Page 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SAINT
A fter nodding toward the club’s attorney, I step forward, greeting him by shaking his hand. Marc Samson is a good guy. Unlike Doc, he’s got no shady past that we can use to manipulate him to provide his services. Quite the opposite, once we intervened and got his sister out of a tricky spot, he felt indebted to us. While he’ll defend us to the hilt, I do suspect there are some crimes that would test his loyalty. In this instance, though, he’s a good man to have on my side.
I enter the room, Samson and I take the chairs behind the table and opposite the sheriff. Although I’ve a good fucking idea what this is all about, I maintain my right to stay silent. Whatever is thrown at me, I’ll just say, ‘no comment’ and be done with it. There’s nothing I’ve done that can be pinned on me or the club. Not to say there’s nothing I could be charged with, just that I’m too canny to leave any evidence to allow me to be caught.
Pushing back my chair, I raise my leg, rest my heel on the table between us and link my hands behind my head. I don’t speak and simply wait the lawman out.
He’s staring at me. I’m staring at him. It takes a moment before he starts to speak. “Jeremiah Henley?—”
“Saint,” I interrupt.
Sheriff Hawkins glares at me and begrudgingly corrects himself. “Saint, your license plate was noted at a scene of a crime.”
Given nothing away, inwardly I sigh. I knew this would have something to do with my rescue of Pippa. Not for the first time, I wish I’d just driven by. “What crime?” I ask nonchalantly.
“What? There are so many you can’t remember?”
Rolling my eyes, I lean forward. “How the fuck should I know what you’re talking about?”
I hear the low warning growl from my attorney, so sit back and wait.
Shaking his head, Hawkins knows he has to prompt me. “Your bike was witnessed right where a car containing a federal agent was run off the road. On the canyon road.”
I let my eyes open. “A Fed?”
The attorney places his hand on my arm. “You’re accusing my client of running a car off the road? May I remind you he rides a motorcycle…”
Hawkins spares a glance to the man at my side. “I’m well aware of the differential in the vehicles. I also checked that there was no damage to Henley’s bike when I went to the clubhouse. As I said, we’re not fingering him as a perpetrator, but hoping he’s got some information on who ran that car off the road.”
While I can’t be sure of the timeline of whoever reported my bike, I decide that refusing to give information isn’t going to help me at this point. I sit back, shake my head sadly, and relate, “I get what you’re talking about now. Didn’t see who or what. Just saw a fuckin’ explosion. Stopped for a moment to see if I could help…Good Samaritan and all that…” I raise my chin toward my attorney. “Took a look, but the car was in flames. No way anyone was going to walk away from that.”
The sheriff sighs deeply. “That all you got?” He examines me carefully. “Saint,” by using my preferred name, he’s appealing to me on a human level. “You didn’t see the vehicle that ran that car off the road? Or anything that might help me?”
I saw fuck all. My concentration had been on the car careering down the slope, rather than taking note of any license plates. And though I might have been able to come up with a description of the men who I’d tried to convince Pippa was dead, I doubt it would help him. Anyway, if I ever saw them again, those men would know what it felt like to face the Kings.
“Nothing.” Then I force myself to frown. “You say it was a Fed in the car?”
He stares at me, then breathes in a deep breath, letting it out on a sigh. “Get out of here, Saint.”
Absolutely fucking gladly. But for a moment, I wonder whether my fate might have been different if I said I could identify who’d run Pippa off the road. What side of the fence is the sheriff on? Remembering Pippa has enemies everywhere, I can’t help but be glad I kept vengeance as mine.
Exiting the station, our attorney stops and looks me in the eye. “Anything I should know about, Saint?”
Well, nothing, except for the small matter that the federal agent they think is burned to a crisp like a steak left too long on a barbecue, is actually alive and breathing in our clubhouse. For now, at least. I meet his enquiring gaze head-on. “Nothing.” I convincingly lie.
Not surprisingly, he looks like he doesn’t believe me. Offering a shake of his head, he gives me one last piece of advice. “Keep out of trouble.”
As if I’m likely to do that. He shows me his hand, and I shake it. Then he moves on.
I came here courtesy of the sheriff, so now I take out my phone and call for a ride. Perched on the wall outside the precinct, I open my cigarettes and extract one, flicking my lighter and making the tip of the cancer stick glow orange. I inhale smoke, then blow it out. I’ve tried all my life, but smoke rings seem beyond me. I take the opportunity to practice.
I’ve stubbed my second one out before I hear a familiar truck approaching. It draws up next to me, Knight in the driving seat. I open the door on the passenger side, and breathe in the air that’s familiar, one that smells of leather and oil.
