X Marks the Spot (Executioners MC Book 1) (7 page)

“What’s all this?”

“Well, I knew you didn’t plan on staying in town long, so I thought you might need a few things.”

In spite of everything going on, it made my heart swell to see Ruth. I never realized the major void I’d had since moving away from home and my family.

“And I’m guessing you thought I needed beer?”

“No, baby girl. I
knew
you needed the beer. Hell, I’d give you a joint if I thought you would smoke it.”

I giggled and grabbed a cold bottle of Bud. “You know better than that. Those days are long gone.”

Now it was Ruth’s turn to snicker. She leaned back in the metal folding chair that the motel used as a dinette. “So, tell me, what’s been going on with you? Got you a ball and chain back in San Diego?”

“Is that really what you came here to talk about?”

Ruth arched her eyebrows and took a pull from her beer.

I gave a weighted sigh. “Well, I’ve been seeing someone, a colleague actually.”

“Is it serious?”

“Hell no.” I twisted my face and scoffed. “To be honest, he’s an egotistical asshole who’ll probably have nothing to show for his life other than oversized toys and an insanely expensive tie collection.”

“So I guess he won’t have a problem with you staying in Jericho a little longer?”

I tried to conceal my restlessness by taking another swig from my beer. My personal life was a fucking disaster. “The only thing he’ll care about is having to break in a new piece of ass.”

“Ouch. Well, his loss. Now, hun, tell me where your head’s at. I know Jessa lured you here. It’s been a real mess since you arrived. Actually, before you arrived. Are you really gonna go through with this?”

I tucked both feet and pulled my knees up to my chest, breaking eye contact with Ruth. “I don’t really see where I have a choice. Glenn Sanders is an inept clown.”

Ruth laughed, unscrewing the cap on her second beer. “Honey, you won’t find me arguing that point.” She took a long swallow and sighed. “My concern is for you. Yes, Ronin is important to me. He’s important to all of us, he’s family. But I don’t want to see you spiral out of control. Numar was a nasty son-of-a-bitch. I have no doubt that he deserved exactly what he got, and Ronin doesn’t deserve to go down for it. But someone else can pick up that cross. It doesn’t have to be you.”

I raised my head. Pulling back my shoulders, I lifted my chin. “Yes, it does. And I hope you didn’t come here on a mission from the prez to get me to tuck tail and run. That’s not me, not anymore. And you can tell Pop I said so.”

Ruth leaned forward, her brown locks falling across her red bandana. She rested her elbows on both knees and eyeballed me. “Listen, little girl. You may be grown, but it’s a different world here. You need to put yourself in check. And for the record, I came here all by myself. Jesse said you had made your bed and he was gonna let you lie in it. I know he’s just blowing smoke. He’s worried about you, about Ronin too. But I’m here out of genuine concern for my kid. The Pistol Kings aren’t a club you wanna be caught fucking around with.”

I struggled to calm down. It was mind blowing just how insanely diverse my two worlds really were, and through all the years, Ruth had been supportive of both. I guzzled the rest of my beer in one drink and promptly opened another, licking the bubbles from my top lip. The alcohol tasted better than I had expected. Much better.

“I know, and you’re right. I’m sorry. But the sooner we agree on the fact that I’m staying, the sooner we can work on getting Ronin out of this mess.”

The hard expression on Ruth’s face softened. “Do you think he did it?”

“Do you?” I asked in a deadpan tone.

“I know he hated that bastard Numar. He never tried to hide how much he wanted him dead.”

“I know the feeling,” I mumbled as I dropped my gaze. “I had no idea that Ronin was still consumed with what happened.”

Ruth reached out and squeezed my hand. “Honey, he ain’t been the same since. None of us have, but he’s really taken it hard. It’s not something that anyone expects you to be able to get over.”

I fought the urge to break down and bawl from the mere motherly gesture.

“Baby girl, we’ll all get through this. We’re strong. We’re Executioners.”

