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  “What the fuck?” He breathed it, but Jayce turned to him and shouted it at him.

  “Exactly. What the fuck?”

  “Whoa whoa,” Tank was between them, trying to be the cool head as always. “How many people have seen this?”

  Fritter couldn’t look away from the screen. He watched as his own image backed her to the table and pushed her face-first onto the surface, his hand disappearing around her front. At least all you could see was his back, but with the motion of his arm there was no mistaking what he was doing. And the way her leg bent upwards in a jerky motion told the story that this wasn’t unwanted.

  “A few views on here,” Spaz was saying. “But it’s been downloaded a couple times, and it’s being shared on Facebook. Twitter.”

  “Fuck,” Fritter muttered, letting his eyes fall closed.

  “What the fuck have you done?” That was roared and Fritter opened his eyes just in time to see Jayce’s fist, a split second before it connected with his cheekbone.

  Son of a bitch—the guy had a wicked right.

  Fritter stumbled back, hitting the wall of the hallway as Jayce kept coming at him. A left his gut, another right connected with his jaw hard enough he saw a couple stars.

  Defending himself never occurred to him. He knew being found out would result in him getting his ass handed to him. Might as well get right to it. No need for a table discussion.

  His arms came up defensively but Jayce was a dangerous opponent when he was furious. Fritter withstood gut shots, more jaw hits, and the next to hit his right cheekbone brought him down to his knees.

  Then it stopped. His head was ringing from the assault, but once it was paused he could hear Tank. “You can’t fucking kill him, Jayce. Calm the fuck down!”

  “Sleeping with a fucking cop!” Jayce was hollering back.

  “And when the hell did that hurt us?” Tank shot back. “In the last while, how many times have the cops been onto us? You think he’s been yapping about the club?”

  Jayce muttered something and stalked off, then it was him and Tank. The big guy was breathing hard from wrestling Jayce into submission, and Fritter was bleeding.

  “Fuck, Fritter.”

  “I know,” he said, swiping at the wet under his nose. Yep, bleeding. “It just happened. And I’d like to tell you it’s just the fucking ... but it ain’t.”

  “Fuck,” Tank repeated, leaning against the opposite wall.

  “First few times it was just physical.” Now Fritter met the big guy’s eyes. “But I care about her. I do.”

  “How long?”

  He swallowed hard. “How long?”

  “How long you been fucking the sheriff?”

  His hands clenched to hear Tank speak about her that way, but he kept his voice calm. “Remember when I got shot outside Ma’s house?”

  Tank had to think back--that’s how long it had been. Then he frowned. “Jesus. That’s almost two years, isn’t it?”

  Fritter nodded. “Meeting once a month, sometimes every two months. Not too often. Until recently.”

  “And what about her?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Does she know about your ... feelings?”

  Fritter nodded. “She feels the same.”

  “You’re sure?”

  He nodded again, more definite this time.

  “Fuck.”

  “I wanna see how much is in that video,” Fritter said, tone hardening. “Honest to Christ if it shows any part of her—”

  “I know, I feel you. Let’s go see.”

  Spaz didn’t want to play it again, but Tank ordered him to do it. Little the tech geek could do against that bellowing command. Fritter kinda liked watching them kiss, if his half-erection was any indicator. Then he remembered that strangers were out there watching this and that cooled him off.

  “Great,” he muttered, watching his image, one-handed, roll on a condom. “My fucking cock’s on the internet.”

  “Shit.” Tank muttered, squinting. “Is that her ass?”

  Fritter turned away from the monitors, cursing. Yeah, her ass cheek was there. Not all the goods, thank God. Then he had to look again as the video rolled, still silent, and he watched himself fuck her and the kitchen table clear across to the wall. Inappropriately Tank chuckled, and when Fritter glared the VP held up one hand. “Sorry man. But kitchen tables aren’t as sturdy as the movies would have you believe.”

