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“Stop,” he commands firmly.
I silence, and the feelings of sadness hit me again, just like when he left. I can’t let him walk away with things like this.
“Trevor, Amber wants to hear from you.”
His eyes grow wide. “How do you know this?”
“When I searched you, her social media profile came up. She doesn’t know how to find you and wants to talk to you.”
“Some things are better left alone, Pixie.”
The air around us is thick with tension. My mood is dark, as is Trevor’s.
“I just think—”
He puts a hand up, stopping me from continuing. “Don’t think, Pixie. I came back to explain. I came back so that you can understand that, while you are a gorgeous woman with a unique personality, this thing between us isn’t going to happen. I gave you a respect and trust I’ve never given anyone. In return, I’m gonna ask that you let it be.”
I open my mouth to speak, then immediately close it, not knowing what to say.
He stands, kisses my forehead, and walks away.
“Stay safe, Pixie,” he mutters without looking back at me.
I let him leave with so many thoughts in my mind. Doesn’t he see that Amber may need closure, too? Maybe she wants to set the record straight about what happened between them.
I listen as the sound of his Harley pulling away rumbles through the space once again. My heart is heavy.
Trevor “Coal” Blake is a man of many layers. He’s not the hardened, blood-stained soul he thinks. He’s a man with a history, one that is far from pretty, but one which has built his character. He is strong. Trevor has heart, character, respect, and determination, yet he’s determined to continue to punish himself for something that isn’t exactly clear.
He’s not a rapist. I don’t believe it for one second. I just don’t know how to prove it to him.
I see the good inside of him. I can sense the light inside of him. I just have to show him what I see.
Chapter Thirteen
~Coal~
“Yo, lunch was delivered!”
When I hear Hammer’s shout from across the empty club, I make my way back to the conference room we use at Alibi. Screech has offices in both clubs so he can do what we need him to do wherever he is. Or, in this case, wherever we are doing club business.
Today that happens to be at the male strip club because we didn’t want Lisa going back to the other club where she works. She’s not ready to face the girls and talk about losing Big Jim. We aren’t open for business for the day yet, so it works out even better.
All of us have been taking turns watching over Lisa and helping her with anything she needs. It’s our way of honoring Big Jim and taking care of our Regulators family.
We asked Lisa to come in today and go through some surveillance photos of employees of Billy Bob’s Barbeque to identify Cook. Now we are all impatiently waiting to see who she picks so we can get justice for our dead brother.
As I step into the conference room, Hammer is already eating what looks to be a pulled pork barbeque sandwich. It still makes me sick to my stomach. Who the fuck ordered this?
Walking over to the spread of food, I see coleslaw, potato salad, hush puppies, french fries, and a platter of sandwiches. Looking over at Hammer, my stomach turns again at seeing him eat.
I hear a noise and look to the other side of me just in time to see Ice making a plate for himself. As he picks up a sandwich, I see an odd shape of white paper sticking out from underneath one of the other sandwiches on the platter. Reaching over, I gently pull it out, and as I do, I see there are words on the paper.
What the fuck is this?
I unfold the slip of paper to see a message that will haunt me for the rest of my life.
Compliments of Cook. Enjoy.
It takes a few seconds for my brain to register the implications of the note, and when I do, I immediately reach over and slap Ice’s plate out of his hands.
As he cusses me out, I jump over and slap Hammer’s plate out of his hand, too.
“Don’t fucking eat that! IT’S FROM HIM!”
Holding the note up to Hammer’s face, I see it turn ghost white as the blood drains away. Then he spits what’s in his mouth out and starts gagging. There’s no telling what Hammer just ate. With Cook, it could be pulled pork … or it could be human. I don’t think I will ever look at meat the same way again.
Looking over at Ice, I see a confused look on his face, so I hold the note up in his direction and explain, “Cook sent us fucking lunch.”
