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“It wasn’t easy for her to do,” I continue. “I’m proud of her, though. She finally got some answers that she needed. Her dad wasn’t a dirty cop. He was set up by his shady partner.”
“She tell Libby?” Grinder asks.
“Fuck no.” I shake my head. “I don’t think she’s ever told anyone what the guy told her at the funeral.”
“What do you need, Dex?” Rock asks me.
“I don’t even fucking know. Something must’ve happened. This kid pissed off the wrong crew inside? It’s been over ten years. And now he decides to grow a conscience and explain to her what went down?”
Grinder tips his head. “Could be he found Jesus. Saw plenty of guys take that journey inside. Fucked ‘em up good when they really confronted the things they did and the people they hurt.”
“Maybe,” I grunt, not giving a fuck about that asshole’s feelings.
“I remember one guy who started up a pen pal relationship with the mother of the son he killed,” Grinder continues. “I never understood it. Seriously fucked-up situation in my opinion. But it seemed to bring both of them some sort of…peace? I don’t know.”
Now that Grinder’s been out for a while, I’ve noticed him sharing some stories here and there about his time inside. I hope that’s a sign he’s healing and putting it behind him.
“Damn,” I mutter, unsure of what else to say about that particular story. “Well, he didn’t ask her to keep in touch and I don’t think she’s planning any more visits.”
“Good.” Grinder cocks his head. “What facility’s he at?”
“Ashport.”
Grinder shakes his head. “Don’t know anyone there now.” He glances at Rock. “Could probably track down info if you want it.”
Do I want to know? Emily’s seemed better since the visit. No nightmares. And fuck knows I’ve been there every night since, watching over her.
“Maybe.” I consider how much more to tell them. “I tracked down her dad’s old partner,” I finally admit.
Grinder and Rock share a look.
“I know, I know. It’s too long ago. It wasn’t an offense against Emily personally. Club won’t sanction me making a move against him,” I say quickly so they understand that’s not what I’m asking. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. He’s in hospice. Dying from cancer.”
Grinder winces.
“Finally, cancer gets one right,” Rock mutters.
“My thought too,” I agree. “He’s down in South Carolina somewhere. Not sure it’s even worth telling Emily.”
“Tell her,” Grinder says. “Let her decide how she wants to handle it.”
The corner of my mouth slides up. “Then she’s gonna know I searched for him.”
Rock snorts. “Good luck with that.”
Honestly there’s no valid way to justify ripping open this wound for Emily. She told me she was done with the past. And maybe seeing Zach and learning the truth really did close that chapter for her. I won’t be the one to force her to reopen the pages of her past.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Dex
Amateur night always has the potential to be a shitshow. It’s been bringing more money and talent into Crystal Ball, but it also throws a wrench into the flow of things. Most of our regular girls hate it and aren’t shy about saying so. The customers love it, but some assume amateur means roaming hands and insulting words are allowed. At least that part can be fun for me. I deliver a painful lesson to those assholes—every girl in this club is treated with respect or else.
At least tonight, brothers I trust completely have my back. Jigsaw probably enjoys pounding on the handsy customers even more than I do, but at least he’s discreet about it.
My earpiece crackles. “Dex, the fuck you ain’t answering your texts?” Ravage barks.
Huh? I pull out my phone the same time I answer him. “What’s wrong?”
“Just get your ass back here.”
Not much rattles him and he rarely asks for assistance. “Why?” I ask but I’m already heading backstage.
“Just…you need to…g-get your ass to the dressing room,” he stutters.
“Jesus Christ,” I grumble. “On my way.”
Stacia is up on the pole spinning in the air like a lewd butterfly—and oh, how she bitched about being the “warm-up act” for the amateur show.
Judging by the pile of cash on the stage, she owes me an apology. I won’t hold my breath, though.
In the hallway that leads to my office, the dressing room, and finally the exit, it’s crowded. Girls are in a long line waiting to be checked in by someone and directed to a spot to change in the dressing room by one of the dancers. Porsche had offered to help out, but her sleepy, whispery act caused too much confusion. Pepper copped too much attitude with the newbies. Desna’s firm, no-bullshit voice carried above all the other noise and while she didn’t tolerate any nonsense from the girls trying out, she was also kind and helped ease their fears.
Don’t do too good a job, Desna. You might end up being CB’s new Swan.
