Chapter 10
STEVIE
Nine months wasted visiting this barbaric con, and I refuse to waste any more time, especially once he told me I’d be giving him a blowjob.
I had enough, so I stopped going. I’m carrying the shame of giving in, thinking the little bit I did would placate him.
In the process, I found myself enjoying his touch and mouth.
His dominance and dirty talk stripped me of dignity.
He’s been toying with me. Bending me to his will, and I couldn’t do it anymore.
It’s time I start respecting myself again and concentrate on work and finding a new home.
After months of saving, I have a decent amount of money for a down payment on a condominium, so I find a real estate agent, and she’s set up a couple of appointments. Since I’m normally done working by early afternoon, I’m flexible for showings.
Today, I’m meeting my realtor Joslin at a small house several towns over.
It might not be far enough from these crazy bikers, but I’m hoping they stay in Moose Grove.
My dad’s MC didn’t cross lines. This will be my first time meeting Joslin, and my first ever house hunting.
I’m so excited that after showering, I treat myself to a coffee and a pastry at a café in this cute little town.
The weather is good, so I sit at one of the outdoor tables, people-watching and periodically reading about the listing, which is a two-bedroom ranch house.
In mid-bite, two men approach and sit down at my table.
Suits and dark glasses could mean they’re good or bad guys.
Either one isn’t a good sign, and I’m not sure why they’re at my table.
Placing my pastry on the plate and dabbing my mouth with a napkin, I say, “Excuse me. This table is taken.”
They pull out their identifications, showing they’re FBI. FBI? What reason do they…
Son of a bitch! Times Up!
My job is the only reason they could possibly be here.
I’ve never been in trouble with the law, except it’s no secret my work is shady.
Any intelligent person working there could figure out these deaths are the acts of sinister people.
And I accepted the job, because of the money.
But now…now, I’m seriously thinking on bailing.
Or maybe they’re wondering why I’m visiting a convict?
What could I possibly tell them about Frost? I don’t even know him.
One of the men snips my thoughts when he answers, “We just have a few questions. I’m Detective Johnson and this is Detective Healy.”
Act innocent. Pretend you have no clue why they’d be here.
“Okay, except I’m not sure how I can help you.”
“Is your name Stephanie Adams?” I nod. “Do you work at Times Up?”
Another nod as I innocently flutter my eyelashes and ask, “Did I do something wrong?”
They glance at one another, probably wondering if they should play nice.
“Just answer some questions for us and we’ll be on our way.”
They’re going with nice cops, so I’ll play clueless.
“Sure.”
Stutter a little.
“I, uh…” My hand rests on my chest. “Should I be worried?”
Detective Johnson crosses his left leg over the other. “I don’t know, should you?”
Fisting my shirt, I bite my lower lip and respond, “I don’t think so.”
In my head, I think of all the true crime shows I’ve watched, and what the people did that made them look guilty. Don’t fidget? Make eye contact? Relax? I’m at a loss, so I sit here, making eye contact with them, hoping they don’t notice the perspiration beading at my hairline.
Detective Healy cuts in, “When you were at work, have you ever noticed anything odd about Jasper or the other employees?”
I blink. “No.”
“Have they ever mentioned anything about how a person died?”
Another blink. “No.”
Detective Healy narrows his eyes, leaning his arms on the table. “You do understand that if we find out you’re lying, you’ll experience first-hand what a prison cell looks like instead of a conjugal room.”
They’ve been watching me! The nice cop routine is gone.
My heartrate races like a locomotive, but I ignore it, continuing to play innocent. “If you thought I was guilty for whatever reason, wouldn’t you be arresting me instead of questioning me?”
His jaw tightens. “Listen Ms. Adams. We’re not playing fucking games.”
I sit straighter. “Neither am I.”
Johnson closes in on me. “Good, because if the FBI is talking to you it’s serious.” I don’t respond. “Now, let’s continue. Have you ever seen a dead body at one of your so-called ‘cleanup’ scenes?”
