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That’s the thing about regret and hindsight. Neither makes any difference. I’m not a mind reader and Drake isn’t either. What he is, is a man hurting with the loss of a friend.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he growls, his fist coming at my nose a second time.
He hits just in the right spot this time, but I don’t move a muscle, not even to wipe away the blood starting to trickle down over my lips.
The front door of the clubhouse opens, but I don’t bother to look in that direction.
Things could’ve been different. I could’ve not pushed Rochelle away when she tried to kiss me. I could’ve maybe been there when that sick fuck tried to make his move. Maybe things would be different. Maybe he would’ve noticed me there and tried a different night. Men who love to hurt women aren’t always as keen to step up to someone who would really challenge them.
Maybes don’t matter. Neither do what-ifs.
Shadow grabs Drake before he can hit me a third time, and I look over in time to see Boomer walking toward the group that has gathered.
Kincaid speaks in a low tone to Drake who is trembling at this point before turning his attention to me.
All of who I consider the original members—Kincaid, Shadow, Kid, Dominic, Snatch and Itchy—are standing there when my boss speaks.
“We need you in the conference room.”
I nod.
“Get cleaned up first,” Kid says before they all turn to walk back into the clubhouse.
I don’t bother heading to my room, choosing to use the small powder room in the hallway to wash my face and stanch the bleeding from my nose.
I pause in the doorway, allowing Boomer and Drake to walk past. Neither look in my direction, and I don’t speak either. It would be like pouring salt into an open wound, and I’m not a cruel man.
There’s no one but the six OGs in the conference room when I enter, but I didn’t really expect this conversation to be a club affair.
“We need to know about your involvement with Lennox Maison,” Kincaid says. His tone isn’t accusatory, but he’s also not asking.
It feels like a demand, and normally I’d tell the man what he wants to know, but for some reason I hesitate.
“Look,” my prez says. “I’m not trying to get in your business, but I don’t know if the Farmington police are done with you.”
“There’s a chance they’re only hesitant to arrest you right now because of the shitstorm that went down when Lennox arrested you,” Kid adds. “If we can prove you’re involved with the lead detective on the case then it compromises any part of the investigation she touched in building a case against you.”
“Lennox isn’t the type to let her personal life interfere with her work,” I say but know it’s a lie the second the words leave my mouth.
She’s let her blindness toward her sister’s case cause problems at work more than once by her own admittance.
“And your involvement with Rochelle Leach?” Shadow asks.
“I have no involvement with her. I’ve been following her home at night so Drake and Boomer don’t have to wait up and leave the bar. Tonight, she lured me inside with some story about her garbage disposal not working and her landlord not coming by to fix it. It was a ploy of course. She tried to kiss me. I told her I wasn’t interested, and I left.”
“Did you have Maison follow you over there?”
I shake my head.
“She followed you because she thinks you’re involved with the first murder still?” Itchy asks.
I take a deep breath, knowing deep down that’s not why she was outside Rochelle’s house. It makes my skin crawl to think the killer could’ve been lurking in the shadows, mere feet from where she was parked, struggling with the choice of if they’d make the bartender or the cop their next victim.
“She was jealous,” I say, “I think.”
“And your previous involvement with Rochelle?”
“Other than making sure she got home safely and ordering drinks from her at the bar, I’ve had no involvement with her.”
“You didn’t see through her?” Kid asks. “Couldn’t tell she was lying?”
“I’ve been… distracted.”
A couple of throats clear around the table, and I feel like every one of these guys can see right through me even if I refuse to speak about what has happened between Lennox and me.
“Do you think I’m involved with these murders?” I snap, making sure to meet the eyes of every man in the room.
“Not one of us,” Kincaid answers collectively. “But the police don’t know you like we do.”
“We were supposed to go out on a mission tomorrow, but I’m going to have someone fill in for you.”
I grind my teeth, annoyed to be missing out on the second outing in months. Other than some of us heading to Lindell, Texas after some shit went down on the college campus there, we’ve been grounded, going through rigorous mental health testing to make sure we’re ready for whatever we may face after Aro lost his shit and part of his leg a while back.
