HARD: MC Romance (FF MC Romance Book 1) (9 page)

Now, all I needed to do was find an outfit to wear. And I needed to remember to wear my glasses.

FOURTEEN

Nick

I sat in my jail cell, wondering just how it was that a judge found it necessary to deny a bond hearing, claim me as a flight risk, and a modern-day terrorist on my native soil. My service to the nation was apparently all for naught, and my release from incarceration was dependent on the false testimony of a girl I didn’t really know.

In club terms,
I was fucked
.

The sound of keys jingling warned me of a guard’s approach. As the sound got closer and closer, I couldn’t help but wonder if either Peyton decided to testify, or if they found DNA evidence of Whip’s dead brother.

“Navarro! Hands to the door, I need to cuff you for court.”

I had been placed in a maximum security cell, and unlike the majority of other men who were incarcerated in the jail, I wasn’t free to roam. I turned around, backed up to the door, and placed my wrists in front of the hinged opening in the steel door.

Within a few seconds, my hands were cuffed. A few seconds later, and I was fitted with a waist chain and shackles.

I walked in a few steps in front of the guard, well aware of the route we were taking to get to the courtroom. Upon entering the room, however, I was pleasantly surprised to see Peyton, dressed in a black skirt, white shirt, and black blazer.

Her conservative heels topped off the ensemble, but it was her glasses that commanded my attention.

You wore those on purpose, didn’t you?

Almost immediately after being seated beside Tristan Beecham, the club’s attorney, the judge entered the courtroom.

“All rise,” the bailiff said.

Although she was seated twenty feet from me, the smell of Peyton’s shampoo and perfume caused my mouth to water.

The judge sat down.

“You may be seated.”

The judge shuffled through a stack of paperwork, picked up a sheet of paper, and studied it. After a moment, he placed the paper down on his desk and raised his head. “In the matter of the people versus Nicholas Navarro, new testimony has been given which corroborates previous testimony given by the accused, and supports statements regarding the whereabouts of the accused on the night in question. The witness has agreed to testify before me, which I require in any such case.”

“Mrs. Price, will you approach the witness stand?”

Peyton stood. “Yes, Sir.”

She gracefully walked to the witness stand.

“Raise your right hand.”

She did.

“State your name.”

“Peyton Penelope Price.”

“Mrs. Price, do you swear – or affirm – that the testimony you give here today is the truth, the entire truth, and nothing but the truth?”

“I do.”

“Have a seat, please.”

Peyton sat in the witness stand. The judge nodded toward the prosecutor’s bench. “Your witness.”

“Mrs. Price. I haven’t had an opportunity to hear your testimony, but it’s been brought to my attention that you gave testimony today in the presence of two detectives regarding the whereabouts of one Nicholas Navarro on the night in question. Is that correct?”

“I have no idea,” she responded.

“Excuse me? Can you speak up?”

She leaned forward and spoke into the microphone. “I have no idea.”

“You have no idea? Regarding what, Mrs. Price?”

She cleared her throat. “You stated that I gave testimony to two detectives regarding the whereabouts of one Nicholas Navarro on the night in question. My response is this: I have no idea when the
night in question
is. I gave testimony regarding Mr. Navarro’s whereabouts on the night that he was involved in an interview with me. If the night of the interview and the
night in question
correspond with one another, I suppose you have your answer, Sir.”

“On the night of May 7
th
, did you interview Nicholas Navarro?”

“Yes, Sir. I did.”

“What is your profession, Mrs. Price?”

“I’m a journalist, employed by the Union-Tribune, as a reporter.”

“On that night, when did the interview start?”

“6:00 p.m.”

“Are you certain?”

“I’m positive. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t testify, Sir.”

The prosecutor nodded. “I appreciate that, ma’am.”

“And when, Mrs. Price, did the interview end?”

“2:06 a.m., Sir.”

Thank you.

“2:06, huh? Are you certain it was 2:06?”

“Yes, Sir. Again, if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t provide testimony regarding a specific time.”

“How, Mrs. Price, are you so certain of the time?”

“I checked my watch immediately prior to ending the meeting. I recall saying, it’s 2:06 a.m., I need to go.”

“2:06 on the 7
th
?”

“No, Sir.”

“It wasn’t the 7
th
?”

