other person in the apartment.

  “The child was unable to provide the operator with the street address, but luckily did provide her with the name of the apartment complex and the apartment number. The operator told him that help was on the way and asked him to stay on the line so that they could notify him when to open the apartment. The child refused and said that he needed to hang up and call his father.”

  Nova pauses for a moment before she picks back up, most likely remembering she was in the room when he called me. “Emergency services were able to trace the call, which was made on a watch device that has calling capabilities and is on the service plan of the child’s father, Warren O’Neil.”

  “And Mr. O’Neil is present in the courtroom today?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Greg says when he gets to his feet. “On Monday, I was retained by Mr. O’Neil, and have since filed a Notice of Appearance in this case.”

  “Thank you, Counselor,” the judge replies. “Miss McQueen, you may continue.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Nova says before she keeps reading. “When emergency services arrived at the scene, they found…Mrs. O’Neil, Marcie O’Neil, the child’s mother, unconscious.”

  I cringe a little at hearing that name because I hate that the bitch kept my last name, even though we’ve been divorced for nearly four fucking years. I know the only reason Marcie did it was to use my name and club affiliation as a threat whenever she got into any hot water with her drug dealers.

  “Emergency services believed, and toxicology screening have since confirmed after her hospitalization, that Mrs. O’Neil,” Nova continues, pausing over her name again, “overdosed on opiates. Law enforcement officers conducted a search of the apartment and found eight bottles of opiate prescriptions, two of which were empty, and none of which were prescribed to Mrs. O’Neil, but to various other individuals…”

  “She did what?” I hiss.

  “Shhh,” Greg warns me.

  “I searched her house just days before Ren slept over,” I whisper to him.

  “She could’ve gotten the drugs the night before,” he replies softly over Nova’s voice.

  “Mrs. O’Neil was released from the hospital yesterday, and is now in jail after she was charged with obtaining prescriptions for a controlled substance under false pretenses, child endangerment and neglect, since the prescription bottles were on her nightstand where her son could have taken them, possession of a controlled substance, and maintaining a dwelling for a controlled substance.

  “She’s being held on a twenty-thousand-dollar secured bond that has not been posted. Because of her extensive criminal record, the district attorney has stated that Mrs. O’Neil is likely to receive a lengthy sentence, even with a plea to just one of the felonies, which means she will be incarcerated for more than a year. Emergency responders called and requested that the minor child, Warren James O’Neil, Junior, be placed in the custody of Social Services after they took his mother to the hospital. There were no available foster homes available until Monday, so the child received supervision and care in the pediatric department of Emerald Isle Hospital until I was able to make arrangements with a boys group home in Jacksonville on Monday afternoon.”

  Shit! Ren’s in Jacksonville? That’s over an hour away! And Nova knew where he was this whole time, and didn’t bother trying to find me and let me know what the hell was going on?

  “Ms. McQueen, could you please inform the court why the decision was made to take the child into the custody of Social Services rather than place him in the custody of his father?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Nova starts then pauses. “The report was submitted to the court on Sunday night, before I received the case, and noted that the father had known gang affiliations. Furthermore, when he arrived at the apartment after Mrs. O’Neil had been transported to the hospital and the child had been placed with Social Services, Mr. O’Neil engaged in a verbal altercation with law enforcement officers before the argument turned physical. Mr. O’Neil was then arrested on three counts of assault on a law enforcement officer. Those charges have since been dismissed, Your Honor.”

  The judge levels me with a glare, his eyes narrowed heavy with disapproval. “The court does not condone outbursts of violent behavior, and I am surprised that the parties agreed to dismiss such egregious offenses so soon. I have to agree with Child Protective Services decision not to return the child to the custody of a father who assaults officers of the law.”

  “Your Honor,” Greg starts when he shoots up to his feet, “my client was going through an extremely emotional experience, finding out that his ex-wife was in the hospital and then no one would tell him where his son was. Mr. O’Neil was simply worried about the child’s well-being after enduring such a traumatic event, and grew frustrated when none of the officers would provide him with an update.”

  “Ms. McQueen, in cases such as this, would it be unusual for law enforcement officers to not have the details of where a child is being held?” the judge asks.

  “No, Your Honor. We make an effort to withhold that information from any unnecessary parties in order to maintain the safety of the children.”

  “That’s what I thought,” the judge mutters. “Counselor, your client lashed out at innocent parties who were on the scene, trying to do their job.”

  “Yes, sir, Your Honor. Mr. O’Neil now understands and has apologized for his behavior. But the incident with law enforcement aside, Mr. O’Neil has been a wonderful father to his son. He’s maintained sole custody of him since he was born, and is the lone financial provider to both his son and ex-wife.”

  “My notes indicate that the apartment where Mrs. O’Neil overdosed not only had Mr. O’Neil’s name on the lease, but he paid the deposit and has been making the monthly rent payments,” the judge points out.

