15. Mila
15
“Hello?”
“Hey, baby.” Reaper’s dark voice caresses me through the phone. “We got a surprise for you. Got time to come by the club? I'll come get you.”
“Right now?” I look down at my sweats. “I could probably swing that. For what?”
I hope he appreciates that I’m willing to change back into real pants for them. There’s no class tomorrow, so if they want me to stay over…
I never really understood the idea of deep, instant attraction until I met them. Now it’s like everytime one of them is around, my hormones start firing like it’s the Fourth of July.
“Probably best I don’t say it over the phone. Just be ready. I'll be there in twenty.” He hangs up, leaving me very confused about what I just signed up for.
It’s probably another party, right?
“You okay, Mila?” Carrie asks. “You look a little funny.”
“Yeah. Yep. I’m fine. Just got invited to go out at the last minute so…” I grab clothes from the suitcase I’m living out of and dash into the bathroom.
What didn’t he want to say over the phone? I can’t see Reaper being shy. If it was just for sex, he’d probably growl something like: “So I can turn your legs into a scarf. Get off the phone and onto my face.”
God, Mack, Scrapper and Reaper really aren’t my usual types. I’m trying to imagine anyone else growling at me, and me liking it. Sure, there’ve been dates, but they never last. They love my impulsiveness, how easily I obsess over a new hobby or interesting research. It’s quirky and cute. And then it’s annoying. And then I get a breakup text because they’re sick of having to track me down in the library when I’m hunched over a pile of ancient microfiche instead of showing up for our date.
So I’m not going to make the mistake of falling in love with three guys at once. They live dangerous lives, and I’m nothing special. Not really. Not like the sexy women at the club, and I saw how the other girls looked at Mack when he came to campus. They can have anyone they want.
They’ll get bored and move on. Then, when I'm an old, retired reporter and I'm doing my memoirs, I can write about my wild days when I was romanced by three big bikers at once and the crazy things we'd do together. But until then, I'm going to ride it out.
Ride them out.
I giggle snort at my own joke while I get dressed. The summer heat's started to break and for the first time in a while, the clouds have gotten thick. It’s still warm, but coming out of a heat wave, it’s a relief. It almost feels cool. I pull on jeans and a tank top, and tie a thin cardigan around my waist just in case. The rumble of a motorcycle comes from outside.
“That’s my ride! Heading out!” I yell.
Carrie sends a slight frown my way from the kitchen island. She waves. “I’m going out soon. You coming back tonight?”
“Don’t know! I’ll try not to wake anyone up.”
I run out the front door just as Reaper is about to ring the doorbell and smile up at him. “I heard you coming.”
He laughs and pulls me in for a kiss that leaves me tingling all the way down to the tips of my toes. “Eager for your surprise?”
“Can't wait.”
“I think you’ll find it very enlightening.” His words drip with promise, and now I'm even more curious.
“What do you mean?”
“You'll see.”
I huff, but he only grins and gestures for me to get onto his bike. The combination of his warm back against my chest and the powerful rumble of his motorcycle between my legs is a heady combo that only makes me more eager for my surprise.
But when we get to the Screaming Eagles compound, instead of taking me into the clubhouse, we ride around the outside. We pass a small group of bikers and a couple of women having late night beers outside what looks like a totally normal home. There's even a swing set and a trampoline in the little fenced-in front yard. It looks strangely domestic compared to what I saw at the party. We pass a makeshift shooting range, some sheds and finally stop in front of a solid cement building that looks more like a bunker than anything else.
I eye it skeptically. “This isn't like a sex dungeon or something, is it?”
Reaper chuckles. “No, but if that’s something you want to explore, just give the word. What do you think? Want us to tie you up and have our dirty, dirty way with you?”
“Well, when you put it like that…” I pretend to think it over. “Maybe.”
He pulls a steel door open, which leads us into a short corridor with cells on either side. Bright fluorescent lights reflect off the steel bars and benches inside them. This doesn’t look sexy. In fact, it looks kind of the opposite. My survival instincts go on high alert, even though I trust Reaper.
