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“Good men will do what it takes to protect their families,” Deacon finally responds, and I know with that information that what Finn had to do wasn’t exactly lawful.
I nod, fully understanding, and also a little more accepting of the bad news I’ve been given about Carlen. His hands had to have been tied for him to end up tangled with Keres.
“I’ve got to go,” I say, standing. “I appreciate all of your help.”
I shake Wren’s hand then Deacon’s.
“Don’t hesitate to reach out if you need more help,” the Blackbridge boss says.
I nod at him, knowing I’ll take him up on it if the need arises.
My boots carry me out of the office quicker than they carried me in. There’s a sense of urgency now in my blood. Although I haven’t gotten another phone call with horrific news from Edward Dobbs, it doesn’t mean something bad hasn’t happened. I don’t know what Carlen was doing for Keres. I have no way of knowing if their deaths were the end of whatever that business might’ve been. I wouldn’t put it past the club to seek vengeance just for sport, including going after Mila and the boys.
Somehow my luck continues when I pull up outside of the Clarke home to see the same car in the lot. Mila’s little blue Honda is parked in a way that prevents me from pulling into the driveway, so I park along the curb.
She doesn’t answer the front door when I knock and ring the bell, and I wouldn’t put it past her to be in there refusing to answer. Instead of leaving, I make my way around the side of the house in the direction she was coming from when I was here last week.
The door to the little apartment is open, a large trash can sitting precariously on the landing. I make my way up the stairs, knowing what the fuck I’m going to find just from the smell.
Wren listed several of the things the MC were involved in and it looks like Carlen and Janet were somehow involved in the drug running side of things, more specifically manufacturing.
I’m still surprised when I step inside and see the evidence, and even more surprised to see Mila wrapped in a painter’s suit with a mask on her face trying to get rid of the evidence of their criminal activity.
Chapter 8
Mila
My blood runs cold when a shadow crosses in front of the open door. How would I ever explain to some nosy neighbor what the hell is going on up here?
Fear turns into rage when I turn and see none other than Vincent fucking Chilton ten yards from me.
The disappointment in his eyes makes me want to rush to explain, but what would the fucking point be? The man never valued a damn thing I said. I was good enough to entertain him for a couple hours one night, but past that I was irrelevant to him.
He doesn’t say a word before turning and walking out. Either he’s angrier now with what he saw or I was lost in my own little world, because I don’t know how I missed the sound of his stomping up the stairs with how loud they are on his way down.
I should’ve gotten started earlier in the day, but I couldn’t afford to miss my clients at the salon. He doesn’t have to be a genius to know what was going on up here. I’ve barely had the chance to get started on cleaning this place out.
I inch closer to the open door, but I don’t hear the start of an engine, telling me he hasn’t left. I know why he’s here, and if the sight of me cleaning out a drug lab isn’t enough for him to get custody of the boys, then the state wouldn’t be doing their job at all.
I take the time to pull off the painter’s suit I grabbed at the hardware store, making sure not to touch the outside before heading down the stairs. The unfamiliar truck parked at the curb is a clear sign that he’s around here somewhere.
“I’m here for the boys,” he snaps the second I get in his line of sight.
I hate the way he’s standing there with his arms crossed over his chest as if he has any right to demand a damn thing from me. I hate even more that I’ve never been able to forget just how talented those clenched hands of his are. The leather vest he’s wearing is a huge red flag, but I’m in no position to ask who he’s affiliated with.
“I will not have them in a house where drug manufacturing is taking place.”
“There aren’t any fucking drugs being manufactured at this house,” I argue.
“Calling me a fucking idiot right now won’t help your damn case, Mila. Where are the kids?”
“Carlen and Janet were doing that shit,” I growl under my breath, knowing there’s always a good chance some nosy-ass neighbor will come sneaking up at any time. “I’m cleaning up their fucking mess.”
My voice cracks, and I hate that I can’t approach this whole damn thing with a little more finesse.
“I’m doing the best I can,” I insist when he just stands there staring at me like he doesn’t give a shit.
His jaw ticks as he runs his eyes over my entire body.
