Page 22 of Savage in the Streets

Bailey chuckles. “The Pipsqueaks?”

“That’s not what he called them.”

“Yeah, but it’s what everyone else did. To his face and behind his back.”

“He called them the Savage Riders, and it looks like—”

“They crashed and burned. Hard.”

What strikes me is how well-spoken Bailey is and that her words pour forth with no thought. Which means she’s either telling the truth, or her lies are well-thought-out.

“Why would your brother want me to bail you out? You’re not close, and as far as I can tell, he’s self-serving.”

She shakes her head. “That, I cannot wrap my head around.”

“Do you think it’s possible that he wants to make sure you’re okay? That he doesn’t want to see you in jail?”

Her lip curls into a sneer. “He had no qualms with sending me to juvie.”

I rifle through her file until I get to her time spent at J.D. Brooks Juvenile Detention Center.

“You went in for grand theft.”

“I had nothing to do with that.”

“Let me guess, you’ve never stolen a damn thing in your life,” I say, dripping with sarcasm.

For a split second, her face flashes with pain so ripe it’s palpable.

There is definitely more to these charges.

“When I was fourteen, my brother slipped something into my backpack. When the security guards came for me, I bolted. I was terrified. At sixteen, he hid stuff in my room. When the police searched our apartment because my father was in trouble again, they found it. I got blamed.”

“The motorcycle?”

“It belonged to a friend, but he went through a shit breakup, and his ex had been the name on the loan. The charges were eventually dropped.”

“Where’d you learn to ride?”

“Part of my life was spent in a biker gang, genius.”

“Right…”

I want to believe her, but I know how con artists work. They prey on people’s emotions. Their desire to help.

“So if your brother isn’t working for your father, and he loves throwing you under the bus, why do you suppose he wants me to help you now?”

“That’s a good question, but the bigger one is: what does he have on you?”

I do my best to appear nonchalant. Like my gut isn’t twisting with anxiety. She knows there’s no way I would help Caleb unless he had something on me.

“We’ve crossed paths before. I owe him a favor.”

She smirks. “What does he have on you?”

“If you must know, he pushed me out of the way of oncoming traffic.”

“I thought lawyers were better liars.”