“Welcome to the pit. This isn’t part of the usual tour, but sometimes it comes in handy. Like today.” He gestures for me to come closer.
“What the hell?” My voice comes out in a squeak.
There are three people in the last cell. Mack, Scrapper, and… Hank Mullerby. He's tied up, with a gag in his mouth, sitting on a stool in the middle of the room. His eyes widen drastically as we enter the cell.
“Did you…” My brain stops working. I was ready for a lot of things, but this wasn’t it. “Did you guys kidnap him?”
“Surprise?” They all say together, looking like dogs proud of having dropped a dead rattlesnake at my feet.
Like yeah, I appreciate the gesture, but… “You can't just kidnap people!”
Scrapper looks like I’m saying something weird. “I'm pretty sure we did.”
“B—but…” What do I even say to this? Most guys don’t even remember to buy flowers. “Why?”
“He fucked with you,” Reaper answers simply.
Mack nods. “And I think we all have some questions for him. He could’ve answered nicely, but instead we brought him here where we could have a little chat without freaking out the neighbors.”
Reaper puts his powerful hands on my shoulders, leaning close so his voice is right in my ear. “You have a captive audience, and we'll make sure you get your answers straight. Do you want to play good cop or bad cop? Shit, you can practice both. No one here's gonna stop you. The fucker deserves whatever he gets.”
Jesus.
On one hand, every moral fiber in my body is screaming out in protest. You don't just go out and kidnap your interview subjects and force them to answer under pain of death. “You're not going to kill him, are you?”
The guys look at each other for a moment. Reaper shrugs, but Mack replies, “Not if he behaves himself.”
Mullerby closes his eyes tight, looking like he's trying to wish himself away.
“I get it. This isn’t what you’re used to,” Scrapper says, ripping the gag out of Mullerby’s mouth. “You’re probably thinking that we’re fucking psychopaths. If he’d just been a dick to you at the interview, he wouldn’t be here right now, but he crossed that line first. You spooked this fucker, and instead of being a smart rat and hiding in his hole, he sicced fucking mercenaries on a college student.”
“That’s true, but it’s still wrong.” Isn’t it?
Mullerby watches me, eyes wide open and his pupils black with terror. I'm literally holding this man's life in my hands, and knowing Reaper, Mack and Scrapper put it there is kind of terrifying. That said, this isn’t just about a college project. It’s about my brother. Others. Whether the boys are doing the right thing or not, this is a huge opportunity.
“Mr. Mullerby, I hope you'll cooperate.” My voice is shaky. I don’t owe this man anything, but I’m a little afraid of what they'll do to him if he doesn't behave. “I’d like to resume our interview from earlier. Is that all right?”
He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. His wild eyes dart one way, then the other, but there's no escape. Not from here. But he doesn't answer.
“Maybe we’re wasting our time,” snarls Scrapper. He pulls out a knife and flips it between his fingers, not directly threatening, but the implication is definitely there.
Mullerby looks like he’s about to be sick. “Yes.”
Reaper gestures for me to continue.
Gathering my courage and trying to forget that I'm basically participating in a violation of the Geneva convention, I continue. “You defended my brother six years ago. Or, maybe I should say my brother was on your client list. He should have gotten a few years for some minor drug offenses, but instead he was accused of armed robbery out of nowhere. It added decades to his sentence.”
Mullerby shakes his head. “I’ve had hundreds of cases pass my desk in that time. You can’t expect me to remember all of them. Everyone says they aren’t guilty, young lady. I’m not a miracle worker.”
“He was nineteen! Of course I didn’t want my brother to go to jail, but if he was guilty I could have accepted it. I’ve seen the records. You did nothing to push back against the new charges. In fact, you encouraged him to plead guilty. Not one person interviewed any of his friends or family to find out if we could give him an alibi.” I hardly recognize the fury that makes my voice quaver. “I was young when it happened, too young to see the details, but I didn’t forget, and I’ve seen that my brother isn’t the only one this happens to.”
He doesn't answer, but refuses to look at me.
“It’s surprising how many of your assigned cases end up with additional charges. I bet the police love that, don’t they? How many cases per year go unsolved because someone else, someone you don’t think is worth it, takes the rap?”
