I lifted my shoulders but said nothing.
“It’s hard for me to talk about because it’s wrapped up in why I did time. And you were looking up at me, so happy and excited, I didn’t want to crush it.”
“I understand,” I murmured even though I felt like a doormat. “But you made me talk about my past even though I didn’t want to.”
“I didn’t make you. You could’ve shut me down.”
“Like you’re doing now?” I demanded.
“Fuck, I’m making this worse.”
“I guess I don’t really have the right to know,” I said, meeting his gaze. “It’s not the same, is it?”
“Can’t we just be in this place for a little while longer before I tell you the truth and risk you wanting nothing to do with me?”
My breath hitched and I took a step back.
“That, right there,” he muttered. “You’re afraid of me now.”
“I think you have to tell me the truth.” I exhaled a deep breath. “Why did you go to prison, Brooks?”
Brooks held out his hand.
After looking at it for a moment, I grasped it.
He pulled me close, and then we began to walk.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“It’s called Prospector’s Peak. There are abandoned mines all across the mountain,” he said.
“That’s awesome,” I said. “Salem and Hadley told me this was a big silver mining area back in the 1800s.”
We continued to amble, silent once again. I gave him the space to formulate his words.
What could he say to me that would make me view him differently?Wouldanything make me view him differently? I already knew he’d gone to prison. Butwhyhe’d done time would shed even more light on who he was.
“My brother and I belonged to the Tarnished Angels Motorcycle Club. The chapter in Spearfish, South Dakota,” he began. “The club had been going in a bad direction for a long time. We were involved in some . . . dark business, if you catch my drift.”
“Illegal?” I asked.
He gave a humorless smile. “I’m not answering that.”
When I fell silent again, he went on.
“One night, one of my biker brothers and I were out doing some shit for the club. He was high as a motherfucking kite. Suffered from addiction for years. He was a good dude overall, but just never kicked the habit. The short version of what happened: he had an illegal firearm in the car and was too fucking high to mention it until there were red and blue lights flashing behind us. It was a sawn-off shotgun. Super fucking illegal. He already had a record. . .” He paused. “His priors were violent crimes, and the club was low-hanging fruit for the Feds anyway. If they pinned it on him, he was getting the full weight. Could easily have been ten or fifteen years and there wouldn’t be a plea deal. He’d do most of that time. Fuck, I didn’t even know it was in the car. Anyway, his Old Lady had just had a baby girl. The idea of her growing up without a father . . .”
He trailed off.
Brooks shrugged. “So, I made the decision to take the fall. I was clean. I had no priors. I knew the judge would go lighter on me than he would on my club brother. He tried to argue, but I told him to shut the fuck up and let me take the fall. I got a five-year sentence. Out in just over four years for good behavior. But before I went in, I struck a deal with the club president. Because I ate the time without turning on the club, Archer could walk away from the club as soon as I went in, and when I got out of prison, I could walk away too. My prison sentence bought our freedom. I still have my ink because of how it went down. Usually, when a brother leaves the club of their own volition, they have to get rid of their ink. But the club let me keep mine to show there was no bad blood and that I was always welcome back if I wanted.”
He let out a sardonic laugh and shook his head. “The bastard OD’ed a year into my sentence.”
“When did you get out?” I asked quietly.
“Two years ago. While I was in, Archer started working as a farrier for Rex Hughes—a rich guy who breeds racehorses. When I got out, I went to work for Rex, too. Horse groomer. And then Cas called a few months ago and floated the offer of working at Elk Ridge. And here we are.”
“Here we are,” I repeated. My head was spinning from everything he’d said.
