Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
KYRA
My father walks out of the main doors to the Sheriff's office, plain clothes jacket over his uniform, and a duffel bag in his left hand. He stops when he spots me waiting, shoulders stiffening as though he contemplates returning indoors. "I thought I said I didn't want to see you."
"And I thought the fact that you chose to have children meant you can't ignore me. Guess we both like to break the rules."
"What do you want, Kyra?"
I remain seated on the low block wall at the front of the building, hands beside me as I swing my legs one after the other, kicking the concrete with my heels to expend nervous energy.
"I want you to tell me what changed around here.
Why did you drop an investigation into the death of children? That's not the man I know you to be."
He pauses, exhaling as he seems to think over what to do next, and then continues down the path toward me. "I won't ask you how you heard about that," he snips. "It's not hard to figure out considering who you've chosen to spend time with."
"Actually," I bite back as he walks past my post and stops. "It was Mrs. Tallomore. Your network of know-it-alls is much more forthcoming with gossip than the Kings of Anarchy."
He faces forward, away from me, and sighs. "Come on. I'm hungry. I'll drop you off at home on the way."
I oblige, purely so he isn't waylaid too long and stresses Mom out when she's trying to keep his dinner warm without overcooking it. I opt to stay a few steps behind him as he leads us to his vehicle, savoring the silence while it lasts.
The tension will be tenfold when we're stuck in the confines of a car together.
My father waits until we're both buckled before reigniting the conversation as he pulls out of the car park. "Before I explain this, I want you to understand that I am under no obligation to share any information with you, especially when it relates to an active case."
"So, what? I'm supposed to be grateful that you choose to be open with me?"
He swivels his head to glare at me before looking back to the road. "I didn't drop the investigation. It was taken from me."
"By who?" Seems like he's going to relish forcing me to coax the information out of him, anyway.
"The F.B.I."
The hell? "Why?"
"It relates to an open case of theirs."
"On the Kings?" Just how rose-tinted have my glasses been?
"No." He draws a deep breath. "I won't say any more than that, so don't ask."
We ride in silence for a few minutes, and my stomach turns more and more acrid with each block we pass. "Did Davis tell you why the Devil's Breed were here?"
"You don't need to know."
Like fuck I don't. "Yes, I do. Those creeps were about to use me for profit. Does that not bother you in the slightest?"
"You already sold yourself."
My anger simmers, rising with each shake of the car. "Davis said seven on Thursday. I thought he meant the time, but he meant women, didn't he?" I study my father while I ask the next question. "Was it seven women?"
Sheriff Green, the fine upstanding citizen that he is, chooses to say nothing.
"Was it seven women, Dad?"
His jaw flexes. "I don't know for sure, but I think so, yes."
"Why do you think that?" He can't stop now. He needs to explain this shit to me.
Just how corrupt is Temperance's underbelly?
"It doesn't concern you, Kyra."
"Bullshit, it doesn't." My words rebound off the car's interior.
"It concerns me when I get caught up in it.
It concerns me when I own property here and intend to make this my home again.
It concerns every citizen of Temperance.
They have a right to know if innocent women are held hostage—as slaves—in their neighborhoods. "
"I don't know where they are," he snaps. "If they're even here at all. It could be entirely unrelated."
"Has your instinct ever served you wrong?" I ask levelly.
He glances at me before taking a corner.
"Your gut instinct is why you're so good at your job." I hate paying the asshole a compliment when all he's done is insult me, but it's true. "And your gut tells you now they have women captive in Temperance. What are you doing about it?"
"What I see fit, which again, is a matter of the law and none of your business." He turns onto my street. "Until I have hard evidence, more than a few words uttered by a totally unreliable man, then there's nothing I can do."
"So somebody has to either escape or die for you to believe it?"
"Something has to happen to give me jurisdiction to act on it."
He pulls up outside my house as I mutter, "You're so full of shit."
The locks on the doors engage. "No, Kyra. I work within the rules given to me, unlike your criminal friends out there on East Levee Road. I do things the right way. And I make sure nobody gets hurt in the process."
"They may not be the same as yours, but they have rules too, you know." I twist to face him. "And they also don't hurt people if they don't have to."
"Is that why there were children's bodies under that building?"
I have no argument for that.
"I didn't think so," he sneers, leaning back toward his side of the car.
"Didn't think what?" I bite.
"That you were stupid enough to believe the Kings of Anarchy have any worthwhile place here in Temperance. That they have a single redeeming feature about them."
"You don't even try to get to understand them," I hiss. "You blame them for everything, chase them with an unhealthy obsession, and yet I bet you've never once sat down with them to understand what it is that they do. If you bothered, you might find they have plenty of that evidence that you need."
"I don't have to talk to those goddamn drains on society to understand what they do," he booms. "It's there, Kyra. Every day on my job sheet. They can't keep themselves out of trouble. You do remember why I have one of them in the fucking cells right now, don't you?"
I look away and steel my jaw before I say something I can't take back.
"Murder," he continues, on a roll. "I have one of your so-called friends in my cells for killing a man execution style. Tell me what peacemaker does that. Tell me what stand-up member of the community does that, Kyra. Tell me."
"Unlock the door," I murmur. "I'm ready to get out."
"Why," he taunts. "Because you're not winning this argument anymore?"
"Because I've seen the truth," I yell, spinning back to face him. "Your dislike of the club runs so damn deep that you'd jeopardize the well-being of innocent women to prove a point. That's fucked, Dad," I say. "So fucked up."
The locks click open.
I give him a few seconds to say something. To prove me wrong.
Yet all the asshole does is stare out the windshield, hands on the steering wheel, while he waits for me to get out.
"You know what?" I say. "I think the Kings of Anarchy have got the right idea, because at least they get to choose their family."
I slam the door behind me, closing quite possibly the most painful chapter of my life.
If only there were a reward for enduring this shit.
What a dream that would be.