Page 10 of Death's Deal

I didn’t listen any further to the officer, knowing the rest of my Miranda rights and not caring, as they didn’t matter. What did matter? What I wondered was, why was I being arrested for something I didn’t even touch? The club did, but it had nothing to do with me. I stayed far away from it all to keep myself in line for my scholarship. School and football had, and always had been too important.

With my armored escort shifting me toward the door, the two officers flanked me like a pair of linebackers. I decided to say nothing else, instead, keeping step beside them, knowing this was an error, I didn’t fret.

I’d be free of this in hours.

Chapter 7

Three weeks had passed. I was arrested, arraigned, and I’d been awaiting my trial, left to fend for myself against rapists, assholes, and murderers. Thank fuck my family’s connections kept me safe from those who were looking at me as a new toy.

It was recommended by the club’s lawyer that I opt for a not guilty plea and a court date. The DEA had considered me a flight risk, so I was held until trial. I knew it was all bullshit. I was a model student, a football player who didn’t get into trouble, and even though my family was part of a notorious motorcycle club, I was as squeaky clean as a brand-new rubber duck.

Today, I was in court awaiting my hopeful release. When I came in, I saw a few of the club members, Hopper, Jack, Gainer and my dad’s VP, Rattrap. I almost didn’t recognize them in street clothes, without cuts and without colors. I was glad they were there, but I was surprised not to see my sister or Toni. Where were they?

Like the judge shows you see on TV, the judge entered. He rapped a gavel, then the show began. The DA and my attorney prattled on about my charges. I watched without following their legal jargon as the two of them talked of my life. The DA had a witness who would place me at the scene of a drug sale, and that I was the mastermind who supplied the school with their drugs. All of it was fabricated lies, and the worst part was, I wasn’t even allowed to vocally contest the charges. I had to hope my lawyer wasn’t a pussy and he would win this charade.

“Everything you’ve shown me so far has been circumstantial, Mr. Jaris. Do you have hard evidence before I send a star football player to jail?” the portly, middle-aged, receding hairline judge asked. I kind of liked him. He was pushing back on the legalities of their charges, and hopefully, Jaris would piss him off enough to just drop the charges totally.

Rising from his chair the DA, Joacquim Jaris, straightened his crepe tie behind the blue three-button jacket. Venturing a look my way with disdain and a clean-shaven leery smile, he replied, “I have witness testimony and video if you’ll allow it, your honor.”

Seemingly annoyed by the fiasco, the judge waved and gave Jaris a nod. “Fine. But let’s get this going.”

Turning to a bailiff who was beside him, Jaris asked, “Please tell them to come in now.”

Whispering to my lawyer, I asked, “Did you know about this?”

“I knew they had to have someone, but they didn’t disclose who to me.”

It shouldn’t matter, I knew I was innocent, and whoever walked through the door, I knew it wouldn’t make a difference.

With the doors to the courtroom opened and walking between the rows of seats, the vanilla, roses, and daffodils she always wore hit me head-on.

Antonia.

I listened intently as her little pink heels clacked on the floor when she passed, and my eyes traveled the length of her, taking in the tiny, cutoff black sweater with skintight leather pants that showcased her every curve. If she hadn’t been noticed by every man in the courtroom before, she had now. They turned to watch her, and as I let a small smile erupt, knowing she was my girl, the dangerous glare I received from the judge had me rethinking that move. I could see with one look his opinion of our relationship was full of disdain and disgust.

You’re trash just like your family.

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