Chapter 31

King/Dante

It was late in the afternoon when I pulled into the driveway of my house. I hadn't even considered going to the clubhouse, because I didn't want to deal with all the nosy-ass questions from anyone quite yet. Normally, a long ride helped clear my head, but not today. I just kept replaying my conversation with Ella, torturing myself with the words she'd thrown at me.

I realized that what I was feeling was probably only a fraction of what Ella had been experiencing since Friday morning, so I refused to try to blank it from my mind. I deserved to have to remember her tear-stained face, and the pain in her eyes as she asked me why I'd chosen those words. The same kinds of words that fucker Clayton had used to denigrate her after she caught him cheating.

I wasn't sure if she would ever forgive me, but I knew for a goddamned fact that I would never forgive myself.

Since I hadn't been home much at all lately, the refrigerator and pantry were both pretty bare. I didn't have much of an appetite, but knew I needed to eat, so I ended up making a dinner of scrambled eggs, along with some sausage patties I'd found in the freezer. I was washing up the few dishes I'd used when my doorbell rang, followed by a few solid knocks.

I grabbed a dish towel to dry my hands as I headed to the door. Assuming it was Cowboy, I didn't even bother glancing out the peephole before unlocking it and throwing it open. It wasn't Cowboy.

Standing on my front porch were two men in suits, flanked by two police officers. I recognized one of the men as Lt. Brown, who was in charge of the homicide division. Abby's dad was a homicide detective, and I'd met his boss last fall, when Jagger had shot Molly's stalker to save her life. He seemed OK, even though cops and bikers typically didn't mesh well.

I stiffened, schooling my expression as my mind raced with possible explanations for their presence. The most obvious one was Pic. Fuck!

"Dante Morgan, would you please step outside?" Lt. Brown phrased it as a question, but we all knew it was simply a polite demand.

I hesitated but knew from casual conversations with the club's lawyer that it would be better in the long run if I cooperated from the start.

"I will, but I would like to ask why," I replied slowly, then very deliberately held up my hands as I dropped the dish towel. I kept my hands in plain sight as I took one step forward, then another. Immediately, the two officers rushed forward and turned me around to face the doorway as they placed me in handcuffs, then frisked me.

Luckily, I had taken off my cut as usual when I got home, so I didn't have to worry about them freaking the fuck out over my switchblade. The only thing they took from me was my phone and my wallet, both of which had been in my back pockets. My phone was password protected, and I was pretty damned sure there wasn't anything incriminating on it, but I still wasn't thrilled to see it in their hands.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as Lt. Brown read me my rights. When he finished, he instructed the other detective to close my door.

"Turn the button on the doorknob to lock it," I reminded him. The fact that they'd had me step outside proved they didn't have a warrant, and I wasn't about to make it easy for them if one of them decided to go snooping without one. The deadbolt would be unlocked, but at least the knob lock was better than nothing.

The younger detective shot me a glare, then made a production out of locking the door before slamming it shut a little harder than necessary. He grasped my arm none-too-gently, and led me down the front steps, with Lt. Brown following us.

"Why am I under arrest," I asked again, and the detective gripped my arm harder. The punk-ass little shit couldn't even come close to wrapping his hand around my bicep, which seemed to only piss him off even more. "You're being charged with the murder of Starla Monroe."

Fucking hell, Star was dead, and I was catching a charge for it. My mind raced as I tried to remember what I'd done as I'd searched her apartment. I knew I'd been careful, but maybe one of her neighbors had seen me breaking into her place. Shit, this could go sideways in a heartbeat.

He yanked opened the back door to the patrol car and Lt. Brown himself stepped forward to secure me in place. Before the lieutenant stepped back and closed the door, he looked down at me and asked if I had anything I wanted to say to him.

I shook my head grimly. "I want to speak to my attorney."

"Fair enough. You can call him when we get to the station."

Almost an hour later, I was still cooling my heels in an interrogation room, handcuffed to the fucking table, as I waited for Brick's brother, Tom, to arrive. I had Lt. Brown's sidekick for company though, and Detective Marsden had been a fucking delight.

He hadn't violated my rights by asking any questions, but he'd sure as hell run his mouth, telling me how happy he was to see me sitting in this room, in cuffs, where I clearly belonged. He had very definite opinions about bikers, and he'd been happy as fuck to share them with me. Apparently, we were all degenerate thugs who were responsible for half the drugs, rapes, and murders in the county.

I forced myself to remain calm, knowing that he was trying to provoke me. I'd be damned if I'd fall for that though. Marsden underestimated me, and that was his second mistake. His first had been to put cuffs on me in the first fucking place.

The door finally opened, and Lt. Brown stepped in, followed by my attorney. Tom glanced at me as if to assure himself that I was all right, and I gave him a head nod. His eyes fell on the handcuffs, and he shot a glare at Marsden as he introduced himself.

"Tom Gallagher, defense counsel. I understand that my client has been more than cooperative, so let's lose the cuffs and get started. I'm sure Mr. Morgan and I both have better things to do with our time, and I'm quite certain that you and your fellow detectives do, since Ms. Monroe's actual killer needs to be found and apprehended."

