Hardass (Bad Bitch)(76)
He dropped his eyes again, and it was as if I could see the lie forming in his mind.
“Nothing much. Just girls dancing, coke and stuff.”
“What else, Rowan?”
He looked back to me, but this time there was fear in his eyes. “Worse stuff. Bad stuff.”
“Like what?”
“I didn’t do any of this, man. I need you to know I just watched. I didn’t do it. Okay?” He took a deep breath. “Chip would pick one girl who was high as fuck and string her up. Truss her up like she was caught in a spiderweb, you know?” He scrubbed a hand over his bald pate. “And then he would hurt her.”
“How?”
“Fuck, man, I don’t know.” He bit his filthy nails. “He would hit her. Him and Tyler both. They would punch and bite and hit her with stuff. Sometimes they would cut the girls. They both had some crazy skill with knives. They could draw with them, you know? Like art like a painter would do, but with knives and blood instead.”
I tamped down my revulsion at the man sitting across from me who would willingly sit by and let such horrors happen right in front of him. “What else do you know about Chip?”
“I only met him a few times. Him and Tyler were friends. I just liked going to the parties.”
“Describe him.”
“Tall as me. Sort of dark hair with gray in it. Older. And he had really creepy eyes. Like they were light, real light blue I think. That’s all I know.”
The truth hit like a bat to the face. “Luke.”
“Who?”
“Did Tyler ever talk about his brother?”
“Brother? I didn’t know he had one.”
“Fuck. Guard!”
Rowan’s eyes opened wide. “What, what did I say?”
“What you should have said when we first met.” I went to the door and banged on it. “Let me the fuck out!”
I needed to get back to town, back to Caroline, and discuss our next move. The Bayou Butcher wasn’t sitting here with me in this cell. He was in a high-rise in downtown New Orleans.
Chapter Twenty-one
Caroline
Luke beat me to the coffee shop and was already situated at a corner table with two steaming cups of coffee laid out. I sank down, fatigue rushing through me even though it was still morning. He sipped his drink as I added cream and sugar to mine. The shop smelled wonderful, and I eyed the pastry case a little too hard.
“Coffee always seems to perk me up. Though I’m not sure how much good it’s going to do given these circumstances.” He shook his head and stared into his cup.
“I’m sorry, Luke. I know I keep saying that, but it’s true.” I wrapped my hands around my mug, relishing the warmth on my palms.
“Like I said before, I knew Tyler would end badly. I just didn’t know how badly. Not until today. Seeing his face like that.” Luke’s calm exterior had crumbled under the grief of his brother’s death.
My thoughts went to Wash and how he put on a gruff front. But I’d seen the man inside—funny and gentle and sexy as all hell. I already missed him. It was stupid and made my chest hurt to think about, but I refused to lie to myself any longer. I loved him. I loved him from the moment I’d seen him in that courtroom years ago. But he didn’t love me. The thought was final, as if I’d closed a book and put it up onto a high shelf.
Luke reached across the table and gripped my hand. “I can tell something’s bothering you. I won’t ask what. But maybe we can lean on each other a bit, if that’s all right?”
I nodded.
He smiled and looked at my cup. “Drink your coffee. You’ll feel better.”
I took a large swallow, the warmth spiraling down into my empty stomach. I’d skipped breakfast, so the coffee was a welcome addition.
Luke released my hand and leaned back. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”
“I can’t. You have plenty of trouble without my complaining.” I took another drink.
“It’ll take my mind off things. Please. Maybe I can help?”
I snorted. “I doubt it. Unless you have experience dealing with hardasses?”
“All the time. Try me.” He rubbed at his eyes with the thumb and index finger of one hand. The movement made his T-shirt ride up his bicep a bit. The bottom letters of a tattoo appeared, but then they went wavy as my vision blurred. I rubbed my eyes.
“Does that say ‘Chip’?”
He dropped his hand, and the tattoo was obscured by the fabric again. “My dad used to call me that. Woodworkers, you know? So, chip off the old block?”
I smiled, but a shadow flitted across my mind that I couldn’t quite catch. The edges were fuzzy. “That’s actually kind of nice. And I’m impressed an unassuming financier has ink.” I stared at my coffee but couldn’t focus.