CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
*Lace*
Watching our Chaplain in silence, I step away to let Zane and Chuck talk. “What do you have up those tattooed pantyhose, Lace?” Chaz asks, pressing in behind me and wrapping his arms around my shoulders.
My intent is not to steer Zane away from Hell for Leather but just to remind him of his uniqueness and how special he is, I guess — remind him of his roots. Not the damaged ones, of course, but the ones still buried inside him somewhere looking for a fertile foundation so they can take hold and thrive.
“You all fed a fawn to the wolves. I’m just trying to dig up what little bit of sweetness he might have left after you gravediggers desecrated him.”
And maybe warm him up so he will eventually spill more helpful information, kinda like he almost did last night when he slipped about Gabe being nearby during something having to do with a police station. Just so happens that a police station lines up with what Crow came into Tit for Tat to tell me. Remi had been dealing with a thorn in her side for quite some time, and apparently, that thorn was… removed.
Coincidence? I think not. Unfortunately, I have no way of knowing for sure. I lost my chances at finding out the moment my surprised expression gave me away, and Zane clammed up.
With my head tilted to the side and focus honed in, for the first time, I consider Zane as the guilty party in all this mess. Since he is so new to the scene, who knows where his loyalties truly lie. What if Zane is working for someone else — like Stoney?
The thought makes me start questioning everything about his behavior and our interactions. Despite a drive to be involved in the motorcycle club world, I still firmly believe Zane has a moral compass, unlike the others. Those nerves, in which case, would be well-placed; Zane could do what he is told to do but still be anxious as hell at the same time. In which case, it would make sense that he would be nervous around me if he knew his actions would affect me in the end, especially if he thought I might figure out he is to blame and then turn him in to the Hell for Leather officers.
Even now Zane fidgets, his fingers tapping on the table in front of him and feet occasionally shuffling. He definitely has the body language of someone who is guilty, but innocent people can act the same way when stressed or nervous. There is a damn fine line. One I am not at all qualified to discern.
All I know with certainty are the details I have managed to collect for myself in person. For example, while I stood behind my bound father, silently pleading with Vee to spare his life, Vee said that he personally witnessed my dad commit the crimes against my mom. The only way Vee could have seen it for himself in such a short timespan would be if they somehow caught Dad roughing her up while home for his lunch break that same day.
Which means the window of time in which Vee and Brodi received their assignment is pretty narrow — sometime before Bae got hurt, and most likely before they even left the saloon. That is, if it happened locally and not back in Georgia before their trip.
But images of Bae talking separately to each Hell for Leather man the night they got in — a practice he carries out every rally shortly after they arrive — flip through my thoughts, strengthening my conviction; that must be when he gives everyone their assignments for the weekend.
By the time Brodi, Kio, Chaz, and I left for our joyride, he was already done. Aside from that short amount of time we were gone and earlier when they all went into the office for a meeting, Zane was pretty much always with me. He had very clearly already accomplished his initiation assignment, so Bae had no reason to pull him aside like the other guys. Kal was MIA most of the time, too. These simple facts put both Zane and Kal at the bottom of my suspects list. For now. Hopefully for good.
One major red flag, the biggest one of all so far, is that Bae knows who my parents are. He knows their address. He would have seen those details on this apparent “docket” and known something was up. If he was innocent, he would have stopped or at least questioned the hit. Kal made it seem like no one communicated any of that assignment with him. He simply arrived on the scene and had to do what morally evil presidents do.
My dazed eyes sharpen and my eyebrows flatten at the reminder. Hate is far too kind of a word for this tar-like emotion oozing through my body as the thoughts of Kal and what he has done return.
“Do you have a suit picked out for the pageant tonight?” Chaz pops my investigative bubble, resting his chin on my shoulder.
The pageant. Shit. “Is that still going on? I thought maybe the committee shut it down after what happened last night.”
Lie.
I forgot.
“We helped them make an executive decision in the form of an increase in our already generous donation,” Chaz reveals. Unsurprising.
“I can just use the one I was wearing last night during the photo opps, right?” Shit. Nope. Running from the event to chase down Vee and Brodi then not returning means I left all my stuff behind.
As though Chaz is tracking my thoughts, he says, “You could. Bay grabbed all your stuff when we went back to help clean things up.”
“Or, we can just do something else,” I volley, angling my face toward him and flashing him a suggestive, flirty grin. Flirting with Chaz has always been easy. As of right now, I have little to no proof that Chaz is innocent, but if someone held a gun to my head and forced me to pick one Hell for Leather member who would not betray me, it would be Chaz. Hands down.
Before today, though, Bae would have come in a close second, but with him being the only one with actual evidence shining down like a spotlight on him, it is now incredibly easy to second-guess my opinion on the matter.
“Is that what you want? To do… something… else?” Chaz breathes the questions against my lips, his blue-green eyes meeting mine and a couple long, translucent blond pieces of hair sticking into the smile creases in their corners. Kio might be the best at reading body language and judging people, but Chaz is the best at that talent when it comes to reading me personally. The man has my physical needs pegged, almost like he can smell my pheromones across counties.
I wiggle out of his arms, walk past the Christian Riders booth, step up to the beachwear vendor, and duck under the lip of the tent to get away from the late-afternoon sun that decided to peek out from behind the thick clouds after all. Chaz whistles for Zane to catch up, a reprieve from the conversation with Chuck that our Chaplain appreciates, no doubt.
Two Surf Shack representatives immediately greet us with a wave, and I give them both a friendly smile, not really paying much attention to who they are since the business cycles through so many different faces each season.
But then one of them calls me by name. Clearing my hazy thoughts and vision, I blink at the rep. One thing is for sure, these bathing suit models definitely give the Leather & Lace booth a run for their money, and this girl is no different.
Brain slightly sluggish, likely from a blend of too much thinking and too many pills, it takes me a minute to recognize who is addressing me. The incredibly sexy bikini she is wearing along with her long, beautiful windswept blonde hair is a far cry different than the ponytail, ball cap, black uniform pants, and neon shirt she usually has on when we run into each other.