Page 82 of Traitor

“Comedian’s on a run, what do you need?” Grey calmly ignored my request for cocaine and moved onto the next topic.

“Lauren said the text made sense because my old man showed up at Torch’s, wanting to talk to her and see what she knew. She thinks that he and I went in on this together; conspiring to kill her mom and cover it up. So, what I need is to find him and ask him who the fuck he thinks he is.”

Grey’s face paled, the first real reaction I’d gotten out of him since I’d walked in. “Mike, listen—” There was a sharp knock at the door. “Come in,” Grey barked.

Crossbones peeked in. “Pres, we got an emergency. Our storage facility over on University is going up in flames.”

I jumped up. “Flames, as in fire? Or is this club speak for some shit I don’t know about?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, it literally means that it’s on fucking fire.”

Grey led me toward the door. “I’m gonna need your help on this one, Mikey.”

It wasn’t until I began following the line of motorcycles out of the clubhouse that I realized I’d been duped. Grey needed my help about like he needed another MC moving into his territory. He just wanted to distract me from using.

You OD once and suddenly everybody loses their shit the next time you need a fix.

“I’ve got it!” Jeremy shouted, startling me awake. After watching the fire department put out what was left of the storage buildings and speaking with arson investigators, all I’d wanted was to go home and get lost in the bottle.

Unfortunately, Grey had other plans and sent Jeremy home with me to see what we could find on the Monica situation. I’d come really close to hitting him in the face when he’d announced that.

I decided that just because the almighty Grey decreed it, didn’t mean I had to listen. I’d gotten drunk on the couch and passed out while Jeremy had worked tirelessly on his computer.

It was a win-win for both of us, really.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “What the fuck do you have?”

He spun the laptop around and I leaned in. “Her autopsy report? Great job, but we’ve already seen it. Overdose.”

He shook his head and began scrolling down. “You’ve seen the doctored one, but never the original. Read it and weep, motherfucker.”

My eyes scanned the report before looking over to him. “Holy shit—they found nothing in her system?”

“No, they did find patterned abrasions along the base of her skull, consistent with a crowbar—inflicted antemortem. The M.E. noted—” Jeremy scrolled down the screen. “Here. He noted that the drugs were injected postmortem as they were not absorbed into her blood stream. Tox screen came back clean.”

We sat on the couch in silence, staring at the report. I’d known that Monica had been murdered, but I’d assumed it was a forced overdose. I never imagined that she’d been beaten to death.

“Well, that explains the defense wounds on her hands,” Jeremy added somberly.

I nodded. “Now, we need to pay a visit to the M.E. Find out why his name is on both reports—see what they’re holding over him.”

Having overdosed myself, I’d been convinced that Monica hadn’t experienced any pain. This report threw that theory right out the window. She’d fought, even while knowing that she was going to die. Her attacker’s face was the last thing she’d seen—maybe he’d even been a friend at some point; somebody she’d trusted.

“I-uh-I traced the texts off of Lauren’s cell too—while you were sleeping.”

I looked at him and shook my head. “And? What did you find?”

He swallowed nervously. “You’re not mad at me for hacking her phone?”

“Jeremy, I couldn’t give two fucks at this point. If it helps us find her mother’s killer, then hack away.”

He clicked the mouse and another screen popped up. “So, I ran this with the text you received the night Monica was killed. Here’s where it gets interesting—both messages were sent using an app that scrambles the number every time you use it, similar to what we do with you. After some digging though, I found that both messages trace back to one phone—a phone belonging to Monica McGuire.”

I cracked my neck. “Jesus—they used her phone while she was still sitting in jail alive?”

Any illusions that there wasn’t a mole at the station were shattered.

Jeremy nodded. “I’d assumed that it would’ve come from two different phones, but it’s the same damn one. That’s not all—I found the mole.”

---