Chapter Three #2
Legend takes the chair at the head of the scarred table.
Royal drops into the seat on his right looking irritated with the world, drags it back with one boot, and settles in like somebody woke him before he finished being an asshole for the night.
Oaks takes the other side. Rye, our sergeant-at-arms, takes the chair nearest the door because the bastard likes seeing everybody who comes and goes.
Derby pauses near the barred window before sitting under it.
Bullet claims a chair across from me, stretches his legs beneath the table, and takes a pull from a vape even though Legend has told the bastard twice not to smoke that fruity shit during church.
He even got out a Sharpie and made it official, scribbling ONLY REAL SMOKES ALLOWED along the edge of the worn table. Holler drops beside me and starts picking biscuit crumbs from his beard.
Vandal comes in with the last of the patched brothers and takes the chair nearest the back wall. Tail gunner. Man spends enough miles watching everybody’s six that he looks wrong anywhere but the rear. Prospects stay outside unless Prez calls one in.
Then the door closes.
Legend looks around. “What’ve you got?”
“Not much,” somebody says through a yawn.
Royal leans back. “That why we’re here before breakfast?”
“You’re up.”
“Barely.”
“I forget you’re allergic to sunlight?” Legend gives him a look.
Royal shuts up.
I open the folder slid in front of me. There’s one photograph inside.
Kaylee Quill.
Nineteen years old. Brown hair. Green eyes. Missing six days.
I slide the picture toward the middle of the table.
“Another girl’s gone.”
The photograph stops in front of Legend, Kaylee’s smiling face looking too young beneath the yellow light hanging over the table.
Nobody jokes.
Bullet reaches over and turns the photograph a few degrees toward himself, his vape forgotten between two fingers.
Legend studies her face. “You sure she didn’t leave?”
“Car stayed behind. Paycheck wasn’t picked up. Mama says she ain’t heard from her.”
Royal looks at me. “Law?”
“Calls it voluntary.”
“That mean they ain’t looking?”
“It means they’re saying she probably left on her own.”
Holler wipes his hands on his jeans. “Maybe she did. Good for her.”
I glance at him.
He raises both palms. “Just saying.”
Bullet looks down at Kaylee’s picture again. “Girl leaves on purpose, usually takes more than the clothes on her back.”
“She worked outside Hell,” I say. “But I’ve seen her at Heck’s, at the Fire Pit and right here in the Lockup.”
Legend turns to our VP, Oaks, who often works the door.
“She was of age. Not seen her here in months. Anyone disagree?”
The room grumbles in agreement.
I shift in my chair. “Now we got a possible sighting putting her near the old Pearly Gates access road.”
That changes the room. Not because Pearly Gates is new. Because it fucking ain’t.
We already know Pearly Gates is dirty. We found restraints, burners, blood, names carved into walls. Cider came back saying Crowley was moving girls through safe houses. Sophie found money and property trails tangled through the same rot.
What we don’t have is the whole shape of it. Who all is doing the grabbing. Which safe houses they’re using now. How many people are involved. Why every trail goes cold the second we get close.
Kaylee is different because somebody may have seen her near the old retreat road while her trail is still fresh. That’s new. That’s something we might be able to put boots on before it disappears.
Legend taps one finger beside the photograph. “Anything solid tying her there?”
“Not yet.”
“Anything beyond the sighting?”
“No.”
Royal folds his arms. “So same pattern, new girl.”
“Yeah.”
I tap Kaylee’s picture. “Except this time we may have caught the trail while it’s still warm.”
That gets everybody’s attention.
We’ve known Pearly Gates is rotten for a long damn time. Knowing it and finding the girls before they disappear into another property are two different things.
Now we might have a direction.
Legend studies me. “What ain’t you saying?”
He knows when I’m holding something back.
That’s part of why he made me treasurer. I know when men lie about money.
Legend knows when I lie about damn near everything else.
“That Sheriff Dix’s department can’t be trusted with every detail.”
Holler shifts beside me. “You saying Dix is dirty?”
“I’m saying I don’t know.”
“Big difference.”
“Yeah.”
Royal folds his arms. “His daughter ain’t dirty.” He leans back far enough to balance his chair on two legs, already wearing the look that says he’s about to make my morning worse.
I look at him.
He smirks.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Then shut up.”
His smirk widens.
Legend ignores both of us. “Why can’t the department be trusted?”
“Reports are thin. Questions get redirected. Somebody’s more interested in closing doors than opening them.”
“Dix?”
“Maybe.”
“Somebody under him?”
“Maybe.”
“Pearly Gates got leverage?”
“Maybe.”
Royal drags one hand over his mouth. “You got any answers that ain’t maybe?”
