Chapter 22 Cash #2
And the fucked-up thing is, it’s working.
Not because I’m scared for myself—I’ve survived worse than whatever Gabriel can dish out.
But because every second I’m in this trailer is a second Mercy’s back at Devil’s or at the clubhouse, wondering if I’m coming home.
Wondering if her worst fears will become a reality, and that loving me is going to get me killed.
I won’t let that happen.
Finally, Gabriel sets down his reading and looks up, blue eyes flat and cold. He smiles, baring all his teeth like a dog that’s about to lunge.
“Mr. Hall.” He laces his fingers. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
I glance around at the shithole surroundings—paint flaking off the walls and two dead wasps stuck in a puddle on the windowsill.
I make sure to land my gaze back on Gabriel’s face, so he knows I’ve measured exactly how little I care.
“Not like you left me a lot of options. The invite could’ve used a little less assault and battery, but hey, I’m always happy to drop by when you need to feel big and important.
What, you run out of ex-wives to gaslight for the evening? ”
Behind me, one of the cops grunts. I’m not sure if it’s meant to be a laugh or a threat, but I keep my attention on Gabriel. All of it.
He stands, moving around the crappy desk.
“You know, Cam. Can I call you Cam? This tough act of yours is going to get old fast. So let’s skip the part where you pretend to be a martyr and get straight to the facts.
” He gestures, and one of his lackeys cracks open a beat-up laptop.
The screen flickers to life, spilling pale blue over the trailer’s dingy interior.
Gabriel turns the laptop toward me. Security footage from outside Devil’s, time stamped earlier tonight when Mercy and I first arrived.
“Recognize this?” he asks.
“That’s me and Mercy arriving at work. Riveting footage.”
He clicks to the next image. It’s grainy, but shows someone in a hoodie approaching us. My memory clicks—some guy asking for the time, thanking me, shaking my hand. Seemed harmless enough.
“This man is a known dealer. Multiple priors for distribution.”
“Never seen him before in my life.”
“Really? Because here you are shaking hands with him. Classic exchange.”
I laugh. “The guy asked for the time. I told him. That’s it.”
“Witnesses saw him palm something to you during that handshake.”
“What witnesses? Your imaginary friends?”
Another click. Security footage of me at my bike after the guy left, putting my riding gloves and jacket in the saddlebags.
“And here’s you stashing what he gave you in your saddlebags.”
“I’m putting my gloves away.”
“Really?” Gabriel reaches into a box and pulls out an evidence bag with what looks like multiple baggies of cocaine. “Because when we searched your bike tonight, we found this.”
“Bullshit. That wasn’t in my bike.”
“It was in your saddlebags. Right where you put it after the handoff.”
“You literally just pulled that bag out of a box you had this whole time—how did it get in there, Gabriel? A portal? This is all bullshit. You’ve got nothing. Otherwise, we’d be at the station instead of inside this murder shack.”
Gabriel’s jaw tightens. “You’re in charge of the MC’s finances, aren’t you? That’s why they call you Cash—because you know how to move money.”
I examine my fingernails. “They call me Cash because I’m devastatingly handsome and rich in personality.”
“We know about the books. The double accounting. How you launder money through the bar.”
“The only thing getting laundered at Devil’s is bar towels. Though Kya does make a mean dirty martini if you’re interested.”
He slams his hand on the desk. “This isn’t a joke! You’re looking at fifteen to twenty for possession with intent to distribute.”
“For something you made up? Good luck with that.”
“Prove it.”
“Don’t have to. You have to prove I put it there. And since I didn’t...” I shrug.
Gabriel circles around behind me. “You know what your problem is? You think you’re untouchable because you’ve got Stone and the MC behind you.”
“No, I think I’m untouchable because I haven’t done anything illegal. Novel concept for you, I know.”
“The MC runs drugs through this town—”
“The MC runs a garage and protects local businesses from parasites like Summit.”
“—and you cook their books to hide it all.”
“I balance legitimate business accounts. Excel sheets. Boring as hell. Want a demo? It’ll put you right to sleep.”
Gabriel leans in close enough that I can smell his too-strong aftershave—something expensive and trying too hard, just like him.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell me everything about the MC’s operations.
Every drug deal, every illegal gun, every dirty dollar that flows through those books. Or—”
“Wrong. Here’s what’s actually going to happen,” I counter. “You’re going to realize you’ve got nothing. I’m going to walk out of here, and you’re going to sign those divorce papers like the pathetic little man you are.”
A punch rips into my kidney. I don’t see which cop throws it, but the pain explodes up my back. I bite down hard to keep from making a sound and clench my fists at my sides.
Every instinct screams at me to fight back. To take on these bastards and at least go down swinging. But that’s what they want. That’s what they’re counting on—me losing control, giving them an excuse to escalate, to put me in the ground and call it resisting.
Years taught me to lock my mouth and take a hit. Let them get loud, get sloppy. That’s how you outlive a bully—patience.
But fuck, it’s brutal. My body remembers the part that always gets worse. Every cell wants to run or strike. Waiting feels like denying air to drowning lungs.
Control kept me alive on the streets and earned me a place in the club. Right now, that same restraint is what keeps me breathing.
So I take the hit. And I smile through the heat.
“I’ll give you that one for free.”
“Oops,” one of them says. “I slipped.”
Gabriel comes back around to face me. “That’s just a taste. We can do this for hours. Days even. No cameras here. No witnesses. Just you and us and all the time in the world.”
I straighten up, grinning through the pain. “Is this the part where you threaten me? Because I’ve got to tell you, your ex-wife is way scarier than you when she’s pissed.”
His face goes red. “Don’t talk about her.”
“Why not? She talks about you all the time. Mostly about how disappointing you were in bed, but—”
The second hit comes from the front this time, right to my stomach. I double over but manage to laugh.
“That all you got?” I wheeze. “The old lady at the laundromat hits harder than that.”
Gabriel grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice.”
I meet his eyes, letting him see exactly how much I’m going to enjoy this. “Oh, I’m really hoping we do this the hard way.”
His smile is cold. “Your funeral.”
He nods to his boys, and I know what’s coming. More hits. More pain.
But here’s the thing Gabriel doesn’t understand. I’ve spent my whole life thinking control was the only thing that kept me safe. That if I could just stay in control, stay disciplined, never let anyone see me weak—I’d survive.
And then Mercy came along and saw every broken piece of me. The nightmares. The trauma. The scared street kid underneath all the tattoos and bravado. And she didn’t run. She didn’t use it against me. She chose to carry it with me.
Gabriel thinks breaking me is possible. He’s wrong. I’ve learned now that strength is letting people in. Letting someone see you at your worst and love you through it. That’s the weapon he never counted on—I know that love is more powerful than fear.
So fuck him. Fuck his threats. Fuck his fake charges and his black site and his desperate need to prove he’s still powerful.
He’s never been more out of control.
I’ve never been more in it.
“Time to teach Mr. Hall here a lesson,” Gabriel seethes.
I crack a grin, letting him see the feral street kid I used to be. “You really should have left those cuffs on.”