Chapter 18
STEVIE
King chokes on his beer when Cristo mentions the FBI, and my back hits the chair. How does Cristo know about the FBI? And the most important question is why does he know? Cristo takes in our reaction. King’s eyebrows dip low while he uses the cloth napkin to wipe his mouth.
I clear my throat, and fill King in on the FBI. “Back when I still had a job…” I emphasize it since he is the reason for my firing. “…the FBI found me at a café and grilled me about Times Up.”
Cristo says, “What exactly did they ask you?”
My wine is the best distraction before diving into the conversation I had with the FBI.
Cristo sits back and waits as I sip my wine, glancing at the sun’s reflection in the pool.
Oh, how I’d love to jump into the pool on this humid day and drown to avoid this subject.
My physical and mental wounds haven’t healed from Ace’s assault, so to have to backtrack to when I feared for my life doesn’t help my psyche.
I’m on edge, and the wine hasn’t stopped the slight tremor in my hands.
I remove my splint and scratch my palm. The itch is probably a sign he’s going to drown me in the pool.
Ready to share, I say, “For one, I assumed whoever was committing the crimes was a dangerous person.”
Cristo grins at my comment, and a shiver rides down my spine. It was him. He’s the one who butchered those people. The ones I said a silent prayer for because of the heinous way they died. King was right. Cristo is a dangerous man.
I avoid his eyes, adding, “And I was working at Times Up, so it would only implicate me.”
His hands are folded in his lap, attentive to everything I’m saying. “Did they believe you?”
Taking in a big inhale and exhaling it out slowly, I say, “Forgive me, but if you knew about the FBI, I would assume you already know what happened.”
One of the men comes over, whispering in Cristo’s ear. He whispers back and the guy leaves. King has somehow managed to move his chair closer to mine, which brings me some comfort and I have no idea why. He’s dangerous himself.
Cristo responds, “From the FBI’s behavior, I assumed they hit a dead end with you. Even so, I was curious if your responses left them…let’s say complacent.”
“Detective Healy and Johnson were rude. They threatened to throw me in prison if they found out I’m lying. Johnson also said that when he takes down Jasper and the rest of us, he’ll let the others plead out and hit me with the maximum sentence.”
A rumble comes from King while Cristo’s nodding causes his top half to rock front to back. “Well, that was a brave thing you did.” There’s another lull in the conversation before he adds, “And smart.”
“I’m guessing you’re the one who committed those crimes?”
His body stops and his eyes lock on mine. “Be very careful in what you’re asking, Stephanie.”
“I’m sorry.”
Electric tension crackles in the air. King is wound up and I’m worried he’ll do something stupid to jeopardize our safety. Cristo’s demeanor shows he didn’t appreciate my question. Hell, I didn’t appreciate my question. I shouldn’t have crossed that line.
We visibly relax once the server comes with plates of food. There’s little talk as we eat, and the food is plenty. I can’t finish the majority of mine.
Cristo asks, “Is something wrong with the food?”
“Oh, no not at all. It’s delicious. I just haven’t been eating much lately.”
He nods and says to King, “I called you here about my sister.” Cristo puts his silverware on his plate and King’s head rises. “She had a minor accident. Ever since, she’s been upset over the scar she got from her stitches. To appease her, I want you to hide the scar.”
King responds, “She wants a tattoo?”
“Tattoo and you.” Cristo sizes me up and then glances at King. “Maria has a little crush on you. Give her a tattoo and it will go away after you’re done.”
King’s focus is on me as he asks, “That’s it. A tattoo.”
Cristo agrees. “I hope this isn’t a problem, Stevie.”
My head whips in his direction. “Not at all. I mean, King can do whatever he wants to do.”
King drops his fork and knife on the plate, sits back, and wipes his face, glaring at me. “Where’s the scar?”
“Inner thigh.”
His head mechanically moves to Cristo. “Seriously?”
“It’s an inner thigh, King, not a pussy.”
“Have you ever stopped at an inner thigh?”
Cristo let’s out a laugh. “I trust you.”
I cut in and say, “Maybe King doesn’t trust himself.”
Cristo finds it funny, but I simply watch King seethe by the look on his face.
King tosses his napkin down, pushes out from the table, and stands. “Are we done?”
Cristo waves his hand. “Yes, fine. I’ll have my sister call and set up an appointment.”
I thank Cristo and he kisses my cheek, and whispers, “Forget this conversation.”
My heart pounds as I nod. King’s hand is on my lower back, ushering me out of the house.
The usual silence hangs in the air while he drives us to his house.
I steal a couple of glances at him. My brain is like oatmeal.
This convict biker infuriates me, yet I calmed him down at lunch.
I pretend I did it so Cristo wouldn’t kill either of us, but it isn’t the case.
Learning about King, the more human side of him, has piqued my interest. Plus, as much as he sickens me, finding him attractive scares the hell out of me more.
I can’t stop thinking about King’s client Peggy and what she told me about him.
Up until today, I thought the guy was ruthless and cold, except you can’t be that cold when giving free tattoos to veterans.
Or volunteering to help women feel beautiful at whatever cost they’re willing to pay.
The idea of him doing these wonderful things is…
is precious and an oxymoron. I’ve never done anything nice for anyone else other than take care of my mother.
King’s so complex. I’m angry at him. And I’d like to hug him, too.
Buried inside this hardcore asshole is a misunderstood man who brings joy to people’s lives.
Makes their situations bearable. There’s no denying he’s handsome in a rugged I want to throw you over my shoulder and fuck you to the moon kind of way.
The truck pulls up to the side of King’s house. I stare out the window at the maintenance of the house. Quaint. Bushes and flower beds, cleaned, clipped, creating a faux image of the owner. No one would guess a con lives here.
King opens the door, snapping me out of my thoughts. I’m about to step out, except he abruptly carries me into the house where I ask to be brought to my room. No point in arguing with a crazed biker who wears blinders when it comes to his actions. For the rest of the evening, we remain separated.