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Rob laughed without mirth. “So, you're saying I need to set you free so you’ll come back, is that it, Bridget?”
“Don’t be an ass,” I shook my head, overwhelmed by sadness.
“Well, this is rich. You not only forsake your career. One that you carved out of nothing. You even have a bestselling book and coveted freelance work, but you're also willing to end things with me, the supposed love of your life!” Rob’s voice raised at the end of his tirade, but it doesn’t make me feel bad enough to change my mind.
“I love you, Rob,” I said quietly, maintaining eye contact with him.
Eyes stormy, shaking his head, “not enough to stay.”
“She was the only family I had left. It was bad enough losing our parents when we did, but a world without Shannon makes no sense to me.” I crossed my arms around myself for comfort. I felt tears pooling in my eyes, but I don’t want to cry anymore.
“I’m your family too. And I know you’re hurting right now and can’t see past your own grief. I want to be here for you, but that doesn’t mean you run away,” he said, turning to walk toward the door.
I just stared in silence as he turned back to me, his hand on the doorjamb, “Bridget, I love you. But it’s over if you leave. I’m an attorney, for fuck’s sake. Do you think hunting drug dealers and what you expect me to believe you’ll just turn them over to the cops?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. I just need to investigate, which I’m damn good at. You said it yourself. I carved my journalism career out of nothing. Do you know how many times people told me I’d never be able to find the truth behind the Chaplin murders. I proved them all wrong and that book you mentioned earlier is proof of that. I can do this. I can be safe and go to New Orleans and figure out how my sister got those drugs. That’s child’s play compared to what I’ve done in the past.” My tirade exhausted me, and I swayed a little before catching myself. I put my hand down on the pile of clothes and widen my feet for support.
“You're barely standing, sweetheart. Let me take care of you. Please Brid,” the look he gave me was full of tenderness that flowed out of his body in a giant wave that crashed into my tense body.
In response, I moved toward the large dresser on the other side of the wall. Using my right hand, I twisted my engagement ring off my finger and placed it softly on the mahogany wood. I didn’t turn to look, but I heard Rob’s steps as he went down the hall, and then the unmistakable slamming of the front door.
I sighed and looked around the room. I’d be on the road in less than an hour. I cared about nothing else as I grabbed my box of pictures from the closet. I knew I wasn’t throwing my life away, even if it didn’t look the same after this.
Chapter 2
Loki
They secured the thief to the makeshift table that our Road Captain Roar had built. The table slanted with a 10-degree incline. The culprit was bound with his hands above his head and affixed to chains on the wall. When I walked into the room we’d configured in our warehouse, Taz and Whiskey were putting the supplies on a table with wheels.
“Is everything ready?”
“Yeah, Prez,” Taz smiled at me.
“Prez, you don’t have to do this. I swear I’m no thief,” Prospect said as he squirmed on the table.
Bones came up behind me and said, “We got three cases of Glocks missing.”
“I’ve been nowhere near that shipment, Prez,” Prospect’s voice got higher when he said the last word.
“Shut the hell up, boy,” Whiskey said, his Cajun accent coming through.
“He was the only one outside of us who knew the exact time of the shipment,” Boa confirmed in his Boston accent. He’d been in New Orleans for a decade and still sounded like he lived in the South End.
“So, Prospect, what's your deal? Where you from?” I asked.
“He told me once he was from the 7th district,” Taz interrupted.
I cracked my knuckles and motioned for the water. Whiskey put the material over the Prospects face.
“No, please, fuck!” Prospect shouted.
“Ain’t nothing gonna save you now, unless you start talkin’,” I said.
The Prospect came to our Ragnarök club six months ago, swearing he wanted in. He had been warned more than once about what we expected of him, but things went missing whenever he helped at the club and now crates were gone from our latest shipment of guns. No one fucked with the Valhalla Heathens.
Without another word, I began pouring water into his mouth slow enough not to overwhelm his system. He struggled to breathe as the simulation of drowning started. He flailed on the table within the bounds of the straps securing him. I let off, and he gasped loudly for air. The Prospect was just a kid; maybe 19 years old.
“What’s your name, kid?”
