Page 214 of Come Back to Me

Granted, Razer doesn’t take the blame for shooting the guy who died—Linden Faulkner, aka, ‘Kit.’ Andmiraculously, Kit was also the murderer of James Fairweather and provided the rich kid with the drugs. Hell, if Razer could have lain the blame for JFK’s assassination on his compatriot’s shoulders, he’d have given it his best shot.

But, that Razer actually used his two brain cells to protect his kid proves he’s worth more as a sperm donor than my own. I even have to respect him for trying.

I mean, I’m not blind to the fact that Razer covered his ass, too, but Clyde would have thrown us to the wolves to save himself.

By the end of the day, I’ve had to cancel on Tee and no charges stick.

The whole sins of the world are laid on Linden Faulkner’s shoulders, and if I wasn’t ridiculously tired, I’d have laughed athow neatly he tied it up—might as well have stacked a red bow on top.

Fucker might be a deadbeat druggie, but at least he hasn’t pickled his brain entirely.

Shielding his kid from the long arm of the law or not, I’m waiting outside when the RCMP frees him.

I managed the interview for the first twenty minutes before Deputy Dickhead, Sergeant Reilly, took great relish in seizing the case from us.

Razer’s lawyer, one as fancy as Fairweather’s, eyes me as he mutters something to his client, but the MC President, mid-lighting a cigarette, studies me over the flame.

He brushes off the lawyer and walks toward me. “What do you want?”

“You going to leave Amy alone?”

“That’s my business. Not yours.”

“Paulie would want me to get involved.”

Razer glances at the parking lot, focus darting from car to car. “How is she?”

“Stable. For now. And only by the grace of God. She went into shock a few times. They’re saying if she makes it through the night, there’s more hope for the long-term.”

“She can’t come back to the MC.” He jerks his neck to the side. When it pops, he grimaces. “There are consequences for her actions. They’ll expect me to?—”

“Why do you think I’m asking?” I bite out.

“She’s old enough to be on her own.” Something flickers in his eyes though. “She chose this path. She’ll have to live with it.”

“I’ll ask her to stay with me. If you wanted to help her, I can be the go-between.”

“Because my brothers’ll love me having a direct line with the local cops,” he drawls before taking in a deep inhalation. After heblows out a couple smoke circles, he grunts. “If she wants to keep that head on her shoulders, then we need to cut ties.”

“You’re willing to do that?”

“She didn’t leave me much of a choice.”

“You didn’t give her a say. Paulie told me she was a good kid. You shouldn’t have gotten her involved?—”

“Not your place to say what I should or shouldn’t have done withmydaughter.” He takes another deep drag of his cigarette. “If she needs anything, tell her to talk to her grandma.”

With that, he strides off.

Someone must have left a bike for him because he walks straight toward it.

Twenty seconds later, the ricochet of his crankshaft echoes down Main Street.

“What did he have to say?”

Though I can’t help but wonder how much Marty overheard, I’m not worried. “If he could open the bar tonight.”

Marty snickers. “I hope that’s a joke.”

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