Even if I tell the truth, I could be incriminated. I’ve been working there for almost a year. If Times Up goes down, I’ll go down right along with them anyways.
“No.”
Keep it short.
Healy says, “We’re giving you one last chance to come clean with us.”
As scared as I am, I’m also pissed by their treatment of me. “Come clean for what? Obviously, you don’t have anything on me, which is why you’re here, accusing me of…of, I don’t know what.”
They both stand abruptly, button their coats, and begin to leave, but Johnson turns back. “We’ll remember this conversation when we take down Jasper and his crew. I’ll personally make sure you get the max while we let the others plead out.”
It isn’t until they drive away in their car that I sit back, swallowing hard, and wiping the perspiration from my brow. People in my vicinity are staring.
My God, what have I gotten into?
I tuck money under my cup, put on my sunglasses, and leave to meet Joslin, all the while thinking about if I should quit everything.
The job. Quit looking for a home. Maybe move?
But if I do any of that, it will make me look suspicious, and I’ll really be on their radar.
I sit in my car for several minutes, because my hands are shaking, and I have to level-out my breathing.
Parking in front of the light, yellow house, I scope out the area as I walk to the front door. It opens, and as soon as I see her, my face falls.
Joslin.
She was one of the women at the salon who held my arm while Lynette threatened and slapped me. Once, they referred to her as Cougar.
I step back and she crosses her arms with a smile, saying, “Well, well, the name sounded familiar, but I didn’t put two-and-two together.”
Still shaken from the FBI visit, I snap, “No surprise. Too intelligent for someone like you to do.”
Joslin steps forward. “Bitch!”
My fear transforms into anger again as I meet her step. “Right backatcha.”
We’re glaring at each other until she relaxes, checking her nails as if we don’t dislike each other.
Without looking at me, she asks, “So, do you want to look at the house or not?”
“Might as well.” I act as if she doesn’t rattle me, which she doesn’t. Nothing can after the FBI visit.
The mood lightens while she tells me the age of the house and its upgrades consisting of a new roof and plumbing. An older couple have put a bid on the house, so if I want it, I need to make up my mind fast. I browse through, loving the fitted rooms and small backyard. It’s charming.
We exit the house, and she asks, “Are you interested?”
“Yes.” I squint at her. “Will you put in my bid or screw me?”
“Please. I want the sale as much as you want the house.”
We part, and at my apartment, I fall into my bed, exhausted from my FBI encounter and Joslin. One of my biggest mistakes was moving to Moose Grove. Survivor’s guilt brought me here, and danger stops me from running.
It’s been two months since the FBI paid me a visit, and ever since, I’ve kept my head down at work.
I’m sure they’ve been watching for a long time, yet still haven’t found enough evidence.
Jasper hasn’t asked me any questions, which tells me he doesn’t know anything about it, and I haven’t told him.
I guess I’m hoping if we continue to conduct business like we’ve been then the FBI will come up empty and work on other cases.
Times Up does work for the police, so they’re still legit.
During this time, a couple of bodies have been at the cleanup house we sometimes return to.
No doubt a torture house, located deep in the woods.
Some of the bodies are mangled beyond recognition, and some were executed from the back.
I’m not a religious woman by any means, but I tend to send up a silent prayer for these souls.
Innocent or not, they deserve better than murder and the way they’re discarded.
At this particular job, the body has already been disposed of, so we’re finishing up clearing out the room.
I’ve scrubbed the blood splatters from the wall and floor, rolling up the rug for burning.
Once done, I join the rest of the crew in loading Jasper’s truck with our supplies.
We say our goodbyes, and as I’m walking to my car, Jasper jogs over to me.
“We have to talk.”
Surprised, I stop to face him. “About what?”
Jasper waits for the crew to drive off, turns to me, and says, “I gotta let you go.”
I stumble and practically shout, “What? Why?”
“We just don’t need you anymore.”
