Page 21 of Cheshire

As the night drew on, our efforts began to bear fruit. The intel we’d gathered painted a picture darker than any of us had anticipated. Huddled together around the kitchen table, I shared our findings with the team.

“Sheriff Holmes has been running this sick operation for years,” I said, fury filling me at all the rotten things he’d gotten away with. “He’s got his filthy hands in every corner of this town, and it’s time we put an end to it.”

Absolem nodded. “We can’t let that bastard get away with this any longer.”

“We’ve got the upper hand now. We just need to play it smart,” Knave said.

I nodded, my mind racing with possibilities. “We need to gather more evidence, and then we’ll bring him down -- hard. We can’t turn him in to the law since he is the law. Which means we’ll have to get justice our own way.”

Rabbit was the only one not here. He was still tailing the sheriff and the men from out of town. My earpiece buzzed with an incoming call, and I connected it.

“Cheshire,” Rabbit’s voice whispered through my earpiece, urgency lacing every word. “You need to see this.”

“Talk to me,” I replied, my heart pounding in my chest as I braced myself for whatever revelation awaited.

“Found some sort of ledger,” he said, the faint rustle of paper filling my ears. “Names, dates, amounts… It’s all here, man. This is the key.”

“Bring it back,” I instructed, my breath catching in my throat as the implications of his discovery sunk in. “This could be the break we’ve been waiting for.”

“Got it,” Rabbit responded.

I ended the call and looked at my brothers. “Rabbit found what we need. We’re one step closer to bringing those assholes down.”

Chapter Eight

Eliza

I flipped through the dog-eared pages of a book, losing myself in the gritty story. I’d been gifted several, but this had been my favorite so far. For a few blissful moments, I wasn’t in that shithole anymore. I was somewhere else, living a different life. Although, technically, I really had found my freedom thanks to the Underland MC. But as long as my father was out there, I knew there was a chance I’d end up right back in hell.

A gentle knock made me jump. Jo appeared in the doorway, a smile on her face. She was holding a tray with two steaming mugs. “Hey. Thought you could use some tea.” Jo set the tray on the table next to me and took a seat, her movements careful and slow like she was trying not to spook a wild animal.

I eyed the mug suspiciously. People didn’t do nice things for nothing. There was always a catch. But the tea smelled good, comforting.

“Thanks,” I muttered, picking up the mug and letting the warmth seep into my hands. I took a sip, the hot liquid soothing my raw throat. When was the last time someone made me tea? Probably when my mom had been alive. I knew she’d enjoyed one that smelled of cinnamon.

Jo sat there in silence, sipping her own mug. She wasn’t pushing, not prying. Just… being there. It was strange. But also kind of nice?

I glanced over at her, noticing the signs of someone who’d fought their own battles. She may not wear bruises anymore, but her posture, the way she seemed aware of her surroundings, told me she’d once feared someone or something. We’d talked a little, so I knew she didn’t have the most spectacular past, but I also didn’t know the details.

Maybe that’s why I didn’t feel the need to run her off or throw up my walls. Because in a messed-up way, I felt like she got it. Got me.

I went back to my book, the pages more battered than ever. Normally, I’d never fold down a page, but this one had already been damaged when I got it. No matter how long I stared at the page, I didn’t really see the words anymore. My mind churned, an unfamiliar feeling taking root in my gut.

Was this what safety felt like? Acceptance? I was almost afraid to trust it. After living in fear for so long, I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel or how I should act. Everyone here had been nice to me, and genuinely seemed kind. But I knew my father showed one face to the world and another to me. It left me questioning everyone I met, wondering how much of what I saw was the real them and how much was them playing a part.

For now, I’d let myself breathe. Let myself just exist in this quiet moment, broken but not shattered. And for the first time in forever, I didn’t feel quite so alone.

Jo’s voice broke the silence, her words hesitant. “That book you were reading… was it any good?”

I blinked, surprised she’d even asked. People usually didn’t care what I was into. Of course, I’d mostly been staring at it, attempting to read. This time, anyway. I had read the story before, so I already knew what happened. “It was good, probably my favorite of the ones I was given.” I ran my finger along the dog-eared pages. “Helped me escape, you know? My mind feels like it’s running non-stop, so reading lets me take a break from life.”

She nodded, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. “I get that. Books were my lifeline growing up. Still are.” She took another sip of tea, lost in thought for a moment. “Who’s your favorite author?”

I chewed on my lip, not used to talking about this stuff. But something about Jo made me want to open up, just a little. “I don’t really have a favorite author, but I do love books about haunted houses. Not non-fiction, but the horror type, where unseen beings can wreak havoc, or even end lives.”

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I’m more into romance and mystery myself. I guess I felt like I was living in a horror movie long enough I didn’t really get into the genre. But I do enjoy a good ghost story around Halloween.”

We fell into an easy conversation, swapping book recommendations and favorite quotes. It was surreal, connecting with someone like this. Like maybe we weren’t so different after all. The way she’d talked about her life made me think we were similar in many ways, but I wasn’t going to pry. If she wanted to tell me about her past, I’d wait for her to offer the story and not try to drag it out of her.

---