Page 5

Turning in my chair, my gaze flicks to the clock on the wall and I sigh, dropping my chin down as I shake my head. This is the fourth time this week that I’ve been here, burying myself in work until past midnight to avoid going back to an empty house. If I stopped and took the time to examine my life, it probably wouldn’t take me long to connect the dots between my wavering sanity and the fact that I have nothing - nothing to look forward to and not a thing to live for. But I won’t do that - examine my life, I mean - because it’s too goddamn dangerous and sometimes you find a hell of a lot more than you bargained for when you go poking under rocks.

Stifling a yawn, I lean forward in my chair again and turn to the next page in the case file, scanning the information there like something might have changed but it never does and I resist the urge to chuck Hazel’s file across the room. Hazel McDaid first came into the Devil in the Details about two weeks ago to see if we could do something to help her after the police didn’t do their jobs. I wish I could say I was surprised by the corruption I heard as I listened to her story but tales like hers are the exact reason I made the choice to walk away. The system designed to protect its citizens from the monsters of the world failed her in the worst possible way and I can’t help but clench my teeth as I think about the bullshit that led her to my office.

Three months ago, just as the local college was wrapping up classes for the summer and everyone was celebrating the end of another school year, Hazel’s friends convinced her to go out with them one night. One of the fraternities was throwing a huge party and they told her it would be fun but if I close my eyes right now, I could still see the way she folded in on herself as she told me what happened that night and I ball up my fist as I stare down at her file. It’s too fucking thin, especially for a case like hers, telling me that the boys in blue didn’t even attempt to get justice for this poor girl. My gaze flicks to my laptop in the corner of the desk and my fingers itch to press play on the recording I took of Hazel telling me her story. It’s another thing I know by heart at this point but I keep listening to it, hoping to catch something new. All it really does is torture me.

Blowing out a breath, I lean back again and try to calm myself down but as my mind begins replaying the conversation I had with her in this office, I know it’s no use. I remember looking up from my desk and finding her standing in the doorway to my office, looking like she was ready to throw up or run and it took a good five minutes to convince her to sit down and talk to me. She was certain that I wouldn’t be able to do anything for her and more than anything, I just want to prove her wrong. I flip to the next page in the file and scoop the entire thing off of the desk as I read over my notes from my interview with her.

She and her friends arrived at the fraternity and the place was packed but they made their way inside, got a few drinks, and started dancing. They were having a good time until Hazel started to feel off and left her friends to find a bathroom so she could splash water on her face. She was upstairs when she was approached by one of the boys who lived at the fraternity and he told her that she could use his bathroom but as soon as he got her alone, he was all over her. A wave of heat rushes through me as I remember the way she started crying so hard she could barely speak as she told me about him locking her in his bedroom and throwing her down on the bed. He climbed on top of her and she tried to fight him off as he grabbed at her body but he easily overpowered her - probably thanks to the drugs I suspect he slipped into her drink - and started ripping the clothes from her body. Her whole body shook as she told me about him shoving his way in between her legs and my stomach flips in disgust as I imagine the scene in my head. I’ve heard too many of these cases, seen too many photos of the bruises and wounds left on a woman’s body after a man has had his way with her to imagine anything else, even if those photos were missing from her file. Thank God, she had the forethought to take photos of her injuries herself and save them to her phone, otherwise I wouldn’t have anything to go on.

When he was finished raping her, she said that he thanked her and told her she was good as he got dressed and then he left her in the room, laying on the bed naked and sobbing. She was unable to move for a little while and without a toxicology report, I can’t be sure if that’s due to drugs or trauma but when she could finally move again, she got dressed and found her friends. They immediately took her to the hospital, where a nurse assured me a rape kit was performed, but the evidence was lost by the time the file landed on my desk. It wasn’t a surprise though. As soon as Hazel told me the name of the boy who assaulted her, I knew exactly what I would find when I started digging into the case. Brady Calhoun, the boy Hazel accused, is the oldest son of Beckett Calhoun, who just happens to be a childhood friend of the chief of police. All it took was one quick little phone call from Beckett and all of the chief’s minions were scrambling to cover this whole damn thing up. It’s why this file is so damn thin and I have absolutely nothing to get Hazel the justice she deserves but I can’t bring myself to walk away either. I need to find a solution.