“When it ended, Sir, it was the 8
th
. It was after midnight.”

“At any time during the interview, did Mr. Navarro leave your sight?”

“No, Sir, he did not.”

“Not once?”

“No, Sir.”

“Are you certain?”

“Quite.”

“So, you interviewed Mr. Navarro for eight hours?”

“That is correct.”

“At any point in time did you or Mr. Navarro eat?”

“No.”

“Drink?”

“Yes.”

“Did you or Mr. Navarro take an opportunity to urinate?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, we did.”

The prosecutor chuckled. “Did you assist him?”

“No, I did not.”

“So, he did leave your sight?”

“No, he did not.”

The prosecutor shook his head. “Can you explain?”

“Sure. I interviewed Mr. Navarro in the equivalent of an abandoned warehouse. Mr. Navarro and I, on the evening and night that we’re speaking of, consumed drinks. At one point, Mr. Navarro stated that he
needed to piss.
I informed him that I needed to as well, and asked the way to the bathroom. He laughed and said the building did not have a working bathroom, but that it was in the process of being repaired. I then asked where he intended to urinate. He pointed to the parking lot. I chose to hold it, and he chose not to. While he urinated, Sir, I stood in the building and watched.”

Where the hell did that story come from?

The prosecutor sighed. “No further questions.”

The judge cleared his throat. “Mrs. Price, do you understand that it is a crime for providing false testimony?”

“Yes, Sir, I do.”

“The crime of perjury.”

“Yes, Sir, I understand.”

“And, you understand you’re under oath to tell the truth?”

“Yes, Sir, I do.”

The judge nodded. “Will the accused please rise?”

Beecham and I both stood.

“Mr. Navarro, testimony has been provided that corroborates your claim, and provides you with an alibi on the night in question. regarding the fingerprint on the fuel tank of the motorcycle, we must assume that was left at a date prior to the victim’s disappearance. For the mix-up, the court apologizes. You are free to go.”

I nodded. “Thank you, your honor.”

“Have you any questions, son?”

“None, your honor.”

“Be it a matter of record, that in the matter of the people versus Nicholas Navarro, the charges, in their entirety, have been dismissed.”

The judge stood.

“Please rise,” the bailiff bellowed.

The judge left the room.

“You’re may be seated, and you’re dismissed,” the bailiff stated.

The sheriff’s officer walked to the bench, unlocked my cuffs, and removed the shackles.

“Any questions?” Beecham asked.

“Nope,” I said.

“I’ll send you a bill.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Peyton walking toward the door. I felt like yelling at her, telling her to stop, and asking to use her cell phone, but realized I had to refrain from any contact with her – at least in the courtroom.

Not telling her how much I appreciated her help was difficult. Having no idea if she was going to remain the same person toward me after she gave her testimony was worse. The possibility of losing whatever it was we shared sank into the pit my stomach like a rock.  

It was painfully obvious she meant more to me than some girl who was simply interviewing me.

I liked the thought of it.

But I wasn’t sure if I could allow it.

FIFTEEN

Peyton

I ran down the hallway and ducked into my office. After retrieving my laptop, I turned around and attempted to run out of the building without being seen. I was mere inches from the door, and the sound of Camden Rollins’ booming voice made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

“Peyton! What in the world are you doing?”

Fucking fuck fuck fuck.

With my laptop clutched under my right arm, and my purse dangling under my left, I turned around and forced myself to smile. “Just came in to get my MacBook. It’s has some stuff on it that I need to make reference to.”

He crossed his arms and stared back at me in disbelief. “Were you running?”

“It uhhm. It was. It was more of a light jog.”

“Why are you in such a hurry?”

I shrugged. “Just. I uhhm. Trying to get done with the first installment of an awe-inspiring piece.”

“Come on back.” He turned away. “I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“Has it been weeks?” I asked. “It seems like hours.”

“Come on back,” he said over his shoulder. “You can bring me up to speed.”

“I really need to try and get this done before I have a brain fart.”

He didn’t respond.

I took a few backward steps, inching closer to the door. “I uhhm. My recorder. I lost my voice recorder. Misplaced is more like it. But I figured out where I left it. Or at least I think I did. I was having lunch with Navarro. Kind of. Well, we never actually ate, but that’s an entirely different story. Anyway, I’m thinking I’ll have a rough draft here pretty soon.”

