Chapter 4
PRESLEY
“You were supposed to kick him out,” I grumbled.
Dash scoffed. “You’re the one who had him sign the insurance waiver.”
“Which I thought you’d tear in half.”
“Well . . . I’ve been thinking about it.” Dash rubbed his jaw. “What better place to keep tabs on him than here? I don’t have to go anywhere. The asshole comes to me.”
My lip curled. “This is not how I’d imagined this going.”
“Hey, at least he’s not in the office, bothering you.”
“Yeah,” I muttered as Shaw crouched beside Isaiah.
Dash and I were standing at the other end of the shop, watching as Isaiah pointed out various parts on the bike’s engine and frame. Shaw nodded along, licking it up like he was actually committing it to memory, but the guy was an actor.
He was a professional faker.
It had been nearly a week since Shaw had come by the office wanting to watch.
Monday had passed without a visit. I’d been on edge Tuesday and Wednesday, waiting for him to show.
But this morning, I’d been relaxed as I’d unlocked the door, thinking we were home free.
I’d foolishly gotten my hopes up that he’d been busy with the movie and had forgotten about the garage.
Not thirty minutes after I’d flipped on the neon OPEN sign, Shaw’s black Cadillac had rolled into the space beside my Jeep, and when he’d entered the office, he hadn’t balked at the insurance waiver.
The word around town was that Shaw was staying at the Evergreen Motel along with other members of the cast and crew.
The KOA campground was filled with shiny white and silver trailers.
The other two motels were rumored to have a zero-vacancy rate starting in two weeks when more of the crew and cast arrived.
Everyone was talking about the movie. The cashier at the grocery store. The girl at the coffee hut. My next-door neighbor and Mrs. Franklin across the street. The town was buzzing.
Last night, I’d gone to the salon for a quick trim and my hair stylist had talked about Shaw the entire time.
Have you seen him? He’s so hawt. I saw him jogging down Central yesterday morning and about died.
Shaw. Shaw. Shaw.
I was so sick of that damn name, except when he’d swaggered into the office and flashed me his killer grin, my traitorous heart had skipped.
Dash had been in his office reviewing the parts order, so I’d let him deal with Shaw. Meanwhile, I’d snubbed our guest like it was my superpower.
“We need to find out what the movie is about,” Dash said quietly. “I know you don’t like the guy. I don’t either. But let’s play along. See if he’ll tell us what it’s about. I don’t really give a fuck what they’re doing, but Genevieve does.”
My sweet friend was having a hard time with this movie. Genevieve was scared about how they’d portray her mother and father. She didn’t care at all that she’d be a character in the film too. She simply fretted over the memory of those she held most dear.
“You’re right.” I sighed. “I’ll be civil.”
“Thanks.” He squeezed my shoulder.
“I’m going back to work.” I left Dash in the shop, who continued watching Shaw, as I retreated to my desk.
So much for keeping Shaw at a firm distance, but Dash had a fair point. For Genevieve, I’d put my own feelings aside.
None of us knew exactly what the movie was about or what type of story they planned to tell. The script was a mystery and not even the mayor or Luke Rosen had a clue to the movie’s plot—Dash had called Luke on Monday.
We knew it was about Amina’s murder. Obviously, Marcus Wagner would be a focal point since he was her killer. But what about Draven? What about the garage? Would there be mention of the Tin Kings or the Arrowhead Warriors?
The old rivalry between clubs had flared up a few years ago during Draven’s trial, but it had ended peacefully, and the Warriors had stayed out of Clifton Forge ever since.
As far as I knew, the only person who’d had contact with them since was me, and that was because Jeremiah had dragged me into their world.
If I’d wanted to see him, I’d had to drive to Ashton and stay in his room at the Warrior clubhouse.
It wasn’t until I’d walked through one of the wild Warrior parties that I’d understood why Draven had kept me far away from the Tin Kings when I’d been young.
The booze had flowed like a river, past shores of drugs and islands of scantily clad women. My first Warrior party was the first time I’d seen someone snort a line of cocaine.
About a year ago, I’d gone to visit Jeremiah like I had nearly every weekend. The two of us had been alone in his room, on his bed, watching a movie while a party raged beyond.
I’d tried the party scene, for Jeremiah, but after my tenth visit, I’d told him I was done. So he’d given them up too, choosing to stay with me in his room on Friday and Saturday nights instead of drinking with his brothers.
