She nodded. “Mostly Armand.”
“Isn’t he ashamed to have a sugar daddy?” He chortled.
Her face was taut. “Armand isn’t going to be happy about me leaving Frederick,” she said in a low voice.
“Fuck him. He’s always been a pain in the ass. ‘Bout time he learned how to work.”
“Yeah.” She put her fingers to her mouth and chewed her cuticles. “I’m not sure what my plans are. Frederick has given me twenty-four hours to decide, and he’s always prompt.”
“My prez gave me a timeline too, only mine’s longer. We’ll figure it out.” He stood up. “I’m going to get a beer. Want something?” She shook her head and he walked toward the bar.
Lola was leaning against the bar laughing with the new prospect when Rock came up. “Hey, prospect. Gimme a Coors on tap. Now.” The young man’s smile wiped off his face as he rushed to serve a patched member. Rock chuckled.
“You’re such a mean SOB sometimes,” Lola chided as she ran her fingernail up his arm.
Rock drew his arm closer to his body. “You gotta show the new ones they’re in for hell so they appreciate the patch even more. What the fuck is this dude’s name, anyway?”
“Buzz. He’s pretty cute.”
“Yeah, well he’s off-limits ‘til he’s patched.”
“I know. I was just commenting. Oh, I forgot to give you a letter that came for you in the mail yesterday.” She pulled a white envelope from the pocket of her jean shorts, placing it in his hand. “Here you go, handsome.”
He looked at it, noticing the address was handwritten again and the postmark was Lafayette. He ripped it open and a single sheet of paper fell out. Written on it was one sentence: “Your father did not kill your mother.” The sentence was also handwritten, but it wasn’t in the same script as the one that had contained the mojo bag.
“What the fuck is going on?” he muttered under his breath as he reread the note again and again.Like I fuckin’ believe this.He shoved the envelope and note into his jeans pocket and headed back to the table.
For the next half hour, Clotille tried to make small talk with him but his mind was on the strange note and what it said. Was it true? How could that be? His dad had the goddamned bloody knife by him and his damn fingerprints were all over it. At the trial, he’d insisted he hadn’t hurt his beautiful wife, Marie. He’d testified that he’d had some moonshine at the casino and it’d hit him real hard so that by the time he’d come home, he’d been drunker than he’d been in a long time. He hadn’t been able to remember much of anything about that night except a lot of banging around, yelling, and a woman screaming. The jury hadn’t bought his story, and he was convicted and placed in maximum security. Rock hadn’t bought it at all either. He still didn’t.
He reread the note again.Is this fuckin’ possible? I know Pa killed Maman. Why would someone kill her? She was the sweetest woman I’ve ever known. No fucking way. So who the hell is messin’ with me?
Rock turned the note over in his hands again before he folded it in half and placed it back in the envelope. For as long as he could remember, he’d hated his old man and he thought the bastard got exactly what he deserved.
But now the note had arrived and for the first time since his father’s conviction, a scintilla of doubt poked at the dark recesses of his mind.
Chapter Eleven
“How the fuckdidn’t you know that Rock lived so close to Aspen?” the man growled. “That’s sloppy work, and you know I don’t like it. I’m giving you too much money to be fuckin’ something like this up.”
“What’s the big deal if he’s there?” a deep voice answered. “He’s joined a damn motorcycle club, so he’s out of the picture.”
“He fuckin’ saw Clotille.” The dark-haired man leaned against the desk in his tastefully furnished office. He had a bitter tang in his mouth—dealing with trash always had that effect on him.
“How the hell did that happen?” The shorter man sat down on one of the plush chairs lining the wall.
“Frederick hired some outlaw biker club to do security for one of his fucked-up dinner parties. Rock was one of the guys. What the hell are the chances of that?” He laughed wryly.
“Why the fuck would he hire a biker gang? He’s supposed to be smart.”
“Fuck if I know. Damnit! He’s livid. Clotille’s run away.”
The shorter man rose to his feet, sweat tickling down his face. “And she’s with him? Fuck!”
The man adjusted the lapel on his Armani suit. “Don’t panic. He doesn’t know if she’s with him, but you and I do. We know her and we fucking know Rock.” He tapped his fingers against his desk.
“Does Frederick know Clotille knows Rock?”
“No, and I don’t plan to tell him, so don’t shoot off your fucking mouth. Got it?”