  “Yes, Your Honor, that is correct,” Greg tells him.

  “In that case, I’m surprised that your client was not also arrested for maintaining a dwelling for a controlled substance, as well as child endangerment and neglect.”

  What the hell?

  “That’s…I’m not sure what you mean, Your Honor,” Greg stammers.

  “I’m saying that if your client was paying for the residence and his name is on the lease, then he is also responsible for any illegal activity that takes place under that roof.”

  “Your Honor, Mr. O’Neil was not aware of Mrs. O’Neil’s possession of illegal prescriptions. In fact, just days before his son went over for a visit, Mr. O’Neil conducted a physical search of the premises to ensure that there was no alcohol, drugs, or any other possible hazards before letting his son stay over. Also, Mr. O’Neil informed me that he conducted a breathalyzer test on Mrs. O’Neil before he let her leave his premises with his son.”

  “Mr. O’Neil, stand up,” the judge barks. I get right to my feet because he suddenly looks incredibly pissed. “Mr. O’Neil, would it be your sworn testimony to this court that you made your ex-wife take a breathalyzer test the day she picked up your son?”

  “Yes, sir. I mean, Your Honor,” I answer.

  “Why?” he asks simply.

  “Because Marcie has only been sober for a few months. I know I can’t believe everything she says, and I didn’t want her driving my son if she had any alcohol in her syst
em, so I had her blow into the device to make sure. She blew a zero.”

  “I’ve made my decision,” the judge suddenly announces before the words finish leaving my mouth, and I can’t figure out if that’s a good thing or not for him to decide so fast. “It is hereby ordered that Warren James O’Neil, Junior is to remain in the custody of the state for a period of thirty days, during which time the social worker will investigate and conduct interviews of the father’s associates to determine if he is a viable guardian. If, at any time in the next thirty days, Mr. O’Neil commits any misdemeanor or felony offenses, the court will find him unfit.”

  “What?” I exclaim.

  “Your Honor”—Greg jumps to his feet next to me—“I beg you to please reconsider. My client is a good parent to his son. He’s raised him for the past four years without incident. We’re only in this courtroom today because of Mrs. O’Neil’s illegal behavior.”

  “Counselor, I urge you not to say another word unless directed by the court,” the judge snaps at him. “And as for your client, it appears that he was well aware that Mrs. O’Neil was incapable of providing a safe environment for his son and therefore, should not have made the decision to place him under her supervision. That was a risk that could’ve ended badly if the child had ingested any of the opiates…”

  “She’s his mother!” I interrupt him to exclaim. “I may not like it, but Ren has a right to see her.”

  “Counselor, get control of your client before I hold him in contempt.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Greg says before turning to me. “Don’t say another word.”

  “Your Honor, may I suggest that during the investigation, Mr. O’Neil be granted visitation?” Nova asks from the other side of the courtroom.

  “My client would very much like any amount of visitation the court deems appropriate,” Greg adds, sounding like he’s trying to kiss the judge’s ass when he should be trying to help me get my son back.

  “If Ms. McQueen thinks it’s appropriate, then I will allow Mr. O’Neil to have three supervised visits a week until her report is complete, and we reconvene here in this courtroom at eight-thirty on Wednesday, July eighteenth.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Greg and Nova say before the judge raises his gavel and then leaves the courtroom.

  “Fuck,” I mutter as I slump down into my chair.

  “It’s just thirty days,” Greg says, and I’m certain he doesn’t have kids. If he did, he would know that not having Ren at home with me for thirty days is like a lifetime. He then adds, “All we have to do is make sure to play nice with the social worker, and get her to file a good report saying that you’re an excellent father.”

  “Play nice with her, huh?” I grumble. “She and I ‘played nice’ all weekend and that didn’t seem to sway her to my side today.”

  “What?” Greg whispers. “You slept with her? The social worker?”

  “Yep.”

  “Perfect.” He punches my shoulder. “Keep banging her brains out and we’re sure to win this. It was good of her to request the visitation,” he tells me. “If I had asked, the judge probably would’ve said hell no.”

  “You were worthless,” I tell him with a scowl. “What am I paying you fifty grand for, if she accomplished more for me than you could?”

  “Hey, this case is fucked up. That’s not my fault,” he replies defensively. “I’m doing the best I can to help you out of a bad situation. But a little nookie with the social worker on the side won’t hurt anything.”

  What I really want more than anything at this moment is to hurt his fucking face.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nova

  War comes stomping over to my table where I’m putting all the paperwork back into the file. “I hate that you’re going through this—” I start to say, when he interrupts.

  “I want to see Ren today,” he declares.

  “Okay,” I agree, since my schedule is pretty clear. There’s no way to know how long you’ll be in court. From what little experience I have, things get postponed and delayed here often. “Do you want to carpool?” I ask, since it’s a pretty long drive and it doesn’t make sense for us to both take a vehicle.

  “Yeah, we can carpool,” War agrees. “I’ll drive.”

