Chapter 35 Rex
THIRTY-FIVE
REX
THREE DAYS LATER
“You sound stressed.”
Rachel blew out a breath. “It’s been a crazy couple of days.”
I knew that without her having to say a word. Though we’d been talking every day, the last couple of calls had ended with her yawning and her words slurring as she fell asleep.
Whatever was going on in NYC, she wouldn’t tell me. Client confidentiality.
It didn’t sit well with me at all.
Staying out of the MC business wasn’t helping matters either. It meant I couldn’t call on Maverick for information without getting a barrage of bullshit in return.
I wanted a break. Some respite. I needed that. So that meant I was, for all intents and purposes, blocked from any information that was strictly unavailable to the public.
“Is everything under control?”
“Mostly. There’ll be a court case soon enough, but it’ll be thrown out.”
“How do you know?”
“Trumped-up charges. They don’t actually make any sense. I’ve no idea why the DA is going through with them, but she is.”
“A bluff?”
“I doubt it. But maybe. I don’t know why the hell the DA decides what she decides.”
“For whatever reason, there’s no denying that she gets results.”
New York’s District Attorney had made a name for herself by taking a tough stance on mafia activity in the city.
Predominantly Italian activity.
As far as I was aware, the Irish, Russian, and Chinese escaped her ire, whereas the Italians got the full brunt of it.
If the DA was being a hard ass, I guessed I had confirmation of who Rachel’s client was.
Even though there’d been a change of leadership over Christmas—even I’d heard about that through the grapevine—the Famiglia, the Italian mafia, were still being targeted by the DA's office.
“You couldn’t get them to drop the charges for your client?” I asked, surprised.
“No.”
She didn’t sound happy about it. That was the perfectionist in her.
A sharp sound in my ear had me wincing. “What’s that in the background?”
“Traffic. I’m on my way to Manhattan.”
“Meetings?”
“Always.”
“Was your client angry?”
“No.”
I arched a brow. “Unusual.”
“I agree.” She huffed. “He’s playing a bigger endgame.”
“What kind of endgame? I know you’re not supposed to talk about this with me, but maybe I can help?”
She sighed, her exhaustion drifting down the line. “I doubt it. His great-uncle is in prison on trumped-up charges. The man’s in the Bellevue Hospital Prison Ward; he’s dying, and my client wants him to experience some freedom before that happens.”
Shocked she’d shared that much, I was silent as I processed the information she’d given me.
“I shouldn’t have said that—”
“No, it’s fine. You know I won’t tell anyone.”
“I know you won’t, but that doesn’t mean you won’t try to use it for the MC’s gain if you figure out who my client is.”
I snorted. “You know me better than anyone, so you also know that if you tell me something in confidence I won’t say a damn word.”
“I repeat—I know you won’t. But I know your brain.”
Rolling my eyes, I muttered, “What kind of trumped-up charges?”
“Multiple counts of murder one.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, the case was a mess. The prosecution said the great-uncle wanted to take over his family’s business,” she explained, her tone careful enough that I knew she was whitewashing over some of the minutiae.
“And that didn’t happen?”
“My client’s spent years liberating his great-uncle, not to mention wasting a fortune on the endeavor. I doubt he’d have done that if he didn’t believe the old man was innocent.”
“That’s not a yes.”
She laughed. “No, it isn’t. But you know how I work.”
“You’ll get him out whether he is or isn’t guilty because your client asked you to.”
“Exactly. I saw him the other day. He looks like hell.”
“You went to the hospital?”
“Yes.” Then, blandly, she repeated something she’d said earlier, “If you remember, my client was involved in a fight in his holding cell.”
My brow furrowed as I read between the lines. “And got transferred to Bellevue Hospital Prison Ward?”
“Yes.”
Where his great-uncle was being treated.
I had to smile. “That’s seems coincidental.”
“Doesn’t it?” she drawled. “Anyway, the pressure’s on to get the old man out before he dies. Which, because of end-stage kidney failure, is looking goddamn imminent.”
“What’s your next move?”
“I’m going to put pressure on the Attorney General.”
My eyes widened. “Hardcore.”
“After all this time, it needs hardcore. I’ve pulled all the plays I can. There’s clear proof that evidence was falsified and that the DA at the time turned a blind eye to the truth. Either way, my appeals get us nowhere. It’s bullshit, so now I need to barter with leverage.”
“The Attorney General owes you?”
“He does, but not enough for this. I’m afraid my client’s the one who’ll owe him the favor.”
I pursed my lips. “Shouldn’t you ask for approval first?”
“I was told to do whatever it took to get the old man out of jail. He can bitch at me later over how I achieve that,” she grouched. “Anyway, enough about work, how’s your day been? Have you managed to get some downtime?”