I turn Kaylee’s photograph facedown before answering. “Nope.”
“Useful.”
“I can start making shit up if it helps. Maybe another monster.”
Legend leans back in his chair. “It don’t.”
He turns Kaylee’s picture faceup again.
“What do you need?”
“Eyes near the old Pearly Gates site. Not sitting at the gate. Too obvious.”
“Oaks,” Legend says.
Oaks nods once.
“No colors,” I add. “No bikes.”
Royal looks personally offended. “What the fuck are we supposed to ride? Horses again?”
“Take Amelia’s new minivan for all I care.”
He gives me a dead stare.
Derby starts laughing, then realizes I’m serious and laughs harder.
Legend ignores both of them. “Anything else?”
“Keep this tight.”
“That mean family too?” Derby asks.
“It means anybody who don’t need to know.”
Derby picks at a scrape in the table instead of looking at anybody. He doesn’t like keeping shit from Amelia. None of us like keeping shit from the women wearing our names. We do it anyway and tell ourselves it keeps them alive. Sometimes it even does.
Legend looks around the table. “We’ve already got girls disappearing out of our county, somebody scrubbing reports, and Pearly Gates thinking they can keep operating under our noses.”
His jaw hardens. “Nobody fucks with the Kings.” Legend closes the folder. “Sheriff’s daughter?”
I don’t move.
Royal does.
He turns toward me like Prez just handed him free entertainment.
“What about her?” I ask.
“She pulled Kaylee’s report after midnight.”
The thought of Twila sitting alone inside the sheriff’s department, digging through files hits harder than it should. Tall blonde. Smart mouth. Badge on her hip and not one ounce of good sense where danger is concerned.
“How do you know?”
Legend gives me a look like that explains everything.
Fair enough.
“She find something?”
“Enough to start nosing around.”
“She always noses around.”
Royal laughs.
I turn my head. “You got a problem?”
“Nope. Just thinking about the match last night.”
“Keep thinking, and I’ll break your jaw.”
“Protective much?”
Legend’s palm lands flat against the table. “Enough.”
The room settles again.
He looks at me. “Keep her away from Pearly Gates.”
“Tell her daddy. Not me.”
“Already did.”
I almost smile. “Then we know how well that worked.”
Holler leans back in his chair. “She’s hardheaded.”
“Runs in the family,” I say.
Legend points at me. “I’ve seen you two together a lot lately.”
“As Treasurer, it’s my job to deal with county taxes, property shit, and anybody wearing a badge who can make either expensive.”
Royal coughs into his fist.
I ignore him.
Legend doesn’t. “You had your thumb in her mouth last night.”
Holler turns so fast his chair squeaks against the concrete. “You what?”
“Did not. I wiped her lip. She had blood on her.”
Royal nods solemnly. “Medical emergency.”
“Fuck both of you.”
Holler looks delighted. “You touch Sheriff Dix’s daughter in front of him?”
“I didn’t finger her on the fucking bar.”
“Shame.” Royal grins. “Bar’s seen worse.”
Holler says, “Wouldn’t even crack the top ten things done on that bar.”
I shove my chair back before I think better of it. The legs scrape hard over concrete.
Legend doesn’t rise. He doesn’t have to. “Sit your ass down.”
I sit like the loyal dog I am.
Royal is still smiling, so I make a note to ruin his week.
Legend studies me. “Seems you’re the perfect one to warn ol’ Twister off.”
“She won’t listen to me.”
“Deputy let you put hands on her and you still have both of yours. Figure it out.”
“That ain’t how Twila works.”
“Twila? Sound like you know her pretty well.”
“I know trouble when I see it.”
Royal mutters, “Trouble looks damn good in Daisy Dukes.”
I look at him. “Say it louder.”
He leans forward. “Looks. Damn. Good. In…”
“Keep picturing her ass, and I’ll put yours through the wall.”
Legend kicks the side of Royal’s chair.
Royal shuts up.
Mostly because he’s laughing too hard to finish.
I close the folder and drag it back toward me. “I’ll talk to the deputy.”
“Talk,” Legend says. “Don’t drag her into it.”
“Sounds like she’s already dragging herself.”
“Then cut the damn rope.”
Easy for him to say. Twila ain’t built for warnings. Every no sounds like a dare to her, and every closed door might as well have a sign telling her to break the fucking lock.
I should let Sheriff Dix handle his own daughter. Let the law keep its people out of club business. I should probably stay the hell away from a woman who looks at me like I’m a challenge she plans to win.
Instead, Prez just put her in my path.
And I already know exactly how well telling Twila Dix to keep out of trouble is gonna work.