I stood and popped the cap on another Bud. “Yeah, not all of us.”

“Pssh, you’re a Miller and that’s damn near the same thing.”

I offered a weak smile, unable to bring myself to acknowledge just how true that statement really was. A shiver rippled deep in my gut.

After reassuring my stepmother that there was nothing to worry about, I told Ruth goodbye. I drained my beer before opening another, and then another.

My mind finally started to relax as the alcohol left me fuzzy and warm. I recognized that it wasn’t the smartest move to get drunk the night before an arraignment.

Fuck it, I’m a Miller
.

***

The incessant buzzing sent me scrambling out of the bed. I had already hit snooze on the first two alarms. My brain bounced around in my throbbing skull. Not being able to sleep without some sort of self-medication was a real bitch.

I slammed my cell phone on the rickety bedside table and started the shower. After catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I decided to start the mini coffee pot. Ground up sludge would be better than nothing.

Ruth had asked me if I thought Ronin killed Numar.

Did it matter?

CHAPTER EIGHT

(Ronin)

The heavy vacuum cord whipped around my thin, pale legs. I struggled to breathe through the sobs in my throat. Tears streamed down my tiny, six year old face.

I tried to scream, but nothing came out. Running as fast as my little legs could take me, only to be knocked to the ground by a boot kick square to the back.

I twisted my fractured body around, my damp, agonizing face silently pleading with my mother for help. I watched as she flicked the long ash off her Virginia Slim and flipped the channel on the TV.

Just as my small, trembling hands struggled to push myself up to my feet, a fist came crashing down.

That was step-dad number two.

***

“Steele, on your feet. You’re being arraigned this morning.”

My eyelids flickered, and sweat poured from the back of my neck, leaving my pillow drenched. I was thankful that I had gone back to sleep after spotting the tray of rubber eggs and burnt toast.

Transport dropped my uniformed babysitter and me off at the courthouse. As I waited on the bench, cuffed and exhausted, I thought about the dream that I’d had. I hadn’t had any bad childhood nightmares in years. I wrote off that part of my life like a bad movie, never to be watched again.

There were several orange jumpsuits lining the wall. Misdemeanors, felonies, and bond fortifications.

I scanned the area that was roped off exclusively for the inmates. I didn’t belong here. Not this time. I had done my fair share of bad shit over the years, but this was too much. I’ve never tucked tail like a bitch. I’ve always owned my shit. I didn’t do this. Not to mention, if I had killed Numar, I wouldn’t have gotten caught.

My tired body snapped to attention when Jolene marched into the room. I had never seen her look so professional and confident. The way her hips moved in that black skirt that clung to her body left me mesmerized. The white button down shirt covered enough of her cleavage to be considered appropriate, but the image of her breasts had been seared into my brain a decade ago. She looked good enough to eat.

“Docket number 15-M-1620, people versus Ronin Elbert Steel.”

Jolene’s blue eyes focused on the judge, clearly making special strides not to look in my direction.

The judge was an older man, large frame with a white beard. His nameplate read, ‘Honorable Judge Weese.’

I tried to appear calm, but my mind was racing. I glanced around the room and wasn’t surprised when I couldn’t find a familiar face, other than Davis, my arresting officer. The Executioners didn’t step foot inside a government building unless they were dragged in wearing restraints. Although I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting. Executioners first, family second.

“Mr. Steele, do you agree to waive the reading?”

I glanced from the judge to Jolene who gave me a curt nod.

“Yes,” I said, unaware of exactly what I was waiving. I never understood all the legal bullshit, blindly trusting Sanders all these years.

The judge nodded. “Moving on. Son, are you prepared to enter a plea at this time?”

As my insides quaked like prey caught in a tangled spider web, I saw the yellow legal pad that Jolene had shoved in my direction.

In large, black script, it read, ‘
Not Guilty. We’ve got this
.’