He walked away from me, reached the end of the hallway, and disappeared around the corner. I glanced at the receptionist. She returned an innocent smile and shrugged.

“Thanks for the warning,” I whispered.

I sighed, placed my MacBook on the receptionist’s desk, and took off in a dead run toward his office. When I reached the door, I reluctantly pushed it open. “I really need to go. I need to get my recorder. I left it at the bar.”

He waved his hand toward the front side of his desk. “They’ll be open all day. Have a seat, Peyton.”

I sighed and flopped down in the chair.

“What’s on your laptop that’s so important?” he asked.

“Just stuff.”

“What kind of stuff? Must be pretty important if you’re rushing in here to get it in the middle of the day. And why are you dressed like that? The Filthy Fuckers will never trust you if you’re dressed like that.”

I was still wearing my outfit from testifying in court. “No, I had a meeting. I uhhm. My insurance company. New insurance. They were going to cancel me. Too many tickets.”

“You need to slow down. You drive like a maniac. How many times have I told you? You need to slow down. You’re going to end up--” He paused, swallowed and shook his head. “You need to slow down.”

I nodded. “Duly noted.”

“So, what was it you were after? Tell me about the Filthy Fuckers. Are they going to war with Satan’s Savages?”

I sat up straight. “I was wanting to look at some notes from a few years ago I was chasing that missing person’s case.”

“Suspect the MC for a murder?”

“No. No.” I shook my head and forced a laugh. “Not even close. I was just wanting to look at some things. Unrelated. Kind of.”

“What about Satan’s Savages? Heard anything?”

“Not a word,” I said. “Interesting bunch, though. The Fuckers, that is. It’ll be a great piece.”

“We won’t be able to give the piece away if there isn’t any action. MC’s are a dime a dozen if they’re riding up and down the PCH swilling beers and getting in fist fights.”

“You’ll be pleased. I promise.”

He fixed his eyes on me and rubbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger. After a moment, he relaxed in his seat. “Alright. Go get your recorder. Dig deep, Peyton. I know you’ve got it in you.”

I inhaled a deep breath and prepared to stand.

“Before you go, what about Navarro? He’s a mean son-of-a-bitch from what they say. Have you had a chance to spend some time with him?”

I sighed. “Uhhm, yeah. I mean, the spending time with. Not as much as I need to, though.”

“Is he as hot-tempered as they say?”

I stood up and shrugged. “I sure haven’t seen it. Not yet.”

He picked a pencil up from his desk and wagged it at me. “Dig deep. That’s my advice. The deeper, the better.”

“Will do, Sir.” I said with a nod. “It’ll go deep. I mean I’ll go deep.”

“Keep me posted,” he said.

During the lull in conversation, I made my way to the door. “Will do.”

No response.

I walked out the door, stepped into the hallway, and as soon as I was out of sight, took off running.

A case I was working on two years’ prior shared almost all of the characteristics of Navarro’s case. Whether or not Navarro was involved with either case was irrelevant, I simply wanted to know if the charges against him were according to state statutes, and if they could re-charge him at a later date. 

I picked up the laptop, shot the receptionist a scowl, and ran to my Jeep.

One more stop, and then I could see if Navarro was out of jail yet.

***

I pulled into the parking lot of the bar, which was empty. From what Navarro said, the bar was a biker hangout, and his club had claimed it as their own. Although other people may frequent the bar, there was no worry of another MC stepping into FFMC’s turf, which made the bar safe – at least for me.

I shouldered my laptop and walked inside. Pete stood behind the bar staring at the wall-mounted television in the distance. 

He turned toward me and nodded his greeting. I nodded in return. After scanning the bar for patrons and finding none, I walked to the bar. Pete’s focus shifted from the T.V. to me. He resembled Navarro, but was smaller in stature, and missing the tattoos.

“I was in the other day with Crip.” I motioned toward the area where the incident went down with Panda and Whip. “I think I might have left something--”

He raised his hand. “Looking for this?”

“Yes. Oh my God, that’s great.”

I slapped my hand against the carrying case for my laptop. “Mind if I sit over there and look for something on this?”

“Take all the time you need.”

“Do you have wi-fi?”

He nodded. “Sure do. Password’s
go home
.”

