Page 3 of Pike’s Redemption

“Well, we will explore that theory, but let’s see what the coroner’s report finds, okay? We’ll need to talk more about your alibi at the time of the murder, too.” His shoulders dipped. “I have some other questions, too, such as timeline stuff. We need to be somewhere we can lay all this out. Do you have time tomorrow?” I figured he needed a reprieve after the questioning at the station. He gave a grateful smile.

“Sure. We can meet in my office if that works for you. We’ll have some quiet there.”

As we finished our meal and made our way out of the diner, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this would be a tough case. Pike didn’t give me weird serial killer vibes, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t out for revenge against some pervs from the past. I watched his fabulous ass walk off into the ’Snake Pit’ — catchy.

CHAPTER

TWO

PIKE

The dream was always the same. Cold, all the way down to the bone. The pond water lapped at my ankles as I was shoved forward, the hand hard between my shoulder blades. I was sinking, water lapping over my chin, my nose, closing over my eyes. Toes sinking into the muck that squirmed with only God knew what. I prayed to God then, when I was small.

I woke with a start amongst rumpled sheets, breath heaving in my chest like I’d been holding it in. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes as I sat up, trying to collect myself. Sometimes, I could go months with no nightmares, and then they’d come with a vengeance, hitting me hard night after night. Right now, they were worse than they’d ever been.

Splashing my face with water and pouring myself a finger of whiskey, I moved outside to the patio. I knew better than to believe that I could get back to sleep.

My end-unit apartment’s selling point was its decent patio and a tiny yard. Flopping onto a deck chair, I looked into the vast Arizona sky. Suddenly, when my life was starting to get onto a good path, it seemed like it was going to shit.

The night was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt almost unnatural in a town like Morinrock. The stillness was both a comfort and a reminder of the chaos lurking just beneath the surface of my life. The stars were scattered across the sky, offering a false sense of peace.

I couldn’t shake the feeling of that dream, the sinking sensation of being unable to breathe. It always left me rattled, but this time, it felt different, more urgent. It was as if my subconscious was trying to tell me something important that I couldn’t quite grasp.

Taking a sip of the whiskey, I let the burn ground me in the present. I let myself think for a minute about Natasha Petrova. She was a fucking surprise. When the door had opened to the shitty interrogation room, I’d expected another one of the Morinrock police officers to come in for more questioning. They’d been taking turns hauling me in on bogus charges to poke at me, trying to make me crack, make some dumb mistake. Idiots.

But instead, in had walked Natasha. Dimitri mentioned her, but I didn’t believe she’d show up. Some fancy Bratva lawyer? Fuck. My luck was never that good on my best day. I would have never imagined her as such a knockout either, with that long dark hair or those eyes the color of storms. I was hard just thinking about how she had moaned a little when she took that first bite of her burger.

She’d handled that cop like a pro, too. I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she could help me out of this mess. Natasha seemed smart as a whip. If she was used to keeping mob bosses out of jail, surely she could help me, right? Yeah, she didn’t believe me about Eli, but she’d said she would look into it. That had to be good enough.

I took another sip of whiskey, letting the warmth spread through me. The dream, Natasha, and the ever-present threat of returning to prison swirled in my mind. I needed to focus. Natasha had asked for details, my alibi, and any information I had about Porter.

Michael Porter. The name conjured up a storm of emotions. The absolute piece of shit had been one of our foster placements, the fifth, the eighth? It was hard to keep track when you were flotsam on an ocean tide. He was just another stop for my brother and me. He’d been our initiation into the terrible side of what our life had become—an abuser of the worst sort who liked little boys; the younger, the better.

We’d been there for two months, Eli and I, until we’d been moved. Two hellish months where I’d done my very best to hide Eli when I could. It wasn’t enough to protect him. Slamming the rest of the whiskey, I closed my eyes but stopped myself. Closing them wasn’t any use. Eyes wide open was better. Best to see what was coming for you.

Natasha had been clear about one thing: I needed a solid alibi. It pissed me off more than I could say at the injustice of it all. This was just another fuck you to kids in the foster system. I racked my brain, trying to remember every detail of the morning I’d found Porter. I’d been at the bar that night with the rest of the Cobras, but I needed more than just the word of my brothers to back me up. We were all suspects in the eyes of the law.

In the early morning, I’d gone out to my bike once the bar had wound down. The night had been wild, a Saturday, and we’d had a shipment go through. It’d gone well. The Cobras were partying hard, both individually and with the ladies from the titty bar around the corner. After closing, they flocked to the Snake Pit to make extra tips depending on the night. If the mood was right, most ladies were parked on Cobra laps.

I’d parked it around the corner. There on the bus stop, sprawled naked as a jaybird, was Michael fucking Porter. It’d been thirty years since I’d seen Porter, but I’d recognized him, even with his eyes gone, and time hadn’t been kind, which was good. He was still a fat fuck, and the alcohol had caught up to him, blowing out the capillaries in his face. Of course, the fact that he had the big ‘x’ carved in it didn’t help. If it was Eli, I was surprised the guy still had his cock. Porter’s arms were spread across the back of the bus stop as if he were lounging there, legs set in the “man spread,” so to speak. The body was staged even to my eyes, but I’d gone up and stared at it. The large birthmark had given the identity away, but I didn’t mention it to the police.

For days, I’d spun theories and speculations in my head about how he had got there. Who might have killed him? Was he a message to me? Punishment? Connection to the Cobras, maybe? Something I did inside? None of it made any sense. It was the eyes. It kept coming back to the eyes.

My phone pinged.

Dimitri: You ok? Natasha said the cops hauled you in.

Me: Fine.

Dimitri: She’s smart as fuck. She’ll get this sorted.

Me: Thx for calling her. I’ll keep you posted.

I appreciated Dimitri checking in. The Iron Brotherhood was my friend Maddox’s club, and his sergeant at arms, Dimitri, called Natasha. Thinking about Maddox, I owed him a conversation. Fuck, I’ve owed him a conversation for years now. Well, that was going to be a problem for another day.

I finished the whiskey and set the glass down, feeling the first light of dawn creeping over the horizon. It was going to be a long day. I wasn’t sure I was ready for it, but at least I wasn’t in a cage. That was something. Glass half full.

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