Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
And I had to do something about that.
It didn’t take a genius to know that the woman wasn’t dealing drugs. Drug dealers didn’t buy off-brand sneakers. They didn’t drive a twenty-year-old car that had been making a shrill noise for weeks. They didn’t put so much attention to detail into their ‘fake’ job like she did.
This was a woman I’d watched write and erase the class schedule on a black whiteboard in neon dry erase markers until everything was perfectly aligned, and the colors working in harmony.
And if she wasn’t some drug dealer rolling in excess cash, then she damn sure didn’t have money for the kind of attorney she was going to need to get her the fuck out of this situation.
I was standing on the street, mind racing, when I saw someone I recognized.
Cillian Murphy.
A member of the Irish mafia.
In fact, the head of it in the area. Probably the whole state. Maybe even the West Coast in general.
“Cillian!” I yelled, running across the street to catch him before he disappeared inside The Bog, the bar he and his brothers ran.
“Detroit,” he said, brows drawing together over his light blue eyes. “Everything alright?” he asked, gaze moving down the street.
“Who is the best criminal defense attorney you can think of?” I asked.
He looked taken aback for a second. But he didn’t make me explain further. “Simon Evertz,” he said. “If I, or any of my brothers, were in any kind of trouble with the law, that is who I would hire to fix it,” he said.
“Simon Evertz,” I repeated. “You got a number?”
“I have his personal cell phone number,” Cillian said, reaching for his phone without question.
A few years back, we might have been on friendly terms. But not close enough to share this kind of information with. His baby sister marrying one of my club brothers, though, had changed a lot.
“Here,” he said, waiting for me to pull out my phone to plug in the number. “Everything alright?” he asked, keen eyes taking in the tension in my face.
“Everything with the club is fine,” I assured him, knowing that he had a vested interest in the club’s safety because his sister was currently pregnant with her next child. About to burst, actually. “This is… this is about a friend,” I told him.
“Okay,” he said, nodding. “I hope it all works out for them. In fact, with Simon on your side, there’s really no other possible outcome,” he said, giving me a clamp on the shoulder before unlocking the door, and moving into The Bog.
Alone on the street, I looked down at Simon’s number for a second before I saw another procession of police cars.
And that was Gav in the fucking backseat.
Gav.
Everleigh’s employer.
Had that fuckhead gotten her name involved in some sort of drug business he was dealing in?
That was the only possible explanation of how she’d gotten wrapped up in this sort of business.
Anger bubbling, I hit the dial, and waited to hear Simon’s half-asleep voice as he answered.
“Someone better be in jail,” he said, and I could hear his yawn.
“She is,” I confirmed.
“She?” he asked, instantly sounding more interested. “What did she do?”
“Nothing,” I told him.
“They never do,” he agreed, but he didn’t seem to be overly mocking.
“They brought her in for drug trafficking, but I’m telling you, there is no way she did it.”
“Okay,” he agreed. “What’s her name, and where am I meeting her? And, most importantly, who is paying me to get out of bed at this hour?”
“Her name is Everleigh Barker. She is currently at the Shady Valley police station. The County van shouldn’t be here for a while yet. And my name is Detroit. I’ll be paying your fees.”
“And, Detroit, what makes me sure you will do that?” he asked. “Who are you? What do you do?”
“I’m a member of the Shady Valley Henchmen MC. We—“
“That’s enough,” he cut me off. “I’m not your attorney. Don’t go confessing shit to me,” he said. “I know your organization. And that you’ll pay up. All I can say, Mr… Detroit, is I hope she is worth it. Because this is gonna be expensive.”
“She is,” I confirmed.
“Then I will be there as soon as I can,” he said, ending the call.
I didn’t even ask what his retainer was, or what he charged by the hour.
It didn’t matter.
She would be worth it.
And I did have it.
That was one perk of never going and getting my own place, all that money that Slash divvied up amongst us, just sat around, not doing anything but building over the years.
Whatever his price was, I could pay it.
And her bail.
Even if I had no idea why I was making her business my business.
I could try to tell myself that it was to make a fool out of my brother. But I had to admit that if that happened, it was only a bonus.