  “I’m not exactly dressed for a bike ride,” I tell him when I gesture to my pantsuit.

  “I’m driving my truck today,” he says.

  “Oh, well in that case, you can drive.”

  “Let’s go,” he urges before storming out of the courtroom. I follow him and don’t even give him any shit for his demand, since he’s going through a tough time.

  “I can’t imagine how hard this is for you,” I tell him as we take the stairwell down to the lower level where the parking lot is located.

  “No, you can’t,” he grumbles from two or three steps ahead of me. He stops at the exit door and turns to face me. “But I’m sorry that I took my anger out on you earlier. I get that this isn’t your fault, and I appreciate you speaking up about visitation, since my lawyer is worthless.”

  “It’s the least I could do,” I tell him, barely able to stop myself from blurting out the other mess I may have inadvertently got him into with the U.S. Attorney. No, he doesn’t need to know about that when it could all be just talk. “I’m not the enemy here,” I assure him. “My job is to look at all of the facts, conduct interviews, and then make a decision that’s best for Ren. That’s all.”

  “I know,” War agrees. “But he’s my son and he belongs with me.”

  “I honestly hope that’s the case,” I tell him. “And during the next thirty days, I hope you’ll show me more of the nice guy I met on Friday and less of the asshole who threatened me this morning.”

  “I am a nice guy,” War declares.

  “Prove it,” I say.

  “I will,” he agrees, turning around to push open the door. “Now let’s go see my son.”

  “First of all,” I say as we cross the parking lot, “after I show you this boys’ home, you have to promise me that you won’t go back alone and that you won’t threaten the owner. If you do either of those things, I’ll have no choice but to notify the court. The judge will arrest you and then you lose your shot at custody.”

  Jaw clenching tight, War says, “I won’t.”

  “Just remember that thirty days may seem like a lot, but your behavior over the next month could have consequences that follow you for years.”

  “I know that!” he grumbles when we arrive at his truck. Like the gentleman he sometimes is, he even holds open the passenger door for me to climb inside.

  Once I’m seated, he leans toward me and says, “But don’t you forget that this report of yours has the potential to ruin my life. If you want to make Marcie look like the villain, that’s fine with me. Just make sure that you’re going to be able to live with the consequences of every word you type.”

  And there he goes with the threats again.

  “You know,” I start, “you really should be careful who you talk to like that. You don’t know who may have connections to people who could ruin even more than you can imagine.”

  War stares at me with a furrowed brow for several long silent seconds. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Nothing, I just think you should be careful what you do from now on. Not just you, but your whole MC.”

  Eyes widening with understanding, he says, “Do you know something?”

  “All I know is exactly what I just told you. Be careful, War. Promise me you won’t go around making threats. You need to lay low until all of this passes over.”

  “All of this?” he repeats.

  “Yes,” I answer without saying more.

  I can’t tell him about what happened with Carla this morning, even if it was probably just all talk on her part. That would be like putting a bullseye right on her back. And while we may not be friends, now or in the future, I can’t do that to her or anyone else.

  …

&nb
sp; Being around War is like constantly hopping from one side of Lady Justice’s scales to the other.

  On the ride to the boys’ home in Jacksonville, he was silent and brooding, making me worry about what he might be willing to do over the next few weeks to me, or hell, to anyone, to get Ren back.

  Then I watch him fall to his knees, throw his arms around his son, and hold him so tight that the kid probably can’t breathe, softening me toward him a little more.

  “I’ve missed you, buddy. So much,” I hear War murmur before he subtly wipes his wet face off on one of the rolled-up sleeves of his white button down. “How are you doing? Are they treating you okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine, there’s just not as many toys here as I have at home,” Ren tells him. Then he looks over and recognizes me. “Hi, Miss Nova,” he says before he escapes War’s embrace to come running over and hug me around my waist. “You smell good, like flowers.”

  “Hey, Ren. It’s good to see you again,” I tell him when I squeeze him back, smiling because of his compliment and because he seems so excited to see me again.

  “You found my dad,” he looks up and says with a toothy grin when he lowers his arms.

  “Ah, yeah, sort of,” I agree while looking to War, trying to figure out what to say. “Actually, your daddy found me. He was so worried about you and couldn’t wait to come see you. I’m sorry it took me so long to get him here for a visit.”

  “A visit?” he repeats, looking between me and his father. Then, his shoulders slump when he says to his dad, “I’m not going home with you?”

  War starts to speak but has to clear the emotion from his throat before he shakes his head and says, “Not today, buddy. But as soon as I can, I’m going to bring you home. I promise.”

  “It’s my fault,” I tell Ren because I don’t want him to blame his father. “There’s a lot of paperwork that has to be done, which takes me a few weeks, so you have to stay here until I get done with it all.”

  “Can’t you just hurry up?” he looks up and asks while War takes advantage of his distraction to wipe off his face again.