“I have. I got some sleep. I didn’t realize how tired I was until I came here. I can’t say that I feel better for it, but I must have needed it.” I scratched my stubbled jaw. “I got a workout in, ate some lunch. You know how it goes.”
“How much is it killing you not to work?”
My lips twitched. “It’s hard. I keep thinking about it, but then I force myself to switch off. I just need a break from it, you know?”
“I do.” She heaved a sigh, one that sounded like she could do with some R&R too, then, before I could suggest she did something crazy like take some time off and maybe come and visit California, she inserted, “Wynter’s helping with that?”
“She is, but when she’s at school, not so much,” I said dryly.
“Your playmate’s busy, huh?” she teased.
“She is.”
“You’re enjoying hanging out with her?”
“I really am. She’s a cool kid. Sometimes, she forgets that she likes being around me and she remembers she’s a teenager and that she hates the world, but those times are becoming fewer and farther between.”
“I’m glad. Did you get her the helmet?”
“Yeah.” I grinned to myself. “She was very happy when I gave it to her.”
“Biker spawn. No escaping the call of the road,” she joked, but I knew she understood the fire in my belly.
“Damn straight. I spoke with Blade, the Disciples’ Prez, again.”
“Busier day than you just catching some downtime like you said,” she mocked, but she knew that, originally, he’d given me a seventy-two-hour deadline to stay on his territory, and Blade had been surprisingly patient this far.
I had a feeling his MC was dealing with a shitstorm of their own, but without Mav to go hunting for information, I had no real proof of that.
Whatever the reason, so long as I kept on checking in, Blade was okay with me staying for the interim.
“Yeah. I guess.”
“What did he want? A pound of flesh as payment for staying?”
“No, just said that he’d kill me if I fucked anything in Burbank up. The usual.”
“A nice, everyday conversation then?”
I snorted.
“Any updates on the apartment?” she continued.
“Not really. Maybe next week she’ll let me talk about it with her. It’s still a sore subject.”
“She’s got a lot of her daddy’s pride,” Rachel joked. “You’d be the one who’d know how to get around it.”
I grunted. “You’d think so. But no dice yet. How are the plans for the gala coming along?”
“Great. With Lily involved, my life is so much easier. She coordinates with the events organizers so I don’t have to. Did you know Lily’s a Lindenbourg?”
Her hushed voice had me smiling. “I did. I’m glad that’s working out.”
“Why?”
“I know she wanted to keep on helping with the books, but…” I shrugged. “Plausible deniability doesn’t help when you ain’t married to your woman.”
“That’s always been the flaw with Old Ladies.”
I grunted. “Why do you think Dad married Mom?”
She just hummed, but I knew she’d have heard the tension in my voice.
“Anyway, you got a dress?” I queried, wanting, hell, needing to change the subject.
“This close to the gala and you think I wouldn’t have one already?”
“You gonna take a picture of it for me?”
“Do you want me to take a picture for you?” she drawled.
“I’d like to see it.” Because she was tricksy, I muttered, “With you in it.”
“Thinking like a lawyer. Smart, Rex. Smart.”
“That’s me,” I joked. My smile faded and I told her the truth, “Miss you, Rach. It’s better than it was before, but I miss you.”
A breath gusted from her lips. “And I miss you.” She didn’t ask when I was coming back, which I was grateful for, but said instead, “I’m glad we’re talking.”
“Me too. I didn’t think it would flow as easy as this, but it is.”
She cleared her throat. “I know you’re trying to relax and everything, but I wondered if you’d like to hear Bear’s will? That clause of your dad’s that we read it together would be satisfied.”
“I can think of better ways to spend my time,” I mocked, “but yeah, I guess it needs to be done.”
The prospect set my nerves on edge, though, so I got to my feet and clambered over to the mini bar.
This conversation called for JD and Coke.
I didn’t give a damn if it was a couple hours after breakfast or not.
“The privacy screen is up,” she assured me. “Emile can’t hear.”
“Wouldn’t matter if he could. I’m sure I know what’s going to where and to whom.”
“The main reason I wanted to speak with you when you were still in California is because there are some stipulations in his will.”
“What kind of stipulations?”
“Bequests to certain people. Storm’s one of them.”
“You waiting to tell him when he rides up for the funeral?” I knew that was being delayed while I was AWOL.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not supposed to say.”
“Yeah, okay.”
She sighed impatiently. “It’s on my discretion.”
“What is? The bequest?”
“No. You have to remember that this will was updated last year, so Storm and Keira were separated.”
“So? They still are, aren't they? Even if she moved to Ohio.”
“So, that upset Bear.”
“It upset all of us.”