I laughed. “Cute. Uhhm. Can I get. Can I get a Budweiser?”

I reached for my purse. He looked at me like paying was an insult. “On the house.”

“Let me just--”

“It’s on the house.”

I raised the bottle. “Thank you.”

I sat down at the same table Navarro and I had shared a few days prior. After logging onto the wi-fi, I began sipping my beer and searching through the documents of my old case. In no time, I was buried in legal facts and needed another beer.

The unmistakable sound of approaching motorcycles made my heart race. Expecting Navarro, Pee Bee and maybe more, I tore my eyes away from my laptop and peered through the window.

Much to my surprise, Whip, Panda, and several other Savages pulled into the parking lot.

Fuck.

My eyes shot toward Pete. I felt the need to warn him, just like Navarro did. “Savages coming in,” I shouted.

He shifted his eyes toward the back door. “Go out the back.”

I shook my head and reached for my recorder. “I’m staying.”

I was almost sick from the excitement. I turned on my recorder, wedged it between the cushions of the booth’s seat, and then slumped in my seat.

Whip, Panda, and two others came through the door and walked directly toward the bar.

“You got some of our shit,” Whip growled. “And we need it back.”

“I’ll give it to you when go, and you need to go.” Pete pointed toward the door. “Now.”

“We’ll leave when we’re good and god damned ready,” Whip responded. “Give me our shit.”

I considered getting my phone and after sending Navarro a text message, recording video of the debacle. So far, I had gone unnoticed, and drawing attention to myself was the only thing that prevented it.

Standing directly in front of Pete, but on the other side of the bar, Whip checked over each shoulder, and without any further warning, thrust his head into Pete’s face. Instantly, blood burst from Pete’s nose. After Whip threw a few sucker punches, he climbed over the bar and began to rummage around.

While he did, one of the other bikers – a tall lanky man with long strands of filthy hair – scanned the bar. Upon seeing me, our eyes locked.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Whip handed Panda his pistol and then a shotgun, which I suspected was what Pete used to protect the bar. My heart sank at the thought of Pete not being able to defend himself – or me for that matter – from the Savages.

The lanky biker pointed toward me. “See this?” 

Whip’s eyes met mine. “I’ll be god damned. That’s Crip’s girl. The one that lied in court this morning.”

Please. Let me live through this.

That’s all I ask. Don’t let them kill me.

Let me tell this story.

He shoved his knife into his pocket and began walking toward me. Two of the other three men followed.

I considered doing a lot of things, but only managed to do one. I turned toward him, blocking my right arm from his view. And, like a true journalist, I swept my purse and the recorder onto the floor. My only hope was that he didn’t find them, leaving the recorder to capture the event in its entirety.

I stood up. “He’s on his way. We’re meeting here.”

It was all I could think of, and was well worth a try.

He stepped directly in front of me, stopped, and eyes me from head to toe. “Better get this over with before he shows up.”

Before I could react, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me to his side. A sharp pain shot through my scalp and along my spine.

I looked down, saw the toe of his boot, and stomped my heel into it as hard as I could.

He spun me around. “You little bitch,” he seethed.

His hand slammed against my face. It wasn’t a slap. Not even close. He hit me.

With his fist.

I stumbled, but didn’t fall. “He’s gonna kill you,” I said through my teeth.

He pulled off my blazer, ripped my shirt, and pulled my bra up over my boobs. I fought against him at first, but it did little good.

His hand shot up my skirt and ripped off my panties.

“Don’t you dare rape me,” I said clearly and concisely.

I wanted the recorder to catch every word.

“Shut the fuck up. We’re all gonna get some of you, you lying little whore.”

He shoved me against the booth, bent me over, and pulled my skirt over my hips.

I refused to become a victim. Shedding a single tear wasn’t an option. While the sound of the other men’s voices either cheered him on or claimed their place in line, I felt his filthy skin against mine. The smell of gasoline, beer, and filth filled my nostrils, and I fought not to vomit.

I bit my lower lip and closed my eyes. I mentally struggled with him, the other, and what – if anything – I could do. Eventually, my mind gave up and drifted away.

While he pounded himself into me, my body may have been in the bar with him, but my mind and spirit were far away.

On a ski slope in Wyoming.

So high I could almost touch the clouds.