We’d been in the middle of the latest Jurassic Park movie when the door had burst open and a naked woman had stumbled inside. She’d gotten the rooms mixed up. In the middle of her slurred apology, she’d bent over and puked on the end of the bed and over my feet.
Had I been replaced with a skank who was drinking her daddy issues away? Jeremiah of all people knew I had daddy issues of my own. Maybe it had been a turn-off that I’d battled my demons, for the most part, alone. When Jeremiah had found me in Clifton Forge, I hadn’t needed him to rescue me.
Was he rescuing someone now?
The idea of him with another woman made me grimace. The week after the non-wedding, I’d gone to the clinic to be tested. I’d barely been able to make eye contact with the doctor. The results had come back clean, but I still wondered if Jeremiah had been faithful while we’d been together.
Had he loved me? Or had I just been easy sex on a Friday and Saturday night? It wasn’t like sex at the Warrior clubhouse didn’t come easily to any man wearing a cut. Jeremiah was easy on the eyes and hadn’t needed me to get off.
So why had he stayed with me only to leave me so brutally on our wedding day?
Damn it, I wanted an answer. I wanted the chance to yell and scream in his face, but I refused to reach out.
I would not seek him out. I would not waver.
I would not be my mother and accept whatever excuse he’d throw out.
The door between the shop and office opened and Shaw walked in. My mood, already sour, nose-dived, yet my heart rate spiked. This man had my insides twisted, pulling in opposite directions. I frowned as he took his normal chair across from my desk, but my breath hitched as he grinned.
“That was cool,” he said. “Worth your waiver to learn how they build the bikes. Do you spend much time in the shop?”
“No.”
“Have you worked in other garages?”
Wasn’t he here to watch his bike? This wasn’t get-to-know-Presley day. “No.”
“Did you grow up in Clifton Forge?”
My mouth flattened into a thin line. Seriously, the show was over. Why was he still here? “No.”
“Is this you making sure I’ve been told no enough times this week?”
I shot him a glare. If Shaw turned out to be funny, I was screwed.
“Isaiah seems like a nice guy. I appreciate that he took the time to humor me today.”
“He is a nice guy,” I said. “You do realize he’s connected to this movie you’re making, right? His wife’s mother was murdered.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “I know about the connection.”
“How much else do you know?”
“Enough to do the story justice.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Says a guy who wasn’t here and doesn’t know the actual story.”
Shaw picked up a pen from the edge of my desk and spun it around his fingers. “You don’t like that we’re making this movie.”
“Of course not. You’re glorifying a crime that stole my friend’s mother.”
“Trust me. We’re not glorifying anything. Certainly not Marcus Wagner.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You’re playing him, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
That was a different role for Shaw. Every movie I’d watched, he’d been the hero who saved the day. Marcus’s role didn’t fit his roster. He’d be better suited to playing Chief Rosen.
“What about the rest of the characters? Who’s playing them?
” I pointed to the picture of Draven, Dash and Nick on the wall.
“These are real people. Draven was a good man. Is that how you’ll show him?
Or is this going to be a movie about a bad cop going after a bad guy?
Is this more interesting than any other murder in the past decade because the person framed had ties to a motorcycle club? ”
Shaw spun the pen again, then caught it and placed it back on the desk. “This story is interesting because of all the elements involved. People want to watch interesting movies. Don’t you?”
“This isn’t fiction. This is my family. Did you ever once ask yourself who was on the other side of the murder? Or have you been too busy worrying about Marcus? That man deserves to rot in prison. What happens after this movie? Does he start getting fan mail from other sickos in the world?”
Shaw frowned. “There’s no way he comes out of this movie looking like anything other than a villain.”
“So you say.” I shrugged. “Until then, I get to watch my friend worry about how her mother is going to be portrayed in a movie. How her father will be portrayed. I get to watch her husband come to work with circles under his eyes because she had a bad night and couldn’t sleep.
You’re here, years after we’ve started putting the past behind us, and now we have to relive it over again. ”
There was a flicker of remorse in his gaze as he shook his head. “That’s not our intention.”
“But it’s reality,” I fired back. My mouth was running away with itself. “How far are you going to go? Will you show Amina’s murder? What about Draven? Is the world going to know he was a good man?”
Shaw didn’t answer.
“That’s a no,” I muttered.