Bad Girls Do It Better (Bad Boy Billionaire Romance) (37 page)

“What the fuck?” I muttered. Raven rested her hand on my shoulder.

“We’re not finished with the autopsy. Actually, we haven’t even started it, but it looks like he was beaten to death. I’ll keep you informed if—”

“I’m staying. I want to be here when you do it.” It was the last thing I could do for him. He was
this
close to becoming a fully patched member, and I got him killed.
Fuck! When Duke finds out the why and what, I’m gonna be a dead man, too.

“I don’t think so big guy. That’d be interfering with an official homicide investigation—one of which you might be our prime suspect. But don’t worry, I’ll keep in close touch with you.” Matt flashed his crooked front tooth smile at me. His eyes had a firm fuck you look in them.

“Me? Why the hell would I be a prime suspect?”

“He’s one of your guys, ain’t he? I mean, that is why she called you down here.”

“So? What’s your goddamned point?”

“Who was the last person to see him?” Matt pressed.

Fuck, it was me.
“How the hell am I supposed to know? The guy’s dead. He’d be the only person who could tell you the last person who saw him was, but I don’t think he’ll be doing much talking.”

“Maybe someone wanted to shut him up. And maybe he knew something about those other bodies. Seems like a plausible reason why you’d want him dead.”

“Come the fuck on! I’d never hurt Skeeter. Nobody from our club would!” My fists were balled, ready and waiting to punch him right in the cock sucker. I didn’t need his shit right now, and he could go straight to hell if he thought me or the club had anything to do with this. While we were busy hashing it out in the lab, Raven interrupted us.

“It’s okay, Chaos. I need a moment with you anyway before we get started on him.” Matt snickered at me with a shit-eating grin plastered on his stupid fucking face as she walked me out of the lab.

“Why are you giving that prick what he wants?”

“Listen, we don’t have much time. He’ll come out here in a few minutes I’m sure, but I have something important to tell you. I don’t want him knowing.”

“What?”

“When I came in this morning, I had a voicemail on my work phone. It was left at almost 2 AM. I couldn’t recognize the voice—even after listening to it a few times, but it was very threatening. I saved it on my phone. Right now, I want you to get out of here before he jumps the gun and throws you in jail for some stupid charge just to be a dick. I’ll call you before I go home so you can hear the message yourself.”

“What did it say?”

“You’ll have to listen to it, but right now you gotta go.”

I hated leaving, but she was right. With Matt on a headhunt for me, it was only a matter of time before he dreamed up some stupid ass reason to put me in the slammer. My club needed me right now, and I had to be the one to break the news to them. Better me than Sergeant Dumb Ass in there. Skeeter deserved that respect. With all the shit he’d been stirring up lately by accusing our club of these homicides, he might end up in a body bag of his own if he showed his face around the MC.

With the boys out of my hair, I could finally get down to business. Right after Chaos left, I kicked Matty out of the lab too. Having him stand over me and talk shit about my man wasn’t what I was in the mood for. This murder—Skeeter’s murder—chilled me to the bone. It was a little closer to home than I would’ve liked it to have been.
If they can kill a guy—a prospect—what could they do to me?
I wasn’t like the Lords of Sin. I didn’t carry a gun, let alone know how to shoot one! Yeah, point, aim, shoot, but it’s not that easy. When you’re nervous and shaking like a leaf, nothing is that simple, especially when you’re in a life and death situation.
Poor Skeeter.
He took one hell of a fucking beating before he gave up. The defensive wounds on his hands and arms said that he didn’t have any time to grab his gun. Carefully undressing him, I saw numerous bruises along his abdominal cavity. X-ray confirmed that he hand multiple broken ribs, a cracked sternum and a crushed hyoid bone. Whoever beat the hell out of him stomped on his throat in a last ditch effort to finish him off. He was one tough guy to take an ass beating like that. Continuing with the autopsy, I also noticed that there were ligature marks on his wrists, but I didn’t understand how or why. He wouldn’t have the defensive wounds if his hands were bound, unless they were bound in front of him—which would make no sense, especially with a guy of his size. As big and strong as he was, you’d think his attacker would want to tie his hands behind his back. Rolling him over, I got a clear picture of what I had asked myself only moments ago.

“Amber, do you see this?” I gasped.

“Yeah.” She looked at the carving in Skeeter’s back. “Don’t all of the Lords have their own symbol?”

“No, and if they did, it wouldn’t look like this.”

“Like what?”

