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“Rosemary’s going to watch the kids while we deal with the cops and legal issues.”
“No, let’s have the injured kid stick around,” Kourtney says, winning a glare from Silas. “The story we’re selling is the asshole broke the child’s arm and fled when trouble came for him.”
Silas exhales hard, barely restraining his temper. “They can talk to Blair at the end. I don’t want her hearing everything.”
Kourtney looks to me as if I might take her side on this issue. Nervous about dealing with cops and lawyers, I’m fully willing to allow Silas to think for me.
Soon, the kids are with Rosemary and Woodrow in the back room turned playroom. They’ve already set up a chalkboard and an indoor restaurant playhouse. The kids will be busy for hours. Even Blair thinks playing chef is fun.
I follow Silas out of the playroom, almost gluing myself to his large body. When he stops too fast, I bump into him. His irritated gaze sizes me up. Suddenly, Silas turns off his rage as he focuses on my face. His fingers trace my jaw before brushing across my lips.
“Speak as little as possible to the cops,” he explains as we start walking again and reach the family room. “Seem scared. Cry maybe. Rub your belly a lot.”
“If things get dicey,” Kourtney says from her chair, “fake early labor. These are male cops. It’s possible they’ll leave immediately if they believe you’re about to squirt uterine jizz at them.”
Biting my tongue, I can imagine what I look like to someone like Kourtney Clark. With her fancy car and clothes, not to mention the degrees she likely has on her walls, she views me as nothing more than a womb with legs.
As a kid, I wanted to be a lawyer. Or one of those business executives like the ones who lived down the block from us. They were always taking vacations. I never saw the woman off her phone. The man would run with their dog while talking into a little mouthpiece. They were so active while everyone else on the block seemed to be sleepwalking.
Running away at fourteen ended my big college dreams. Now, my goals are to raise happy children and get in shape to ride Silas’s cock. I really feel like those hopes are more attainable than my old ones.
“Don’t offer them information,” Kourtney says to me rather than Silas. “Only answer what they specifically ask. If you’re afraid to say the wrong thing, pause and seem like you might cry. Better to hesitate than rush out an answer you can’t walk back.”
Kourtney sets down her phone and levels her gaze at me. “These cops aren’t hostile to you. They want the problem to go away. But you can’t offer them evidence. Just remain vague. The asshole said he was leaving you for some bitch. You flipped out since you’re pregnant and have a basketball team’s worth of kids. Blair saw you upset and got in his face. He hurt her. He hurt you. He bailed in a dark car driven by an unknown person. You went to the clinic. You got home and called Nomad for help.”
“What if they ask who the woman is?”
“You don’t know. He had other bitches. He even brought a kid home from a side whore. He’s a trucker driving long haul. The cops will assume he has pussy in many towns, meaning he could be anywhere.”
“But he left his truck.”
“Exactly. That’s why he needed someone to pick him up. The person in the dark car. Nothing more.”
Her instructions feel sketchy. “What if they ask about how we lied at the clinic about what happened?”
“You remind the dipshit pigs how your husband was violent. You were afraid to rat him out. Now, you’re living here and feel safe enough to tell the truth.”
“What if they ask how I know Silas?”
Kourtney smirks when I say his name. “Tell them how you met years ago when you partied at the Pigsty. Don’t say when this was. Keep it vague. When Neal left you before, you hooked up with Silas in the Valley. But then, hubby came back, and you tried to make it work.”
“Neal never left, though.”
“Yes, he did. He’s left you plenty of times. He’s always taking off with women.”
Getting her point, I nod at the lie. “What about Neal’s phone?”
“It’s dead,” Silas answers. “Last ping would be near the house.”
Kourtney sighs as if I’m annoying her. “Look, these aren’t pigs like in the movies. The sheriff’s department gets a little something-something from the club. They look the other way whenever possible. The key is to give them a plausible story. In our scenario, Neal Copper was a man with too much pressure. He had a wife he cheated on and beat up, too many kids, and an annoying family. He saw a chance to start over and took it. Without a body, there’s no reason to think a crime was committed. When his family pitches a fit, it’ll just prove why the fucker ran off.”
Exhaling deeply, I imagine the picture she paints for me. The real Neal is dead and buried. I allow this new version to become my husband.
I see Neal coming home and saying he’s leaving. He wants a new life. I hear the words he tells me. I see him storming out of the house with our cash and a few clothes before disappearing with a stranger in a dark car.
By the time I sit with the cops, I’m replaying the night again in my head. I don’t offer them more than they ask for, and they don’t push for much.
As they write my vague description of the car, I reimagine the moment when Silas entered my house. I’m not in shock. I don’t view a monster in the flesh. I see the sexy, surprisingly sweet biker who’d been secretly making my life better for months. I’m immediately smitten with him. I know in my heart how we’ll be happy together.
