19. Mila
19
“Miss Cole, I'm so happy you could make it.” Judge Kincaid smiles broadly and holds out a big hand. The smile drops almost immediately when he sees the three big, leather and denim-clad men backing me up. “You… um, you brought company, I see.”
Judge Kincaid looks maybe sixty, his close-styled hair almost completely white. He's clean shaven except for a neatly waxed mustache. He stands ramrod straight and looks like he's in good shape. His suit is obviously tailored, fitting him perfectly, dark navy with a deep red tie and a gold tie clip. He recovers quickly from the shock of seeing Mack, Scrapper and Reaper, pasting on a new smile that's as broad as the one before it. He's slick as a politician.
“My brothers are awfully protective,” I say, matching his fake smile with one of my own. “But I promise they won't interrupt the interview. They're just here to bring me home safe. They were very unhappy with how Mr. Mullerby treated me last time.” Reaper snorts when I call them my brothers, but if Kincaid has probably made up a granddaughter, I can make up overprotective brothers, right? The fact that none of us look remotely similar doesn’t matter.
Am I showing my cards too early by implying that I know something is going on? I don't know that the judge is part of it, though. If he isn’t, I just seem weird, but if he is, maybe we’ll learn something useful.
“I see.” He frowns like he doesn't actually. “Well, come into my office, young lady. Perhaps your… brothers can wait out here. There's coffee in the machine.” He points.
“Mila,” starts Scrapper, looking ready to follow. So do Reaper and Mack.
“It's okay.” I put my hand on his wrist, asking him to trust me. No matter where the judge stands on what's going on, he's not going to assault me inside his office. If nothing else, it's way too public, especially with my boys waiting outside it. “This won’t take long.”
They nod, even if they don't look thrilled about it. Instead, they take seats in the hallway outside his office, making the chairs look tiny with their powerful bodies while they scowl at the judge and me.
Judge Kincaid shuts the door behind us. “They seem protective of you.”
This time I don't have to fake my smile. “They are.”
“I wasn’t aware that you had connections with the Screaming Eagles.” He sounds genuinely caught off guard. He sits down behind his desk, rests his forearms on the top and folds his hands. “How interesting.”
“Is it?” I pull out my phone and show him the audio recorder. “Is it okay if I record?”
He nods. “Of course. I assumed you would need to. As long as you understand that this is an informal interview for educational purposes. If you attempt to use it in any sort of commercial capacity, we will pursue legal action.”
“Of course.”
Any hope I had of finding new information dries up faster than the Sahara. Judge Kincaid gives me a perfectly good and perfectly boring interview. Every time I drop a hint of the sort that threw Mullerby into a full fledged man-trum, Kincaid simply smiles and sails on past. He knows how to handle himself. And of course, there's always the possibility that he doesn't actually know anything after all. About ten minutes in, there's a buzz in his pocket. He's wearing a smartwatch, which he checks with a glance. A brief nod, as if to himself, and then he looks back to me.
“I'm afraid I have to cut this meeting a little short, but I hope you got something of value out of it. Unfortunately, a judge's work is never done.”
I try not to seem too dejected when I stop the recording app and put my phone away. If I'm going to get more information about what's going on, it's not going to be from him. But, I had to try. “Thank you for your time. I appreciate it. I'm sure you're very busy.”
He gives me that fake politician smile again as he holds the door. The one that keeps me reconsidering whether I can actually trust him or not. “No problem at all.”
The guys stand up as we come out. Reaper's eyes flit suspiciously between me and Judge Kincaid. “Everything good?”
I nod. “He was a perfect gentleman.” They don’t look convinced.
“Your sister is quite unharmed, I assure you.” Judge Kincaid chuckles softly. “Are you okay finding your own way out? The elevator is just down the hall and to the left.”
Needless to say, we make it to the elevator safely.
We don't really talk until we're getting on the bikes in the parking lot, not wanting to make anyone more suspicious than they already are seeing me walk in with the three of them. I sit behind Reaper, loving the feeling of his broad back in my arms and his narrow hips between my legs.
“How'd it really go, sis?” he asks as he starts his bike. The rumble immediately gives me all sorts of ideas that a girl shouldn’t have about her brother.
“Bum deal. If he knows anything, he didn't let on. I did everything but dangle Mullerby’s confession in front of him and he didn't even flinch. If he was lying, he was prepared.”
