Into the Nothing (Broken Outlaw Series Book 1) (2 page)

“Yeah, but murder is murder, Evans. I often look the other way when you try to get one over on us.” He puts a thick finger up as if trying to keep me from interrupting—I wasn’t planning on it. “And don’t treat me like an dumbass and tell me you haven’t… because we both know you have.”

No argument from me there.

“I hope you’ll occasionally pay me the same respect.” He pauses for a moment, leaning back on his heels.

“Occasionally, Evans. That’s all I’m asking for. We’ll see you in a few hours.” He heads toward the door, but before heading out, he looks over his shoulder at me. “CO Towson will be down to grab you in a bit. You help me, I help you. Roger?” I nod, and with that he’s gone.

Our talks aren’t usually so brief, but I assume he’ll have plenty more to say at our get-together later. Warden Naranjo loves to pry, I love to fight, and we both love to win. In a way, we’re serving life together.

We have a lifetime to do this dance.

TRUMAN VALLEY SHERIFF’S OFFICE

OFFENSE/INCIDENT REPORT

CASE REPORT # 08931

REPORT NARRATIVE

DATE: 05/09/2013

OFFICER: Deputy Jacoby Virgil

INVESTIGATION: On 05/09/2013 at approx. 0030 hrs, I received a call from dispatch to respond to 1 Watson Wineries Drive in Truman Valley in reference to a homicide.

I arrived on the scene and met with the caller, Xander Evans (DOB 02/13/1985), who first encountered the victim, Teresa Watson (DOB 06/19/1968), before calling 911. Mr. Evans was distraught, but calm enough to communicate. He informed me he heard glass shattering and a loud yell from the main house while he was in a detached living quarters, located a few hundred feet behind the main residence. Both are situated on a winery of several dozen acres on the outside of town, which is owned by the Watson family. Mr. Evans stated he had been staying in the living quarters and working as an assistant to Watson Wineries for a little under two months. He is not of any relation to the victim. Evans also informed me that the husband of the deceased, Jack Watson (DOB currently unknown), and daughter, Paige Watson (DOB currently unknown), were on a hunting trip near Twain Lake. Teenage son, Caleb Watson, was at a friend’s house for the weekend.

Mr. Evans stated that, upon hearing the commotion, he dressed and headed to the main residence. He entered an unlocked back door and almost immediately came upon the body of Mrs. Watson, facedown on the kitchen floor. He checked for a pulse, concluding that Mrs. Watson still had one but it was faint. He removed the suspected murder weapon—a Bowie hunting knife found in the sink—before calling police and conducting a search of the home.

The victim had multiple stab wounds to the back, head and neck. An autopsy is currently being conducted.

Mr. Evans consented to a search of the guesthouse without issue, which turned up several items belonging to the Watsons, including credit cards and checkbooks. Several pieces of jewelry were found that we have reason to believe were owned by the Watsons. All items were located inside Mr. Evans’ luggage. Marijuana and paraphernalia were also discovered.

Mr. Evans has been taken in for further questioning. A more detailed search of the residence and land is necessary. Immediate family has been notified and are en route to the Sheriff’s office.

Case open pending homicide investigation.

End of Report

March 2013

T
his bar is not unlike the many I’ve stopped at along the way in my nine-year journey. I’ve stayed in hundreds of backroad towns and gotten wasted at just as many hole-in-the-wall bars.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s an unmatched charm to this place. Sure, it’s got your typical deer heads, rusted garage signs and the jukebox playing Alabama in the background. But it also has the faint, comforting smell of cedar and a collection of people you’d expect to find in hippie Oregon, not the middle-of-nowhere Missouri. With two empty bar stools on either side of me, a chilled pale ale before me, and twelve hours of driving behind me, I’m in my happy place right now.

Six beers down and I’m still better than the hick across the bar from me. Slouched in all his inebriated glory, his massive arms cradle a Bud and two shots. Before I can analyze him further, a stunningly beautiful woman, early twenties with a confident stride, makes her way toward a nearby takeout counter. A middle-aged man with the same dirty blond hair, probably her father, hands her a twenty and heads for the restrooms on the other side of the bar.

I watch her as she leans against the counter, a cotton tee and small jean shorts doing little to hide her magnificent curves. It’s incredibly difficult to break my stare, but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen someone so damn beautiful. A pair of piercing blue eyes catch mine before I’m smart enough to avert my gaze.

She’s not offended though. Her smile is playful and innocent, yet with a hint of mischief. It’s the kind of smile Hollywood starlets would envy, and I can’t help but smile back. No one like her has walked in here all night, and no one like her will walk in after. I’d put money on that.

Before I know it, my drunk friend to the left has stumbled off his stool and toward the girl I’ve been ogling. He reaches her, his hands groping for anything and everything. When he captures a handful of tits and ass, her eyes widen and her mouth curls in disgust.

None of the dozen or so other people in the bar seem to notice or care much. Just another drunk asshole in another rinky-dink fucking town. Before I can even think, I’m off my stool and on him like a starving lion on a freshly killed carcass. I’m driven solely by instinct.

And a drunken desire to impress this woman.

I
t’s not unlike the dogs in this town to get grabby whenever the opportunity presents itself. So I’m not the least bit surprised when I see it’s Benji Mathis who’s pawing at me in his usual drunken stupor. The guy is a tumor in Truman Valley, and the exact reason we have the reputation that we do. This town is not the town I once knew—not by a long shot. And it’s because of guys like him.

Just as I’m about to put a Converse in Benji’s balls, I see the sexy guy from the bar has leapt from his stool, a look of anger etched on his face. I freeze. I can do nothing as all three hundred plus pounds of Benji Mathis crumples to the floor. The stallion of a man who rushed from his barstool faster than I could process a thought has Benji pleading for release, his arm bent in a way I’d more likely see in a UFC fight than at Whittaker’s on a Thursday night. That’s something I never thought I’d see in my lifetime. Besides my ex, Cody, no one is more feared in Truman Valley than Benji. And yet here he is at the mercy of a man who, not five seconds ago, I was eye-fucking the shit out of.

God, I wonder if he noticed.

I’m trying not to act desperate, but it’s been six months since I ended things with Cody, and let’s just say he was no pro in the sex department. I’ve had pints of Ben and Jerry’s during my period last longer.

I spot Dad just outside the bathroom in the same incapacitated state I’m still in, locked in observation of this stranger taking matters into his own hands. The man grinds up harder on Benji’s arm, inducing a pathetic whimper.

“I don’t know who you are, or who raised you, but where I come from, we’re taught a little thing called respect,” the sexy stranger says, his biceps bulging with the strain of keeping Benji down. His eyes are locked onto Benji as everyone else in Whittaker’s now watches, some with their cell phones aimed at the action. For the first time ever, Whittaker’s is dead silent.

“Let… Me… Gahhh… Go…” Benji manages to say between gasps.

“I’ll cover your bar tab, but you’re going to get the hell out of here. Understood?” Benji wails in pain when the stranger once again cinches his arm, which looks to be near its breaking point.

“Yes. Yes. God, yes! Just please…” The pain snuffs out his words. With that, the stranger releases his grip and Benji stands and stumbles awkwardly toward the door. He turns and grunts. “This ain’t the end, motherfucker.” As he makes his way out, the man just shrugs and nods at me.