Tom and I were allowed to speak privately first, and he reminded me to answer only what was asked. "Don't volunteer any information, and keep your cool, for God's sake. Don't let them rattle you."

For the next two hours, Brown and Marsden took turns asking the same questions, over and over, changing the phrasing of the question each time in the hope that it would trip me up. We learned that Star's body had been discovered behind an abandoned house on Friday evening, just two blocks from her apartment. She'd been shot in the head. Based on the coroner's exam, as well as interviews with neighbors who heard a woman screaming followed by a gunshot – but hadn't fucking bothered to report it – her time of death was estimated at between two and four Friday morning.

"Where were you between the hours of eleven o'clock Thursday night and seven o'clock Friday morning?"

"I was staying with my lady. I arrived Thursday evening at around eight o'clock, I think, and left at six-thirty or maybe a little after on Friday morning. I drove to my office and was there before seven."

"And your lady will be able to verify this?" Marsden sneered, and I sighed. Able to verify it? Yes. Willing to? Well, I supposed that depended on how much Ella would hate me when the cops knocked on her door.

He handed me a notepad and pen and instructed me to write down her name and contact information.

"She left for Chicago Friday afternoon, but is due back sometime this evening," I told him. He ignored me, then opened the door, handing the paper off to a uniformed officer standing there. They had a hushed conversation before Detective Dipshit shut the door and took his seat again.

They continued peppering me with questions starting with what my relationship was with Star, and what she did for the club. I answered them calmly and more or less truthfully.

"Star was a friend. She was associated with our club for three or four years. She did some cooking and cleaned the clubhouse in exchange for room and board, plus a small salary. She also picked up shifts at one of our businesses from time to time."

"Oh come now, Mr. Morgan, let's be honest here," Marsden goaded. "She did a lot more than that for your club. She was a prostitute, paid by the club to have sex with all the bikers."

Before I could say a word, Tom held up his hand. "Detective, your insinuation that Mr. Morgan or his club is running some kind of prostitution ring is baseless and is offensive to both my client and to your victim. He answered your question. Now move on."

Lt. Brown shot Brown a look and took over the line of questioning. "So why did she leave her job there and move out of the clubhouse?"

"We were concerned that Star was using drugs, which is a violation of our club rules. She was asked to move out."

Marsden snorted, and asked if I expected him to believe that we don't use drugs.

"You're welcome to test me right now, detective. I used to smoke a little pot but gave that up when my twins were born twenty-seven years ago. We're a group of men who run successful, legitimate, law-abiding businesses, and we wouldn't be able to do that if we were using drugs, so yes, they are against our rules."

"Yet you allowed Ms. Monroe to work at the strip club, owned by your group?"

I nodded at Lt. Brown and shrugged. "As I said, Star had been a friend for several years. We didn't want her out on the streets, but we didn't want her bringing any of that shit into what is essentially our home either. So, we made her move out, but allowed her to continue working at Fallen Angels, until she failed to report for her shift Thursday evening. She didn't call either. That warranted termination under our rules as well."

"As it does for many employers," Tom interjected.

Marsden jumped in again, hesitating for a moment as he made a production over flipping through his notes, then looked at me as if he were confused. He wasn't a bad actor, but he tried a little too hard. "I'm sorry, I can't seem to find the information I'm looking for. Have you ever been to Ms. Monroe's apartment…the one she moved into after she left your clubhouse?"

"I went to her place Thursday evening."

"How did you know where she lived?"

"I got the address from the assistant manager at Fallen Angels. It was in her employment records."

"Why did you go to her apartment?"

"I was concerned because she hadn't shown up for her shift and we couldn't reach her by phone. I wanted to check on her."

"And did you? Check on her, I mean?" he clarified casually, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"I tried to, but she wasn't home."

Marsden nodded and paused. "So, when you went into her apartment, you didn't see her?"

"My client never said he went into the apartment, so let's stop baiting him, shall we?"

At that point, I wondered if a neighbor had seen me entering or leaving, or maybe I had left some trace evidence behind. If that were the case, I needed to come clean. Mostly.

"It's OK, Tom. Let me save you some time, detective. I went up to her apartment and knocked on the door. It opened slightly, like it hadn't been latched properly. I called out for her, but she didn't answer. I became concerned, given her history, that Star was there and had possibly overdosed, so I pushed the door open the rest of the way and went inside. I didn't see her, so I left."

"How long were you in the apartment?"

"Not long, a few minutes maybe. It's a small studio apartment, so I checked the bathroom and kitchen, then I left."

"Did you notice anything unusual?"

"The place needed a good cleaning, and it was hot as hell because the air-conditioner wasn't running, but otherwise, no."

He dropped that line of questioning, thank fuck, then Lt. Brown tagged back in, asking if I owned a gun.

"Yes, but you should know that since it's legally registered." He rolled his eyes, then asked what other guns I had access to.

