Chapter 13 #2
“Option one,” she said, lifting her chin. A part of me soared. Another part sank. “We try option one.”
“Okay. That means we need to involve the guys at the garage.” Even with Dash’s frequent trips to the station recently, I wasn’t an expert on motorcycle gangs. If we were going to approach the Warriors, I needed all the help I could get from the former Tin Kings.
“Tell me about them.”
I took a long breath—it was a long story. “The Tin Kings brought a lot of trouble to Clifton Forge. In their prime, they were like the Warriors, though maybe not quite as reckless. But every bit as brutal.”
Scarlett blinked. “And Presley worked for them?”
“She worked for the garage. It was owned and operated by Draven Slater. From what I understand, the garage was there first. The club came second. Some of the guys in the club, like Dash and Emmett, worked at the garage as mechanics, but it was technically separate from the club. I don’t know how much Presley knew about the Kings or was involved in club business.
My impression is not much. I think Draven wanted to protect her so he kept her out of it. ”
Scarlett sat up straighter. “Draven was the man Tucker mentioned in the video. Who was he? Why would they kill him?”
We’d been sidetracked the day she’d showed me the video and I hadn’t wanted to go into all the history.
But now was as good a time as any. “Draven was the president of the Tin Kings and one of their founders. When he retired, he passed the garage down to Dash. Same with leadership of the club before it disbanded.”
“Why’d they disband?”
“From what Dash and Emmett have told me, the culture changed.” Maybe it was the truth. Maybe it wasn’t. But I’d never pushed for more than what they’d told me. The Kings were history and as long as they didn’t break any laws, I’d left history alone.
“Emmett’s dad was murdered,” I said, watching as Scarlett flinched. “I don’t know who killed him, but I suspect the Kings do and made that person pay.”
“The Warriors,” she murmured.
“Maybe. Afterward, Dash told me that the club changed. Emmett’s dad had been one of the founding members alongside Draven, and his death really shook the club.”
“So Dash shut it down.”
“More or less. The garage is a fairly lucrative business. They do a lot of custom bike builds and classic remodels. Real high-end stuff that doesn’t come cheap.
I’m speculating here, but my guess is the garage started to make up for any income the club made through not-so-legal channels.
The older members probably stepped away.
I know for a fact that a handful of former Kings who wanted to stay in the club life joined the Warriors.
And the younger guys all settled in at the garage, working for Dash. ”
Scarlett raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? What about their ‘brotherhood’? That’s all I ever heard at the Warrior clubhouse. Brothers. Everything was for their brothers. It was like a cult. It seems strange to just walk away.”
“Oh, I’m sure there’s more to it, but good luck getting anyone to admit the truth.”
Scarlett frowned and her eyes narrowed, like I’d just issued a challenge.
In a way, she reminded me of Bryce Slater, Dash’s wife.
Bryce had moved to town years ago to work with her father as a reporter at the local newspaper.
She’d had a big career in Seattle as a news anchor, so when she’d come here and heard the story of the Kings, their sudden disbandment without much explanation, she hadn’t bought it either.
She’d gone after Dash for answers.
He’d married her.
I had no doubt that she’d gotten the truth, but neither of them would ever share it with the authorities.
Not that it mattered. All I cared about was that the Kings were over and my town was relatively peaceful.
“They’re good men,” I told Scarlett. I didn’t want her to have any misconceptions about their character, because we were going to have to trust them to get her out of this clusterfuck. “They want an honest life. I’m not going to dredge up the past and risk taking it from them.”
That was what had cost the last chief of police his career. And his life. Marcus Wagner’s obsession with the Tin Kings had driven him mad.
Scarlett tapped her chin, talking more to herself than to me. “Okay, so the Kings fell apart. The guys went to work at the garage. If they weren’t a threat to the Warriors, why would Tucker kill Draven Slater and make it look like a suicide? What am I missing?”
My smart, beautiful woman. She caught on to things quickly, so it was no surprise she was putting the puzzle together faster than I could supply pieces.
