Page 61 of When the Smoke Clears

“No, not that I see how it matters. But it was a Friday, if that helps.”

“Friday. Got it.”

“I had plans to go out. Alan had been extra pissed for days. For once, I don’t think it had anything to do with me. I just took the brunt. Just before I planned to leave, Alan waltzed into the kitchen where I was. He tried to give me a curfew for an earlier time than I wanted, which I had already worked out with my mother. It wasn’t a significant event, honestly.”

“Go on.” Detective Porter’s tone is neutral.

“I argued the time. He got agitated quickly and crowded me into a corner. I told him that I was an adult and that I could stay out later than whatever time he was insisting on. He grabbed my face with his hand and told me that if I was living in his house, it was by his rules. The knife was something I always carried on me, and I pulled it out without thinking. It pressed into the fabric of his pants at his hip. I doubt it did any damage.”

“You don’t know?”

“I didn’t stick around. When he let go of me, I grabbed a bag of clothes and left.”

“Were you injured?”

“I had bruises on my face.” I recall trying to hide the marks on my face with makeup so no one at school would see, how the flesh of my cheeks had been pressed hard against my teeth, causing them to be tender for several days as they healed.

“Did you report this?”

I sigh. “No. I was young and just wanted to get away.”

“Ok. Where’d the knife come from?”

“It was my grandmother’s. Well, I found it in her garage.” I still have the knife in one of my camera cases.

“Was anyone else there that night? Your mother?”

Sliding into the seat of the Defender, I press my fingers to my temple to stave off the oncoming headache. “No. She arrived after. I called and told her what happened, and he told her his side when she got there.”

He’s quiet for a few seconds. “Alright. I don’t have anything else for now. If I need anything, I’ll give you a call.”

Despite his neutral tone, our call leaves me feeling defeated. “Ok.”

“Have a good day, Maci.” He hangs up.

Chapter 22

Maci

Iquestionmydecisionto come here as I stare at the closed chain-link fence. Anxiety turns my stomach. Beyond the gate is a large, black metal building with cedar post columns. It’s an attractive mix of rustic and industrial construction. Motorcycles fill the open space in front of it, some covered by a structure similar to a carport.

A man wearing the club cut saunters up to the gate. I’ve seen him riding with James and the others, and he was one keeping tabs when James came for a visit.

My window whirs its descent and I tip my head out. “Hey. I’m here to see James.” His eyebrow quirks. “Maci,” I add. I have no idea if that’s going to help me or not in terms of getting in.

The man’s eyebrows shoot up, and he presses some buttons on a keypad nearby. The gate rattles as it slides open, and the man gestures to a space near the front door for me to park.

A cold breeze greets me as I hop down from the Jeep. The man who let me in yells something through the front door, held open. He turns back to me. “Come on in.”

When I get close, he extends a hand. “Hawk.”

Hawk, the Falcon. I don’t ask how that works or which came first.

“Nice to meet you.” I don’t ask if it’s his given name or not. His handshake is pleasant enough, and he waits for me to enter the building before following me in. Another twenty or so men are spread out in the large, open area, seated at round wooden tables with well-crafted leather and wood chairs. There are more people here than I would expect on a Monday afternoon.

A long bar with a glossy top is situated on the entrance wall, and a woman with shiny auburn hair stands behind it. She peers at me suspiciously. I brush it off. She can be territorial if it suits her.

On the left are a couple of pool tables. A few guys continue chatting, but I’ve definitely drawn attention to myself. I wonder if this is a men-only club.

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