For the first time since being arrested, hope stirred deep within my chest.

I lifted my head, “Not guilty, judge.” The hushed whispers of the crowd caught me off guard. People got busy pulling out pens and notebooks. The two men at the prosecutor’s table leaned into one another, deep in conversation.

“Ok, quiet in the courtroom. Mr. Garner, notices?”

I eyeballed the tall, muscular man as he stood to address the court.

“Yes, 7-10-31b and 1-90-50, your honor.”

The judge scribbled something before responding. “I’m assuming you have a few thoughts on bail then, Mr. Garner?”

What the fuck was all the snickering about? I tried to steady my breathing as my muscles tightened. I wouldn’t have a shot in hell at getting out of this shit hole if I lost my temper.

“As a matter of fact your honor, yes. We ask that the court remand the defendant without bail. This is a first-degree murder charge of the worst kind, premeditated with years of plotting. Mr. Steele is a known criminal and has nothing tying him down, no family, spouse, or children making him an easy flight risk. He’s a common gang banger.”

The man’s loaded statement was like a knife to the heart, a dull, rusty fucking blade too. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Jolene writing on the pad again.

‘
Mind games. DO NOT react
.’

“Ms. Miller?” Judge Weese directed his attention to the defendant’s table.

Jolene tugged on the bottom of her shirt, pulling it tight across her chest. She held her red pen in one hand and ‘talked’ with the other.

“Judge Weese, I’m not going to spend a lot of the court’s time chipping away at Mr. Garner’s list of bullet points. What I will say is that Mr. Steele has had his share of legal trouble over the years, none of which were even remotely close to this serious in nature. As far as having nothing to tie him down, clearly Mr. Garner is unaware on how community works. He’s also unfamiliar with the vast difference between a gang banger and a Sargent at Arms of a motorcycle club. Mr. Steele is a proud member of a club where he is relied upon daily, not only by the members, but by the families as well. He takes his commitment very seriously. This club does a lot of good within the community, working with programs to collect food, clothing, and school supplies for those in need. They also own a legitimate business where they hire veterans and the homeless to help within the community. Mr. Steele is a big part of this town. He doesn’t own a passport and he hasn’t spent more than a weekend out of the state in the past ten years. He’s a citizen and earns his income right here in Jericho building custom motorcycles involving an impressive clientele list. Yes, the murder of Mr. Numar was horrific, and possibly even premeditated. But to say that my client spent years plotting and planning a murder that he has yet to be convicted of is overtly premature. I’m sure there’s no need to remind Mr. Garner of the old adage, innocent until proven guilty. I ask the courts to please grant reasonable bail as we move forward to adequately prepare the next stage in our defense.”

I sat dumbfounded, staring at the woman I thought I knew. What a fucking powerhouse. My gaze moved from Jolene to the judge, who was staring at her with his face creased in deep thought. The prosecutors appeared to be as caught off guard as I was. Shit. She managed to blindside the entire fucking courtroom.

The judge pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up on his nose before slapping both palms down on his desk.

“Sounds like you feel quite strongly about the matter of club vs gang, Ms. Miller. You also seem to be familiar with the going-ons, more so than Mr. Garner, as you stated. Is that correct?”

Jolene never broke character. Strong and poised. “I’d like to think so, your honor. And what I feel strongly about is proving my client’s innocence while protecting him from being treated like a murderer simply because he wears a patch.”

I wasn’t positive, but I thought I saw a grin creeping in the corners of the Judge’s mouth.

“Well then, I say we put it to the test.” He glanced down at his files, flipping through papers, and picking up a pen.

I fought the urge to ask Jolene what the hell was going on. She never looked at the prosecutors or me.

The judge cleared his throat. “Alright, bail is set for one million dollars. Ms. Miller, I am holding you personally responsible for Mr. Steele and it is up to you to ensure that he follows through on
your
word and show up for court. Mr. Steele?”