Page 16 of Savior

Can you pick up barbecue on your way home? I suddenly have a craving for red meat again.

It didn’t matter that I’d turned my location finder off, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that Lauren knew exactly where I was and what I was doing.

Like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, I shoved the baggie back into the front pocket of my slacks before facing the mirror again. I’d gone to all the trouble of sobering up and getting clean only to end up right back where I started.

Michael Sullivan, Jr.

A fucking failure.

She deserved so much better.

I slapped the side of my face and growled, “What do you love more—her or the drugs? Huh? You gonna fuck away the last good thing you’ve got left?”

It was my voice, but Grey’s words. Rage bubbled up again at the thought of him, leaving me clinging to the counter to stop myself from destroying the glass above the sink with my fists. Once I felt like I could breathe again, I tapped out a quick reply on my way out of the bathroom, assuring her that I’d grab dinner on my way home.

Lauren had a way of anchoring me when I felt like I was drifting. I only hoped that when the ugly truth came out, she’d remember the man I’d wanted to be and not the man I’d become.

Any good feelings I’d managed to conjure up died when I realized that someone was now sitting in my seat. In a deserted bar, they’d chosen my goddamn bar stool.

“Hey, Fred, why don’t you tell my new pal here that there’s plenty of other seats for him.” I cracked my knuckles. “Would sure hate to dirty up your bar, if you know what I mean.”

“Sit the fuck down, Sullivan,” Zane snapped, finally turning around to face me.

“Masterson?” I dropped onto the stool next to his and reached for the bottle of tequila, but he slid it out of reach. “Guess you heard the good news and came to celebrate my early retirement?”

His jaw tightened. “I can’t believe they just let you go.”

Aiding and abetting a known outlaw motorcycle gang.

Deep down, I’d always known that one way or another, Grey was going to cost me my job. Instead of tossing me into a pair of handcuffs and hauling me to a cell to await what was sure to be a lengthy prison sentence, they’d let me go under the stipulation that I not leave the city any time soon. It seemed that even without Grey, the club still had some power. Whether it’d be enough to keep me out of prison remained to be seen.

“Oh, yeah,” I nodded. “It was always just a matter of time before I turned in my badge and gun to become public enemy numero uno. How the fuck did you know where to find me?”

“Ran a trace on your cell. Did you let the club know?”

I scratched at my jaw, suddenly more sober than I cared to be. “Why the fuck would I tell them shit? Bear made it clear that we weren’t patching in—I’m too clean to be a biker and too dirty to be a cop. Where the fuck does that leave me?” I gestured for the bottle, but Zane shook his head. “C’mon, Big Guy. Don’t leave me high and dry.”

“Don’t call me that,” he stated flatly. “Frank, can you make this disappear? I think Mike’s done enough drinking for the night.”

“His name’s Fred,” I clipped out. “And I’ll decide when I’m done drinking, okay—”

“You call me sweetie or pumpkin, or any of the other bullshit you spout off when you think you’re being cute, and I’ll introduce your face to the bar top and make you ride home in the bed of my truck. We clear?”

Fred raised his eyebrows before sliding the bottle off the bar and into a cabinet below. “Better listen to him, or you’ll be moppin’ up your own blood. I ain’t in the habit of cleanin’ up anyone else’s messes.”

“Fred,” I tried.

“It’s Frank, goddammit!” The old man growled. “How many goddamn times do I have to tell you? Your friend here got it in one try. Jesus Christ!” He threw up his hands before disappearing into the back.

Zane’s lip twitched, but he continued staring straight ahead, refusing to give me even the smallest of glances as he muttered, “Guess that settles that.”

“You know, if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to keep this from Red for the time being… just until I pick something else up.”

In spite of the situation, I’d made it my personal goal to keep her pregnancy as stress-free as possible. We’d worked too hard to get those babies; the last thing I needed was her worrying about conjugal visits in prison.

“How long do you think that’ll take? I haven’t seen your file, but from the sounds of it, you’ll be lucky to get a job as a fry cook at a fast-food joint. That is if they don’t file charges against you.”

“That’s just it.” I stared down to where someone had gouged,Fuck Rhonda,into the wood. For all of Frank’s blathering about running a tight ship, he seemed to look the other way when patrons wanted to get creative with his bar top. “Why now?”

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