Page 2 of Grimm
The entire courtroom held their breaths, waiting for the verdict. My father, the founder and president of Sin City MC, one of the most notorious motorcycle clubs in the United States, was on trial for the murder of FBI Agent Jonas Richards, who’d infiltrated the club, and the attempted murder of Richards’ father, Federal Judge Hugh Richards.
Angus was no angel, and a hell of a lot of blood stained his hands, but he sure as hell didn’t kill that Fed. He was withme, digging a hole in the desert to get rid of my sister’s poor excuse of a fiancé. Not the best alibi.
The Feds had been after my father and the club for years. He founded Sin City MC in 1990 when I was five years old. It was difficult to get anything incriminating on him, even with an undercover FBI agent inside for two years. Angus was smart. Too smart. Someone framed him. I wasn’t sure why someone wanted the judge and his son dead, but I would find out even if it was the last thing I did.
My mother, Mary Alice’s clammy hand crushed mine, and her right leg bounced. She was devoted to Angus even though, most of the time, he wasn’t devoted to her. There was a time I believed Angus had loved her. Nobody fucked with hissweet Alice. But Angus was a womanizer, a control freak, and a prick to most. The older I got, what I once thought was love seemed more like control.
Light sniffles brought me back to the courtroom. I glanced at the Richards family behind the prosecutor’s table. I had no sympathy for their loss. The agent and his father didn’t have an honorable bone in their bodies—dirty to the core, just like Angus. Someone taking them out wasn’t a matter ofifbutwhen. And my father was the scapegoat.
Mrs. Richards, the daughter of the current FBI Director, Johnathan Willard, sat like a fucking princess between her mother and father, along with Judge Hugh Richards, the other victim. She dabbed at her eyes with wads of crumpled, wet tissue, smearing black shit across her splotchy, tear-stained skin. Judge Richards, posture stiff and chin lifted in the air, looked like a stick was shoved so far up his ass, it hit the back of his throat. I lost count of how many times he eyed his watch, like there was somewhere better to be than the trial of the man accused of killing his only son and an attempt on his life.
Prick.
“On the count of felony murder in the first degree,” the court clerk said, breaking through my thoughts, “we, the jury, find the defendant, Angus MacDaniel, guilty.”
I released a whoosh of air like I’d been punched in the gut. A guilty verdict had been inevitable, but everything was surreal. How in the hell did they find him guilty? I wanted to scream his innocence to anyone who’d listen. Judge Richards was a crooked piece of shit, but I sat still, grinding my teeth so I could be there for my mother. For the club.
Friends, family, and club members crammed into the medium-sized room, along with nosy ass people who had no ties to either family or the press. All the seats were taken. Gawkers and the press lined the walls, waiting to capture the takedown of the infamous Angus MacDaniel.
My mother laid her head against my chest, shielding her emotions from the onlookers vying to get a picture or a look at her devastation. This count alone carried the death penalty, and there wasn’t any doubt. If they could put him to death, they would.
I wrapped my arm around her frail body, pulling her closer to me. She’d already lost so much weight since all this shit started. Her once beautiful long, thick black hair was now brittle and falling out in clumps. I hated to see what the actual guilty verdict would do to her. My sister’s sniffles as she tried to hold back her sobs. She was Daddy’s little girl, and this devastated her as much as it did my mother.
“This is bullshit!” Colin yelled.
My brother could never control his emotions. While Colin liked to think he was like Angus, he was too much of a hothead. Angus was quiet, calculating. Nothing like Colin.
The clicks from the media’s cameras echoed throughout the courtroom. Anyone who didn’t know any better would have believed Angus was a celebrity. But hell, here in Vegas, he was. Or the boogeyman your parents warned you about.
Angus and Sin City would be plastered on the front page of every newspaper tomorrow. I groaned at the realization. This verdict would bring more focus to the club. More attention we didn’t need.
“My father is innocent!” Colin yelled. “He didn’t kill that fucking prick!”
The judge slammed his gavel and pointed toward Colin. “Get him out of my courtroom!”
Four massive bailiffs converged on him. Colin struggled against their holds. When they finally got him under control, they pulled his arms behind his back and pushed him through the double doors at the back of the courtroom.
“On the count of felony attempted murder in the first degree,” the court clerk continued once everyone settled back in their seats, “we, the jury, find the defendant, Angus MacDaniel, guilty.”
Through it all, my father never flinched. He looked over his shoulder at us, his family. His gaze softened when his eyes landed on my mother, and for the first time in a long time, something other than rage filled them. Regret.
Regret for bringing her into this world, knowing shit like this was possible. She’d most likely watched the love of her life take his last breaths behind bars. A damn shame.
He turned to me, and his usual no-shit persona returned. I understood what he wanted without him saying a word. I’d run the club like now, but I’d do whatever it took to get him out of this, no matter how long it took. He was a bastard and a shit father, but he was my father and innocent ofthesecrimes.
I glared at Judge Richards. When he caught my gaze, the bastard shifted in his seat. His time would run out, just like his son’s. He’d fucked with the wrong people. Everyone involved would pay. No matter how long it took, they would all pay.
“Mr. MacDaniel, you have been found guilty of all charges,” the judge said, looking down at the papers in front of him. “Your sentencing date will be in thirty days. You are hereby remanded to the custody of the Nevada Department of Corrections until then.”
I pulled my gaze from Judge Richards and focused on my father. Silas Martin leaned over and whispered in his ear. Angus nodded, then looked back at the judge.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, thank you for your service. You’re dismissed. The court is now adjourned.”
The judge slammed the gavel. They handcuffed and shackled him, then escorted him out of the courtroom. He didn’t look back at his family. Angus was a proud man; his head remained high, and it would remain that way until he died.
As the bailiffs escorted him through the double doors on the right side of the courtroom, a heaviness settled in the pit of my stomach like a lead weight. I stared at the large round seal on the wall behind the judge’s head—Lady Justice in her flowing blue gown, eyes covered with a blindfold, holding the scales of justice in one hand and a sword in the other. Justice being blind was bullshit spouted to make guilty consciences feel better about railroading people considered trash by society. Angus was convicted for who he was, not for what he did like so many before him and many more after him.
I’d been Acting President since he was arrested. Today, the verdict solidified it. I was officially the president of Sin City MC, the most ruthless One-Percenter motorcycle club in the southwest.