“When they become a fully patched member, they get a tattoo, but he was only a prospect so he wouldn’t have the tat yet. This was carved with a knife, like the other victims.”

“You know, if it weren’t for you pointing these symbols out, I probably wouldn’t have picked up on it, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have known what it meant if you hadn’t explained it to me.”

Her comment got me thinking. Who would have access to that information? Besides the MCs and law enforcement, I couldn’t think of anyone else who would recognize the various symbols of the MCs. The Lords of Sin had been actively working with the other local coalitions, and they seemed genuine in getting to the bottom of things. Nothing made sense anymore. Matty said all along he’d suspected that Chaos was behind everything, but I knew that wasn’t true. And even if I would have ever doubted him, there was no way he’d murder one of his own, especially Skeeter. He’d been a hang around for a long time, according to Chaos, and he’d sponsored him from the very beginning. When I first started hanging around the MC, he gave me a lot of insight on all of the members—prospects included. I felt terrible about how torn up he looked when he saw Skeeter’s corpse on my exam table. The look on his face was pure devastation. I’d never seen him look so defeated and withdrawn. I’m sure Matty chiming in didn’t help the situation, he’d been quite the jackass.

Even with everything going on, I had problems of my own. While working on Skeeter’s autopsy, I kept replaying the voice message in my head.
Who would have access to the club’s symbols and knowledge that I was Chaos’s old lady?
He’d made it official with the club that I was his old lady, but I hadn’t said a word to anyone. I don’t know what scared the hell out of me more: that someone new my status within the club or the fact that they had access to me—or at least my phone number at the office. Hopefully that’s all they have access to. Suddenly, I felt unsafe as I wondered what else they knew about me.
Was it someone only trying to scare me? Or was it someone who wanted to hurt me?
I’m pretty confident that I made the right decision telling Troy about the message, but what if I didn’t? For a second—just a
second
—I considered telling Matty, but decided against it. I could picture him tracing it back and fudging the info to pin it on Chaos, and right now, that might be all the protection I have. I couldn’t risk him being behind bars. On a whim, I decided to give Matty a call and ask him to come to the lab to play nice with him for a change, soften him a bit. It didn’t take long for him to come running either. He was back in my office within the hour.

“Did you find any new information about the prospect?” his tone was clipped and cool. It was evident that I’d pissed him off.

“Actually, yes. I know that you and I see things differently, but I really want us to work together and get along.”

“If you think I’m letting you back in the loop in these investigations, you’re nuts!”

“Look Matty, I wouldn’t ask you to do anything that would jeopardize these homicides. I only want to offer my help. You don’t have to tell me anything.”

His facial expression began to relax and soften. It was like a light bulb went off in that thick head of his. His furrowed eyebrows eased up, his tense jaw unclenched and his posture stooped a little. Those beady eyes of his even twinkled a bit.
And I’m back in!

“You see,” I continued, “Amber pointed something out to me today that I’d not thought of.” He was listening intently, hanging on to my every word like a lost puppy. “She made the comment about how she wouldn’t have known what the symbols were if I hadn’t told her. Who else might know more about the MC world than just the MCs? Are there any gangs who have beef with any of them? Or an ex-member who might be trying to stir the pot?”

My questions seemed to perplex him. He was in deep thought, his hand rubbing his chin as he swayed back and forth on his heels. “You know, I honestly hadn’t thought of an ex-member or any of the local gangs.”

“It was an idea. I don’t know that I’m on to anything, but it had crossed my mind.”

“I’ll look into those avenues and see what turns up, though I’m not so sure about those ideas.”

Good, as long as Troy’s not under the microscope, that’s all I care about.
Showing him that there might be other things to consider could buy Troy some time to figure things out, and give the Lords a break while they’re trying to bury one of their own. “I’m sure you will. Thanks Matty.” I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
Hey, I might as well go all out!

§

At the clubhouse that night, there was only one prospect manning the gate—Griffin. His slumped posture and sad eyes said he’d already heard the news about Skeeter. Giving him a half-hearted smile, I waved as he opened the gates. The clubhouse was silent and motionless, the complete opposite of the loud, thumping music, dancing and pool tournaments that were usually taking place. Chaos was sitting at the bar with Vic and Zipper, drinking beer as they reminisced about Skeeter. I slid into the barstool next to him.

“How’s it goin?”

“Shit’s been better, I can tell you that. You get his autopsy all finished up?”

“Yeah, sorry I didn’t call you. I came straight over after work.” I scanned the quiet room, everyone was within earshot. “Can we go somewhere to talk?”