“About three, almost four, years ago, a woman was murdered at a motel in town,” I told her. “Stabbed to death.”
“Murdered?” Scarlett froze. “Who?”
“Her name was Amina Daylee. She was an old friend of Draven’s. A lover. And their daughter is a friend of mine. Genevieve is married to Isaiah, one of the mechanics at the garage. She’s Dash’s half-sister. Remember I told you they live down the street.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “The pretty brunette and the guy with the tattoos. They have a baby.”
“That’s them.”
“Everyone is tied to the garage, including Presley,” she said. “That’s how she fits in this thing.”
“Pretty much. Long story short, Marcus couldn’t handle the fact that Draven and the Kings got away with whatever it was they got away with. So he killed Amina and tried to frame Draven for her murder.”
“But he didn’t get away with it. Otherwise you wouldn’t be chief.”
“Correct. He’d disguised himself as a Warrior. Tried to get the former Kings to think it was them who’d set up Draven. Meanwhile, the county prosecutor put Draven on trial. Draven probably would have been convicted, but he killed himself first.”
“No.” Scarlett’s eyes widened. “That’s what Tucker meant. He didn’t kill himself. They killed him. But why? If Draven was going to prison, why fake a suicide and murder him?”
“That, I don’t know. Until you showed me that video, I thought Draven killed himself to avoid a prison sentence.”
“Oh my God.” Scarlett slumped and closed her eyes. “This is such a mess.”
“And it might get messier. If Dash doesn’t know that the Warriors killed his father, this could be a disaster.” I didn’t want to know what that might do to my friend’s life. Or my town.
“What if he does know?”
“It means Dash and the guys at the garage chose to let it go. To protect themselves and their families. I wouldn’t blame them. They’re outnumbered. Dash and Bryce have little kids. Genevieve and Isaiah have their baby girl. A fight with the Warriors will only mean putting those kids in harm’s way.”
“I’m doing that, Luke.” The color drained from Scarlett’s face. “I am endangering those kids. You told me the Warriors have been watching them. What if they do something stupid? What if someone gets hurt? It would be my fault.”
“No, not you.” I shook my head. “Jeremiah.”
“How could he have joined the Warriors? He was engaged to Presley. Isn’t that some kind of betrayal?”
“Well, from what I understand, the Kings thought about as much of Jeremiah as they do dog shit on their boot. None of them wanted her to marry him. None of them knew their history. Now that they do, I don’t think they blame her. Pres was loyal to him for helping her escape.”
Scarlett turned and gave me her profile as she stared across the water. “He was a mistake. For us both.”
“You didn’t know.”
“No, I didn’t. And neither did Presley.” Her fists clenched at her sides. “This is on him.”
“Damn right.” Scarlett might want that regret to fuel her forward, but I didn’t want that burden on her shoulders. “That’s the short of it.”
“More questions than answers.”
“Yeah. Which is why we have to involve Dash and Emmett. Leo too. He’s another former King who works at the garage.”
“Can we trust them?”
“Yes.” And we didn’t really have a choice.
“Okay,” Scarlett whispered with no hesitation.
Because she trusted me. And I wasn’t going to let her down. Not with this. Not ever.
“What’s next?” she asked.
“We show them the video. They know more about the Warriors than anyone else in Clifton Forge. We need to get their input.”
And hope like hell that Dash didn’t go ballistic when he learned the truth about his father, if he didn’t know already.
Scarlett faced the river, thinking it over. I didn’t rush her to agree, I just gave her time to process. Finally, she whispered, “Presley loves them. You trust them. So I will too.”
“I’ll reach out to Dash when we get home.”
“Can you do this? Is it illegal?” Scarlett’s hands flew to her cheeks. “Oh my God, Luke. I didn’t even think. You’re a cop. I showed you that video and put you in a position to lie and—”
“Don’t.” I lifted an oar from the water, setting it alongside the raft.
Then I shifted in my seat, stretching an arm for her.
I pulled one of her hands free and replaced it with my own, brushing a thumb across her cheek.
“You let me worry about that. Right now, all I care about is keeping you safe.”