He shrugs. “He might just be what he says. Some old guy who felt bad that his colleague was an asshole. Want us to take you home, or…” He lets it hang, making it pretty obvious what he'd prefer.
“I wouldn’t mind stopping by the club.” I squeeze him harder. “If you don’t mind the company.”
I'm day-dreaming of what's going to be waiting for me once we get to the clubhouse, when a loud roar sounds behind us, drowning out even the roar of the motorcycles. My fingers tighten around Reaper as I look back over my shoulder. What the?—
Three big SUV-like vehicles, but squatter and wider, have come up right behind us. They're jet black with tinted windows so it's impossible to see who's inside. From where I'm sitting, their grilles look huge, like locomotives are bearing down on us. At first I think it’s a convoy for some important person, but the way they’re spread out behind is a little too threatening to ignore. The guys signal to each other, communicating in some way that I don’t understand.
I squeeze my eyes shut and hold on as Reaper twists the throttle. His bike lurches forwards as the engine engages. Hair whips around my face while I dig my fingers so deeply into his jacket that I worry my nails are going to rip off. Falling off now would be almost certain death.
We squeeze between two cars, close enough that I could reach out and touch both of them at once. To our right, Mack cuts in just ahead of a delivery van, and then Scrapper appears from behind to overtake both of them. The van slams on its breaks and I have a flash of the driver flipping us off before we leave him far behind.
We weave through traffic like we have a death wish, but the cars chasing us aren't giving up. A loud metallic screech sounds behind us, and when I look behind, one of them has forced a car into the guardrail that separates us from the river below. The side of the car catches on something, and it's peeled open like a tin can, before it stops and the big car chasing us pushes by. These guys are insane.
Reaper finds a little more juice in the engine, opening the throttle all the way. I don't even want to know how fast we're going. Mack and Scrapper are holding pace, but it’s every man for themselves as we race through the blur of traffic. Another car tries to get out of the way and ends up shoved aside, in a symphony grinding metal. One of its tires explodes when it slams into the cement barrier on the inside of the highway and the hood starts smoking. The cars chasing us haven't even slowed down, though. No matter what Reaper does, they stick like glue.
I close my eyes and pray for the first time in who knows how long. The motorcycles are much easier to maneuver, but at this speed, even the smallest error or surprise will turn us into ground beef.
Long River comes up ahead of us, fast. Underneath the approaching bridge, the water roils, dark and muddy from all the erosion after the torrential rain we had just before the heat wave. All we have to do is cross to get into South Side, where our chances of help improve drastically if one of the Screaming Eagle patrols picks up what’s going on.
I look to our left and see a car bump against Mack's back wheel. I scream, watching him veer across the lane, nearly skidding out on the asphalt before recovering. He stays up, but it kills his speed and he drops out of sight. Scrapper raises a fist and falls back, probably to help Mack. A moment later, the cracks of gunshots cut through the engine noises. l hope he's the one shooting, and not the one getting shot at but I can't tell.
We shoot onto the bridge, the sound of the wheels changing to a hollow rattle that knocks my teeth together. A moment later I hear the deeper rumble of car wheels hitting the same surface. It's coming. I close my eyes and wait.
The bike lurches as something hits the rear fender.
“Reaper!” I scream, his name torn right out of my mouth by the wind.
He veers one way, and then the other, but a second car boxes us in to the right. To the left is a railing that’s the only thing keeping us from the cold river below.
Oh God, we're going to die, and this is going to be all my fault. It's got to be. I don't know if it was the judge, Mullerby, or someone who saw us in City Hall, but there's no way this isn't related.
Reaper, Scrapper and Mack are guilty of nothing but trying to keep me safe, and I’m getting us all killed. Danny was right, in the end, but I don't think I'll be around for him to tell me that he told me so.
The cars inch closer, closing the box. Our bumper's nudged again, making the back wheel kick out. For a moment, I think we're doomed, but Reaper manages to keep us upright. His skill is the only thing keeping us alive, but that can only work for so long.
Like they can hear my thoughts, the car behind us rams hard, launching the bike forwards and sideways, so that the front wheel catches on the bridge railing. Holding onto Reaper doesn't help when both of us are thrown off the bike. There's a loud crunch beneath us as his bike crumples under the car, and then we're over the railing, flipping out of control and heading straight for the dark water under the bridge.
It was fun while it lasted.