He pushed out his chair and nodded toward the corridor leading to his room. Once the door was shut, he slumped down in the chair, rubbing his temples. “Lay it on me, babe.”

I filled him in with the rest of the information I learned from the autopsy, the broken ribs, fractured sternum, the crushed hyoid bone and the ligature marks. Pain filled his face as I told him all the details. “Jesus, I thought it was bad enough looking at his face.”

“I know.”

Sitting on his bed, I told him about the remark that Amber had made during the autopsy and what I’d said to Matty. He was pissed that I’d consulted with him, but when I explained why, he understood.

“Fuck, babe. I don’t know what to fucking do. Losing Skeeter really fucked my head up. Those guys from the other MCs, they didn’t mean shit to me, but Skeeter, he was my boy. I hand picked him myself. And now this shit with you and the voicemail, I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put all of this on you, but it’s just that—I’m scared. Honest to God fucking scared. If they can do that to a biker, what will they do to me?”

“Babe, you don’t ever have to worry about that.” He took a deep breath and let out a sigh. “I’m gonna tell you something, but you cannot—I mean
DO NOT
—repeat this to that fucking pig, okay?” I slowly nodded my head, not sure if I really wanted to hear what he was about to tell me. I suddenly knew how he felt earlier this morning when I led him into the lab to show him Skeeter’s body. “We got some intel that there’s another MC trying to move in on our area. Our club was supposed to go stake it out today, see what dirt we could dig up, but I decided to go on my own last night.” I gasped, thinking of what danger he’d put himself in by doing that. “Chill out. Anyway, they’re setting up shop down on Fifth Street so I went there. While I was there, I got the feeling someone was watching me. Sure enough, it was Skeeter.” My head cocked in confusion as I tried to figure out where this story was going. “Drew had seen me leaving last night and I guess he figured I was up to somethin’ so he sent Skeeter to trail me.”

“Oh my God, I don’t know if—”

“Listen, babe. Let me tell you my story. The other MC, their name is the Dirty Dozen—they’re out of Shaver Lake—and they were setting up shit in this abandoned warehouse. I was watching them right before I spotted Skeeter. He told me what he was doing so I gave him some shit. I told him that if he wanted to watch someone, he could watch them. It’d be a way to show the club he’s in it one-hundred percent, he could earn his top rocker by bringing back anything he saw. Ya know?”

“Mmm, not sure where this is going.”
Nor do I want to know!

“Matt said something in the lab that really made my hair stand on end. He asked who was the last person to see Skeeter alive.” I looked at him, my eyebrows shot up. I already knew the answer. “It was me. I left him there, alone. And then I went home, had a beer and headed to bed.”

“Well that doesn’t make you guilty of murder. You think it was the Dirty Dozen? Maybe they saw him or something?”

“That’s what the club’s trying to figure out right now.”

“Wait a minute.” A million thoughts were clouding my mind, but one stood out from all the rest. “That doesn’t make any sense.” I shook my head. “Nope, not any sense! How would the Dirty Dozen know that I do the autopsies and that I’m involved with the Lords? And have access to my work number?”

He thought it over for a minute, taking a long drink from his bottled beer. “I don’t know. Anyone can look up the number to the medical examiner’s office.”

“And listen to the menu prompts to get my extension? Why not Amber’s extension or our clerk, Mr. Evans, who makes copies of the death certificates and handles the calls? Why me?”

“That’s something we’ll have to figure out together, babe. For now, I think it’s best that you camp out here for a while until we get to the bottom of things.”

I looked around his dirty, dusty room with stale sheets crumpled on the bed. It wasn’t exactly what you’d call “homey” or comfortable. The place wreaked of beer and cigarette smoke—and that’s when they weren’t blazing up joints, blunts and bowls. Hell, when you walked through the place your feet stuck to the floor half the time from God knows what that was stuck to the tile and concrete. Not that my place was the Hilton, but it was clean…all right, semi-clean and it didn’t stink. At least at home, the sheets were fresh, the floors were clean and I had a nice shower to get in to.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather stay at my place. Why don’t you stay with me instead?”

“No, Raven. I need to be here with the club. What if something happens and we need to head out ASAP?”

“You have a phone.”

“You’re staying here. End of story.”

“I’ve been pretty compliant with all of your demands and requests. The least you can do is let me be comfortable in my own home. I’m not staying here.”

“How do you expect me to keep you safe? If I’m not here with the club, I can’t do my job, which means I’m not protecting anybody. I’m the enforcer here and—”