I kick the desk in front of me, the thought of letting Hazel down making my stomach turn, and a few things fall to the floor. I don’t give a shit about the mess though. I will just fucking deal with it in the morning if my secretary, Elise, doesn’t beat me to it. Glancing up at the clock again, I toss the file to the desk and sigh. I’m done for the night. If I stare at this damn case for one more minute, I might actually lose my mind and if I’m forced to think about the corruption that drove me away from a job I loved, I can’t be held responsible for whatever I do next. Leaning forward, I flip the file closed and stand up, stretching before I grab my cut off of the chair and slip it on, loving the calm that settles over me as it settles on my shoulders. Despite all of the shit that went down when I left the force, I don’t regret my decision and I know that joining the Bayou Devils MC was the right move for me. I had been working with the guys for years, helping them when I could and they did the same in return since there were just some things that, as a cop, I couldn’t do and by the time we finally got around to making it official, I was already an honorary member in my brother’s eyes. And if I’m being honest, I wouldn’t have survived the past couple of years without them.

Sighing, I run my hand through my hair as I hesitate next to my desk, my mind torn with indecision. There isn’t a single part of me that wants to go back to the compound to an empty house where all I will have to keep me company are the same thoughts that have been drowning me for the past two years and a bottle of whiskey but staying here for any longer tonight will land me in a straitjacket, I’m sure of it. Swiping my keys off of the desk, I turn off the radio and head for the door, hoping that a few of the guys will be hanging out at the clubhouse by the time I get there so I have an excuse not to go home. Hell, even passing out drunk on the clubhouse floor is better than the alternative.

Chapter Three

Isabelle

My stomach growls as I whip my Cadillac ATS-V into a parking spot right outside of my favorite Chinese restaurant and I sigh as I put the car in park and turn it off before leaning back in my seat and closing my eyes. A wave of nausea washes over me but I push it back down as I open my eyes, grab my phone from the cupholder, and climb out of the car. Shutting the car door, I catch my reflection in the window and my gaze drops to my stomach. A smile teases my lips as I place my hand on the tiny little bump under my shirt and my baby kicks back, knocking my hand with some part of their body.

I grin.

Before this little angel bulldozed his way into my life, I had things all planned out and by that, I mean I didn’t have any grand plans except to have fun, travel the world, and live. If I wanted to drop everything and fly to Mexico for the weekend, I would. If I met a hot stranger in a bar and wanted to go home with him, I was free to so discovering that I had a little bun in the oven was one hell of a shock. One I didn’t handle well. This sweet baby… it didn’t fit into any of my plans or my life and I never saw myself as a mother so after agonizing over it for a long damn time, I made an appointment to terminate the pregnancy. Except when it came time for my appointment, I sat in my car in the office parking lot and cried for over an hour, trying to make up my mind but I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe and in a panic, I left. A week later, I scheduled another appointment but I didn’t even make it out of my house that time. After the third missed appointment, I sat on the shower floor as hot water rained down on me and cried for hours, begging for answers from whatever mystical power is watching over us all. Finally, I realized that it was time to get my shit together and be the kind of mom this kid deserves, whether it was part of my plan or not. But that doesn’t mean it’s been easy to come to terms with this or admit it to the people in my life.

Hell, the only ones who know anything are my sister, Ria, and our mother and the information I’ve given them is limited. Ria knows more than my mother does but she doesn’t know everything. My phone rings in my hand and when I glance down, I roll my eyes as my sister’s name pops up on the screen.

“Hey, Ria,” I answer as I stop outside the restaurant and plop down on a bench next to the front door, my stomach growling again.

“Hey, yourself. How is my favorite sister and my little niece or nephew?” she asks and I can’t help but smile as I rest my free hand on my bump.

“I’m your only damn sister and we’re fine.”

She laughs. “That’s why you’re the favorite, dork.”

“Are you saying I wouldn’t be the favorite if I had any competition?” I ask, absentmindedly dragging my hand across my belly to soothe my growling stomach.

“I’m not not saying that…” she prompts, laughing, and I roll my eyes as I fight back a smile of my own.

“Wow… love you, too, Ria.”

She scoffs. “You know I love you… you just happen to also be a pain in the ass sometimes. Speaking of which, have you done that thing we talked about?”

My stomach does a little flip as I think about the conversations Ria has been urging me to have with the father of my baby and my friends, all of whom I’ve kept in the dark for the past six months.

“Tomorrow.”

“Iz,” she warns and I blow out a breath, shoving my nerves to the back of my mind for now. “You need to tell them.”

I nod. “I know and I’m going to tomorrow. I have a plan.”

“And what is this grand plan?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her. It’s better than admitting that I have no fucking idea how I’m going to break the news to people, but I know it has to happen now. It’s time. “Hey, I need to go get some food cause I’m starving, but I’ll call you tomorrow after it’s done.”

She scoffs again and I swear I can hear her roll her eyes. “Stop making it sound like you’re going to your own execution. It’s just a conversation, Iz.”

“I know,” I tell her, even though I don’t quite believe it. Sure, it is just a conversation but it’s one that is going to change someone’s life completely and if I’m being honest, I’m scared shitless.