Anger burns through my veins. “You don’t need me anymore? What the hell, Jasper? I just helped with a cleanup.”
He shrugs, which pisses me off more. “I had you work the whole day, so you’d at least get paid.”
“How fucking thoughtful of you.” I step toward him. “Does this have to do with the FBI?”
His jaw drops as his eyes widen. “FBI? You talked to them?”
“They talked to me. I said nothing.”
“What did they want?”
I turn away and let out a heavy exhale before adding, “You just fired me, which has nothing to do with the FBI, yet you want to know what they had to say?”
“This is serious, Stevie. Don’t fuck around.”
My fists rest on my hips. “You first. Why are you firing me?”
“Frost.” My eyes crinkle. “He asked me to.” He gives me a chin nod. “Your turn.”
“Fuck you!”
I hop in my car, lock the door, and drive off in a rage.
This job was the one and only reason I’ve stayed.
To buy my own place where bikers don’t exist. Without an education or experience, I could never make this kind of money.
I’ve put myself in danger of arrest for lying to the FBI and this asshole convict swoops in, wiping it all away.
I pull onto the gravel parking lot by my apartment, grip my steering wheel, and scream.
Scream until my throat is raw. Gears and the others step outside of the garage, watching me lose my shit.
Shoving open the door, I stomp toward Gears.
To hell with what they think or what they’ll do.
Instead of composing myself, I unleash my fury, pointing at them.
“You assholes have ruined my life. A bunch of pathetic bikers who spend their time intimidating me and listening to some asshole convict.” Gears let’s out a weak laugh, and I step into his space, my mouth and actions blurred with hatred.
Through gritted teeth, I add, “Pussies! All of you. King is a fucking loser convict, and you’re all weak for following him. ”
Gears folds his arms, which puts space between us. “Tell him yourself.”
“The prick is in jail.”
“Got out early. He’s at the Rebel Room.”
“Where the hell is that?”
As he rattles off the address, I’m already in my car, pulling away.
While heading over there, Gears and the others follow behind on their bikes.
I guess the assholes don’t want to miss the show.
When I arrive, I fling my car door open and leave it, smacking the bar door open to a smattering of bikers.
I blink for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and then I scan the room until I find King.
Frost. His head’s laid back on the booth.
As I approach, I see a half-naked woman on her knees under the table giving him a blow job.
His eyes open and he smirks. “Hey, Rebel. Watch and learn.”
“No thanks, STD dick. I’ll leave it up to these whores.”
By now, the bar has filled with bikers. All eyes are on me and King, and his and my gaze are locked on each other as he pushes the woman to the side, stands, and tucks himself back in his jeans.
“Didn’t mind when I had my mouth and hands on you. I’m sure you’d love my cock.” He stops and pretends to think before adding, “Oh wait. Your mouth can’t handle dick.”
My finger jabs in his direction. “You had another month.”
“Good behavior, darlin’. Can’t say the same about you.”
“Aw, poor egotistical prick of a convict.” Everyone gasps, taking a step back. “You had no one else to threaten, so you have me fired.” Frost’s front is flushed against mine, and when I step back, he steps forward. “Did I hit a nerve?”
Someone shouts, “And you thought Alicia had a temper.”
They all laugh, but my head swings in the direction of the voice. “Alicia? Alicia Gunthrie?” The laughter dies. I turn back to Frost, and it all makes sense now. I whisper, “You. You were Alicia’s husband.”
His head tilts to the side. “How do you know her?”
Remembering my conversation with Alicia brings tears to my eyes. “She said you didn’t want anything to do with her.”
Frost backs me up to the bar. “I asked you a fucking question.”
The events of the day and my anger clouds my judgment. My eyes haven’t swayed from his. I collect saliva in my mouth and spit in his face. He doesn’t flinch. In slow motion, he wipes it off, placing his hands on the bar on each side of me.
“Bad idea, Rebel.”
There’s a pinprick to my neck, and I collapse into a black abyss.