Misfit(187)

She looked pale and delicate, reminding Stretch how fragile life was, but how strong she was. Her sweetness hid a will of tempered still. Unbreakable. Unshakeable.

What a mighty fine woman.

Standing, he went to her and touched her hair, finding it as silky as he remembered. He caressed her cheeks. Her lips. Lightly felt the bandages at her throat and knew he was being given a second chance at happiness. He knew she loved Cash. Stretch loved Cash, too. Like Cash, he was afraid of Outlaw, but he had to talk to Cash, tell him if he changed, then, maybe, Outlaw would accept them as a couple. Meggie would get him to accept them. They had to try, though. The alternative was living without each other, and Stretch no longer wanted that.

Taking her bandaged hand in his, he bent and kissed it. She’d been stabbed on her arms, legs, and thighs, sustaining defensive wounds to her hands. Noah was a fucking dead man. Stretch wished he’d be the one to avenge Fee with that fucking coward.

“Mr. King?”

Looking toward the voice, he found a detective staring in Fee’s direction. Even if he hadn’t had a badge clipped to his belt, Stretch would’ve recognized a cop.

“Yes?”

“I’m Detective Tracoli.”

Fuck. What did it mean to have a detective there but not Outlaw and Cash? He knew what that meant. Hours had passed without hearing from them. He wouldn’t panic. “Is there a problem?”

“I’m here to question you about the incident that started in this room and led to the arrests of Christopher Caldwell and Cash McCall, two fellow members of your gang.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Blabbing to the cops was a betrayal against club code, so he gave the only acceptable responses. “I didn’t see anything.”

Tracoli looked at Fee.

“She’s asleep, jackass.”

“I see.” Studying Stretch’s cut, the asshole gave him a long look.

Instead of shrinking away, Stretch stood taller, proud of his colors, the meaning of brotherhood.

The detective presented a semblance of a smile and held out a card. “If you recall that you did, in fact, witness something, give me a call.”

Smiling, Stretch ripped the card, allowing each piece to drift to the floor.

Tracoli offered a glacial grin and nodded. “I’ll be in touch,” he promised, and walked out.

Stretch reached for his phone. Outlaw and Cash have been arrested, chasing a Torp who came to Fee’s room, he texted Johnnie.

Stay with Fee. I’ll handle it, Johnnie responded a moment later.





At the station, instead of being booked immediately, a cop removed Cash’s handcuffs and led him to an interrogation room. Of course, they’d question him. He wore his cut and the Death Dwellers had created a lot of fucking chaos over the years in Portland. Most recently, the bombing of the Torpedoes. They’d manufactured evidence to place the blame on another MC. Still. This was the opportunity of a fucking lifetime for some ambitious asshole.

After what seemed like hours, two detectives strolled in.

“Good evening, Cash,” the older one said.

Evening? He’d been waiting for hours.

“I’m Detective Landry.” He pointed to the fresh-faced kid. “This is Detective Greenlee.”

Cash glowered at them. He might not want to go to jail, but he wouldn’t fucking turn on his club to stay out of the tank.

Detective Landry placed his ankle on his knee, imitating a casual pose. “We’d like to ask you a few questions. Hear your side of things.”

“I want an attorney.” Lawyering up should’ve shut them the fuck up, but not these two, determined to achieve their fifteen minutes of fame off his ass. No fucking way.

“Making a terroristic threat is a serious charge,” Detective Greenlee added.

Fuck. A what? To keep his expression blank, Cash clenched his jaw, ignoring how hot the room suddenly seemed as he turned the detective’s words over in his head. A fucking terrorist threat. Were they fucking serious? That shit carried jail time, serious fucking jail time. Forty fucking years at a minimum or some shit like that.

The two badges fell silent and looked at him.

“I want an attorney,” Cash repeated.

“Do you want to go down based on what Christopher said?” Detective Landry pressed.

“Fuck you.”

Detective Greenlee sighed. “Cash, do you really think he’ll take the rap? He says you ran after Scott and he came after you to protect you.”

As if. Not only wouldn’t Outlaw pass the blame, he wouldn’t even fucking talk.

“Nice try. Now, get the fuck out of my face. I’m not talking to you without my lawyer present.”

“Do you know Scott?” Landry shifted his weight.