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“Really?” I asked, even more confused.
“Really really. You lucky thing. You are gonna be home, snug as a bug, in no time,” she said with a definitive little nod before turning to watch out the window as we rode the bumpy streets toward the county jail.
Simon Evertz was the best criminal defense lawyer in the wholestate.
Why was he here for little old me then?
Me, who had to really think about it before I bought a new pair of cheap sneakers. Me, who had gotten used to buying generic. Me, who slept with a fan on all summer because I couldn’t afford to keep the air blasting as much as I would need to be really comfortable.
I didn’t have ‘best criminal defense lawyer in the state’ kind of money.
So… why was he here?
Who had sent him?
And how the hell was I ever going to be able to pay them back for this?
CHAPTER THREE
Detroit
I made my way out of the gym with my head fucking racing.
All I knew was that Everleigh was innocent of what she was being charged with.
And I had to do something about that.
It didn’t take a genius to know that the woman wasn’t dealing drugs. Drug dealers didn’t buy off-brand sneakers. They didn’t drive a twenty-year-old car that had been making a shrill noise for weeks. They didn’t put so much attention to detail into their ‘fake’ job like she did.
This was a woman I’d watched write and erase the class schedule on a black whiteboard in neon dry erase markers until everything was perfectly aligned, and the colors working in harmony.
And if she wasn’t some drug dealer rolling in excess cash, then she damn sure didn’t have money for the kind of attorney she was going to need to get her the fuck out of this situation.
I was standing on the street, mind racing, when I saw someone I recognized.
Cillian Murphy.
A member of the Irish mafia.
In fact, the head of it in the area. Probably the whole state. Maybe even the West Coast in general.
“Cillian!” I yelled, running across the street to catch him before he disappeared inside The Bog, the bar he and his brothers ran.
“Detroit,” he said, brows drawing together over his light blue eyes. “Everything alright?” he asked, gaze moving down the street.
“Who is the best criminal defense attorney you can think of?” I asked.
He looked taken aback for a second. But he didn’t make me explain further. “Simon Evertz,” he said. “If I, or any of my brothers, were in any kind of trouble with the law, that is who I would hire to fix it,” he said.
“Simon Evertz,” I repeated. “You got a number?”
“I have his personal cell phone number,” Cillian said, reaching for his phone without question.
A few years back, we might have been on friendly terms. But not close enough to share this kind of information with. His baby sister marrying one of my club brothers, though, had changed a lot.
“Here,” he said, waiting for me to pull out my phone to plug in the number. “Everything alright?” he asked, keen eyes taking in the tension in my face.
“Everything with the club is fine,” I assured him, knowing that he had a vested interest in the club’s safety because his sister was currently pregnant with her next child. About to burst, actually. “This is… this is about a friend,” I told him.