“I have nothing to say,” he mumbles, hanging his head.
Reaper pulls a long barreled gun out of his belt and starts wiping it down. “Are you sure about that? If it’s true, then you’re the first fucking lawyer I’ve met who’s run out of shit to say.”
“You don’t understand. This is bigger than me.”
“Cute.” Reaper pulls another stool over and straddles it, shoving his gun right up against the other man’s balls. “You say that like I care. If it’s bigger than you, then point us in the right direction and maybe we’ll stop looking your way.”
“Jesus Christ,” Mullerby breathes. I think I can hear his heart hammering from here. Or maybe that's just mine. “I don’t ask questions, okay? Occasionally I get a message that lets me know to not look too hard at a particular case. I don’t pick the people or what they go down for. All I know is that my bank account goes up when I do what I’m told. It’s not that deep.”
“Not that deep?” My hands curl into fists so tight my nails are probably drawing blood from my palms. “These are lives you're playing with. Who tells you which cases to throw?”
“I don’t know them by name.”
“You have to know something. You aren’t that stupid.”
He looks up at me and smirks. “It’s not in my best interests to know.”
Mack puts a hand on my shoulder. “Let us take a turn.”
“Fine.” I step back, mind reeling at having him confirm that I was right. It’s not just that the system is bad or corrupt, but the way he seems to think it doesn’t matter. That it’s just business as usual. I’ve never been so repulsed by a person in my life.
Like flipping a switch, Mack goes from sweet and supportive to terrifying. He boxes the side of Mullerby’s head so hard he looks like one of those little punching bags on a spring. “Maybe you’re telling the truth and you don’t know the guy higher up the ladder, but you sure as fuck know how to contact someone. Who did you hire to hurt Mila?”
Mullerby moans. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. “I didn’t! All I have is a number, I swear. If anyone gets close, I message that number and things are taken care of.”
“God, you are so fucking low,” growls Reaper. “You can’t even do your own dirty work. At least I fucking know how much blood is on my hands. How much is on yours?”
“Give us the number,” Scrapper orders.
His face goes white as a sheet. “I won't live past the week.”
Mack stands up to his full height. “We can make sure you don’t live out the day.”
“No, please. I'll… fuck.” Mullerby's head sags in defeat. “My phone’s in my pocket. The number changes every couple weeks but I just got the new one. I swear that's all I know. Let me go home. I cooperated. If anyone finds out I’ve talked to you, I’m dead.”
“Welcome to Give a Shit, population: You,” Scrapper says with a shrug. “Do we let him go? Or shut him up?”
“Let him go!” I hurry to say before someone does something drastic. More drastic. “I don't want anyone killed. I just wanted information, and I've got it. We have somewhere to go from here, right? Please.” It’s slowly sinking in that I’m complicit in what just happened. I could have refused to talk to him and walked out, but I stayed and accepted their screwed up help.
The guys look at each other. Mack nods, Reaper shrugs and then Scrapper steps forward with his knife.
“No! Please! I swear, I told you everything I know!” Mullerby squirms and wiggles, but there's no getting out of those ropes.
“Oh, for fuck's sake, just sit still. I'm not gutting you, I'm cutting the ropes. But if you keep moving, I can't guarantee I won't slip.”
Mullerby freezes, right up until the ropes around his wrists loosen and he hisses, rubbing them hard.
Mack pushes off the wall. “Get her out of here. I think we’ll give him some time to cool down and think about the shitty choices he’s made before we send him home.”
Scrapper nods his head. “Come on, baby. Let’s go. We’ll pass the number on to our tech guy. Maybe he can find something.”
I'm more than happy to leave the cells behind. It’s only been about an hour since I was running down to meet Reaper and thinking about how fun it was going to be. That whole time, Mullerby was sitting in a cell, waiting for me like a messed up birthday present.
Are my guys insane? Probably, but they were worried about me, and knew I wanted to talk to Mullerby, so they made it happen. No one’s ever done something like that for me.
I don’t know if I’m cut out for their world, but I can’t deny that having the three of them at my back is kind of amazing.