"That's the only handgun I own."

Marsden jumped back in with his bad cop routine. He shook his head and smirked. "That's not what he asked, Mr. Morgan," he chided condescendingly.

"And yet the answer is still the same, detective. I don't own any other handguns."

"Asked and answered, detective. Move on," Tom drawled in a bored tone that irritated Detective Dipshit, I was happy to see.

They apparently didn't have any other questions to move on to, and Tom was tired of playing.

"Gentlemen, unless you have any other questions, I suggest you confirm Mr. Morgan's alibi, and then release him from custody with your most sincere apologies."

Brown sighed and looked at Marsden, who looked at me and smirked again.

"I'm sure Ms. Chadwick is being questioned as we speak."

I forced myself not to react as I imagined how scared Ella probably was, then the realization set in. Even if Ella could find a way to forgive me for what I'd said about her on Friday, there was no way she would be able to get past this. This was club business at it's worst, and I knew she would want no part of it, or me, ever again.

Brown and Marsden left the room, and Tom got up to go make some calls.

"I need to call Sinner and Cowboy. They're waiting for an update," he told me quietly. I raised a brow, wondering how they knew I'd been arrested.

Tom shrugged. "I called them while I was on my way here."

I grinned. "I thought we had some kind of attorney-client confidentiality."

He discreetly flipped me off as he walked out of the room, leaving me alone to ponder how fucked up my life had gotten in the last seventy-two hours.

I was pacing the small room impatiently when Tom strode back in about thirty minutes later, followed by Lt. Brown.

"Let's go, King. The charges have been dropped." Relief flooded me at Tom's words, and I suddenly couldn't wait to get outside and breathe some fucking fresh air.

Lt. Brown escorted us out, handing over my wallet and my phone. He leaned in quietly and apologized for Detective Marsden. "Normally I can rein him in, but this time, he did an end run around me and went to that new hotshot down at the prosecutor's office. The guy has a hard-on for cases like this. I'm guessing he's planning on taking a run for his boss's job down the road, and figures if he takes a stance against a high-profile figure like the president of a biker club, he'll win the votes."

I snorted. "Well, he's sure as shit not gonna get mine."

Brown leaned in further. "He won't get mine either. Guy's a complete dick. So is Marsden, for that matter."

Sinner and Cowboy were waiting on me in the parking lot. Sinner had driven his truck, so they could give me a ride home. Before he headed for his car, I told Tom to double his normal bill before sending it over. I'd gladly pay the extra rate, since I would most likely have had to spend the night in lockup at least, if it weren't for his help.

Sinner pulled me in for a hug and Cowboy clapped me on the back, then we hopped in the truck and got the hell out of there.

"Has anyone talked to Ella?" I asked, and Sinner nodded.

"Don't worry, she was upset, but she'll be OK. The cops came by and talked to her for a bit, then I directed them over to talk to Miriam Kirschbaum. She has one of those doorbell cameras, and the angle of it points directly at the front of Ella's house. Miriam told me after they left that it showed all the lights off and your bike sittin' in the drive all night. Between what Eleanor told them and Miriam's video, your alibi was solid."

Cowboy spoke up from his seat in the back. "Abby's dad managed to get a little intel for us. He was left out of the loop until after you'd been picked up, but he's pretty fuckin' pissed. He said they found the drugs and cash in her apartment right away, so they knew she was dealin' for T-Bone."

"If they knew that, then why the fuck weren't they looking at him for this. Why was I the one catching a fuckin' murder charge?" I glanced over my shoulder to see Cowboy shrug.

"That's what Randy wants to know. He's thinkin' one of the guys in his department is on T-Bone's payroll, especially since he got a look at the crime scene photos. Get this, brother. An empty baggie with T-Bone's mark on it was shoved in Star's mouth."

I whipped my head around to stare at my best friend. "Fuck, he left his calling card, and they still went after me? That's more than shitty investigating."

"Yeah. Randy said he's gonna do some digging' around. He'll let us know if he finds anythin' worth knowin'.

I sat back in the seat and stared out the window, wishing Star could have made better choices with her life. I wondered why T-bone had killed her and then Pic, but I doubted I'd ever get any answers. Maybe he was just cleaning up loose ends at this point, who the fuck knew.

I turned my mind to what was important now. Ella.

"I don't want to head home just yet. I need to check on Ella. If she doesn't want me to stay, I'll have you take me home later."

Sinner glanced at me and nodded. "She'll be glad to see you, I'll bet. She was really fuckin' upset after the cops left. I filled her in on what I knew, which wasn't much at the time. She was scared to death that she'd said the wrong thing, and you'd be in trouble because of it. She relaxed a little when I told her that she'd done exactly the right thing, and they'd be releasin' you soon."

Sinner pulled into his driveway a few minutes later, and I barely waited until the truck came to a stop before I hopped out and headed across the yard to Ella's front door. I reached for the doorknob then hesitated, wondering if I should knock or just walk right in like I'd been doing for a while now.

"Fuck it," I muttered, then let myself inside.