Knight doesn’t talk to me, and that’s absolutely fine. While tonight, I’m completely innocent – it wasn’t me who tried to kill Pippa, and that’s the only crime the sheriff can pin on anyone—it still leaves a stink when having been detained by the cops, and I need time to decompress.
The last thing we want is a search warrant on the club’s premises. But I don’t think I’ve given Hawkins any excuses to look deeper into the club. The idea that we’d kill a federal agent who’s not even investigating our club is a stretch too far.
Unless Pippa is actually a plant. In which case, the clubhouse would be the first place they’d look.
As we leave the road lit by streetlights and enter the darkened county lanes, I consider the possibility and dismiss it. There’s surely no way in hell that Pippa could get herself driven off the road and me be predicted to park up and investigate.
Not for the first or even second time, I wish I’d never stopped. I wouldn’t have been dragged down to the precinct tonight if I’d kept going on my way. But if I hadn’t, that would mean Pippa would already be dead, and any chance of her living would be out of my hands.
Do I want to keep her alive? As Knight drives on, navigating the roads through familiarity and the headlights, I realise that’s what I want. Not as my ol’ lady, unless I take her only in name and she surely wouldn’t be the sole pussy I’d fuck. Whatever, I have to admit she’s got under my skin. I wouldn’t like that spark I see within her to be extinguished.
Bring her over to the dark side, Short had suggested. Great fucking idea. But how? And how do I stop Freak from taking out insurance his kid’s not exposed?
Knight pulls up outside the clubhouse, and I exit the truck without saying a word. He’s a prospect, his thanks will come by way of his eventual patch if he doesn’t fuck up over the next few months. I enter the building, needing a drink to wash the cop taste out of my mouth. But as I approach the bar, I see a raucous gathering over in the corner. A female’s triumphant shout has me changing direction and heading over to see what’s going on.
I’ll be fucked. My mouth hangs open as I watch the scene. There are five brothers obviously playing a game of poker, and the sixth player is Pippa. And by the amount of money she’s got stacked in front of her, she’s taking them to the cleaners. For a second rage comes over me, I’ve just spent a couple of hours in the company of the sheriff for her, while she’s here enjoying herself. Then, common sense hits me, my anger disappears, and my lips curve.
There’s no denying she’s having fun. And, from the way my brothers are acting around her, she’s earned some respect.
“Hey, Bro. You’re back!” Bullseye, not one of the players, but one looking on raises his chin to me.
I shrug. “Piece of fuckin’ cake. They’ve got nothing on me.”
Her attention caught, Pippa glances up and meets my eye. “It was to do with me, wasn’t it?”
Again, I let my shoulders fall and rise. “Don’t sweat it. They just caught my license plate near where you crashed. They know my bike didn’t run you off the road. They’ve got nothing on me.”
The expression she spares me is one of relief, and then her attention is back on the game as Paint deals her in.
Heathen passes me a beer, and I take it gratefully, while watching the woman expertly going through her cards, throwing one away, taking a replacement, and all the time her facial features stay fixed in place. I huff back a laugh as I admire her. If she’s as good as the pile of money suggests, I wouldn’t want to play against her. She’s giving absolutely nothing away.
Paint throws his cards down, and Tempest is soon to follow. Short buckles too, leaves the table, and comes over to me. As I watch the final three fight it out, Short leans in and says quietly, “She’s having fun, Saint. Maybe she’s going to like being on the wrong side of the tracks.”
“She’s a fuckin’ card shark,” I observe.
He chuckles. “Actually, she made out she’d never played before. We had to tell her the rules, and then she took to it like a duck to water.”
Yeah, like I believe that. I chuckle to myself. Is it bad that my mind is wondering in what other ways I could tempt her over to the dark side?
The last players fold, and Pippa’s left holding all the money. As she gathers the pile in front of her, she seems a bit bewildered, as if wondering what to do with the cash. It’s when she tries to divide it out amongst the people that were playing with her, I can see how much of a novice she is at the game.
Walking over to her, I place my hand on her money. “It’s yours, Pip. You won it fair and square.”
Her eyes are wide when she looks up at me. “But they must have gone easy on me, Saint. I’ve never played before.”
“Then you’re a fuckin’ natural at it.” I look around to see her crutches, then hand them to her. “Want me to take that upstairs for you?” I indicate her winnings that she still doesn’t seem to know what to do with.
“Um, yeah?”
She seems both bemused and excited, which causes a lump to come into my throat. If I can’t find a way around carrying out her death sentence, I’ll be handing my brothers back the winnings she just earned.
Fuck my life. Right now, I can’t see a way out of this.