Page 24 of Savior

Maybe he was a better cop than I gave him credit for.

I’d come seeking answers, only to end up on trial.

Comedian nodded at my statement; his eyes still narrowed in suspicion. “Why is that?”

Shoving my elbow into Mike’s side, I broke away with a rough pant before spinning around to face the three of them. “You wanna know why I’m not close to my mother? Maybe because she abandoned us when we were still kids, leaving my grandparents to raise us. Maybe it’s because she chose gambling and a biker gang over being a mom. Or maybe…” My voice rose to a shout. “It’s because I’ve had to scrape by for years while she lived it up on the road!”

Gloria made a sign of the cross over her chest and muttered something in Spanish before retreating back to the kitchen. Comedian and Mike watched me warily, and I huffed out a breath before going to snag my purse from the floor.

I’d come for information. Information I was never going to get.

“You know what? I don’t need this. I’ve got patients to see—”

Comedian stepped in front of the door and crossed his muscular arms over his chest, blocking me in. “Have you ever asked your mother for the truth?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I growled. “That is the truth. Now, let me pass.”

He stepped aside, holding his hands up as if he was afraid I was going to do something crazy.

Maybe I was.

“Ain’t tryin’ to stop ya, but it’s obvious you came here lookin’ for answers. If it were me, I’d start with your husband. He knows more about that night than any of us.”

The screen door slammed shut behind me with an ominous thud, and I jogged toward my Tahoe as if a deranged lunatic was on my heels. In the cemetery, Mike had been convinced that Comedian was the one behind it all, said he’d try to run.

It didn’t fit with the man I’d just been introduced to inside. He wasn’t running from anything or anyone. If Mike had been wrong, then it meant that the traitor was still out there.

It meant that there was no one we could trust.

Comedian might’ve been under the impression that Nate was involved, but I knew my husband. He’d been fighting to distance us from my family since the funeral. There was no way he had anything to do with what happened to my father.

He wouldn’t do that to me.

Chapter Five

Dakota

Itugged the leather pants up toward my hips while panting, “Dress for the job you want. That’s what they say, right?”

Little Ricky looked up from his cell phone. “Who says that, Caparina?”

I studied my reflection in the mirror with a frown. I looked like a can of biscuits that had been left out in the sun for too long. The baby’s nightly demands for ice cream hadn’t done me any favors when it came to fitting into my biker-wear.

“People, Little Ricky. People say that you should dress for the job you want. Can I borrow your vest thingy? I think it’ll help cover up the fact that my pants won’t zip.”

He shook his head. “Nah, I earned this kutte. Why don’t you just wear normal clothes? You know, yoga pants and shit. Why you tryin’ to look like a patchwhore?”

I didn’t know what a patchwhore was but judging by Little Ricky’s expression, it was not something I wanted to be. “I just want them to take me seriously.”

My Harley-Davidson tank top chose that moment to roll up, exposing my swollen stomach and the spiderweb of blue veins stretching across it. Everyone kept telling me how beautiful pregnancy was, but I felt like a science experiment gone wrong.

His teeth connected with a lower lip that was twitching suspiciously. “Yeah, I think you should walk up to the clubhouse like that. I can’t tell if you’re going for ninja or biker. Your outfits look the same.”

“That’s because they’re interchangeable. I just wish…” I gave the pants another good tug, my cheeks reddening from the efforts, before giving up with a dramatic sigh and yanking them off. I retrieved the discarded leggings I’d carelessly tossed on the bedroom floor and pulled them on. “I just wish the designers would’ve considered the fact that I might be expecting.”

“You know, I don’t think there are a lot of knocked-up ninjas or bikers, Cap. If you wanna talk to the guys, though, we gotta go now.”

The drive to the clubhouse was fairly quiet. Little Ricky messed with the radio, unable to settle on a single station. I picked at my fingernails, my nerves increasing the farther we got from the city.

---