Her eyes softened and she leaned into my touch. “I’m sorry.”
“We’ll figure it out.” I circled my thumb once more, then returned to my bench, taking up the oar.
The two of us sat quietly, the sound of the river whirring around us and the magnitude of what was to come weighing heavily on our shoulders.
We had a fight ahead of us. One hell of a fight.
It was hard to enjoy the river today. This was one of the best areas to fish, and though I loved casting my line into the water, I couldn’t bring myself to touch a pole.
“Should we have lunch?” I asked Scarlett as the sun reached its peak.
“I guess.” She shrugged, probably not hungry. Our conversation had stolen my appetite too.
I pointed down the river. “There are some curves and rapids ahead. Nothing major, but enough that we won’t want to be up and down opening coolers. Let’s take a break. Pull off for a while. Then we’ll continue on and make camp before an early dinner.”
She nodded, twisting sideways to watch as I guided us toward the bank.
When we were close, she moved to the front of the raft, grabbing the rope to tie us off like I’d taught her earlier in the week.
She held the raft, her arms straining, as I secured the oars and climbed out, taking the rope to tie us to a tree.
Then I walked to Scarlett and took her in my arms.
She melted into my chest, her hands snaking their way around my waist. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“I’ve brought so much trouble to your life.”
“Hey.” I leaned back, waiting for her to look up. When she did, I tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ll take the trouble. I’ll take it tenfold if that means I get you.”
The doubts, the internal conflict, I’d put away. Later. They’d be there later.
She blushed again, then stood on her tiptoes, ready for a kiss.
I bent, sweeping my lips against hers, letting my tongue drag across the seam of her mouth. My arms banded around her back as I hauled her closer. I was about to flick the string on her bikini top loose when an eagle cawed above our heads, the noise breaking us apart.
Scarlett’s gaze flew to the sky, her hand shielding her eyes, as the magnificent bird swooped down over the river. Its splayed talons plunged beneath the surface, grabbing a small trout and heaving it from the water.
“Whoa.” Scarlett’s jaw dropped. “That was—he was so close. And so big.”
“There.” I pointed toward the bird as it rose into the sky, toward a nest in a tree beside the cliff on the opposite bank.
“I’ve never seen a bald eagle in person.”
“They’re amazing creatures.” I let her go and scanned the area. It was surprising the bird had come down when we were so close but the two of us were standing in the shade of a tree. The raft was fairly well hidden too. “My father taught me that eagles are good omens.”
“I’ll take all the good omens we can find.” Scarlett’s attention stayed fixed on the bird as it settled into its perch and began devouring its own lunch.
“Dad loves the old mountain-men customs. Trapping. Tanning hides. Hunting. Fishing. His best friend is a Chippewa Cree and the two of them will set out each year to do something ‘the old-fashioned way.’ I have a pair of gloves they made one year out of a beaver pelt and sewed with sinew. While they’re doing these projects, his friend always tells him stories about Native American customs.”
Dad would then impart them to me.
It was one of my favorite things about fishing trips with Dad. They came with history lessons and tales from a different era when survival was hard and the trivial worries of today . . . well, there hadn’t been time for trivial.
I glanced around the shoreline and a flicker of white caught my eye. I stepped away from Scarlett and walked over to the feather resting on the gravel between two tufts of grass.
An eagle’s feather. Perfect and pristine. Like the bird had dropped it here, knowing we’d come along to claim it.
“Here.” I took it to her and placed it in her palm. “For some tribes, whenever a battle was won or a warrior was particularly brave, they were awarded a feather. It’s believed by some that the feathers hold the bird’s spirit or energy, and when they fall, it’s a gift.”
Scarlett took the stem, twisting it to inspect every angle. Then she ran a fingertip along its dark brown vane. “It’s so pretty.”
“Earning an eagle’s feather was for the bravest and strongest. You should take it home.” That feather was meant for her.
“You don’t think I should leave it here?” she asked.
“No.”
Maybe it was superstitious, but my instincts screamed we’d need that eagle’s bravery.
And more.