  “Shut up,” Fritter mumbled, watching the motion of his own ass, remembering how good she’d felt, digging her nails into his forearms and riding his cock bent over. Jesus, he was hard after all. Then he collapsed on her back, and the screen cut to black.

  “That’s it,” Spaz said, spinning his chair to face them.

  It didn’t show any of Sharon’s ... well, nether-regions. So that was good. But from the start of the video anyone knew, very definitely, it was her.

  “And it’s on Facebook and Twitter?”

  “Yeah.” Spaz swallowed hard. “Someone had posted it on her campaign page. I traced it to here. In the meantime someone’s deleted it from that page, but not before it got a few views. And a lot of rude comments. The Admin on the page, her son, removed it. Then he deleted the page, and deactivated his Facebook account.”

  “Who put the video on the page?” Tank asked.

  “Turnbull’s son, that piece of shit. Justin.”

  The pieces were falling into place, a lot quicker than he ever would have expected. This was all to hurt Sharon, nothing to do with the club.

  “And you can’t tell who put it on here?” Fritter asked, remembering now what Spaz had been saying before shit came raining down.

  “Well, if it had been put on by someone with more than rudimentary knowledge it would be hard to tell. Luckily it was by someone who didn’t think to cover their tracks.”

  A flicker of hope lit his chest. Maybe he’d get to beat someone up over this after all. “Who did it?”

  Spaz swallowed again. “Dylan Prescott.”

  Fritter frowned at Tank. “How do I know that name?”

  “He runs the newspaper,” Spaz answered, not wasting any time. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the next issue featured the Sheriff’s love life on the front page.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Tank had to ask it, Fritter’s stomach was freezing over again.

  “They use Dropbox to submit their layouts to their printer. He’s already sent it into print. It’ll be on doorsteps tomorrow.”

  “How do we stop it?” Fritter was going to be sick.

  “Hijack the trucks before they deliver it tomorrow?” Spaz suggested.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Fritter said, to Tank. Not Spaz.

  Tank shook his head. “We gotta take that to Jayce.”

  Now it was Fritter’s turn to swallow nervously. “Tank, is he gonna kill me?”

  Tank clapped a big hand on his shoulder. “Nah. He won’t kill you.”

  “Take my patch?”

  Now Tank looked serious. “Not gonna happen. Not for this. Like I said, if we were having trouble with the law all of a sudden it’d be suspicious and we’d assume you didn’t keep your mouth shut. I think Jayce’s stress comes from outsiders finding out. Not trusting us.”

  Fuck, he hadn’t thought of that.

  “We gotta tread careful, but I ain’t gonna let them take your patch for this. Okay?”

  Fritter nodded. “Thanks, big guy.”

  Out in the clubhouse Jayce was still pacing, and a startled-looking Buck and Tiny were standing in the middle of the space looking a bit shocked. “What’s going on?” Buck asked, eyes darting from his manic, stalking Prez to the VP.

  “Fritter’s been porking Downey,” Tank answered.

  “Dude,” Fritter snapped, hand up in a WTF gesture. “Don’t put it like that.”

  “Sorry. They’ve been physically expressing their love.”

  Fritter shot him a look of annoyance that time, and Tank just grinned. Fucker was enjoyi
ng himself.

  “Sherriff Downey?” Buck was still confused, and who could blame him?

  “Fuck buddies,” Jayce spat out, stopping to point at Fritter. “Fucking the Sheriff. How can you possibly be this stupid?”

  “You told him, right?” Tiny said with that calm, deep voice, as he lit up a cigarette and Jayce got very, very still.

  “Told who what?” That was Tank. Fritter was too busy studying the poisonous glare Jayce was giving Tiny, who, for his part, looked totally nonplussed.

  “You gotta tell him.”

  Jayce inhaled. “No one’s telling anyone anything.”

  Tiny’s eyes flicked to Fritter. “So you two just fucking or are you involved?”

  Fritter shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, shrugging. “Lately ... I think we’re involved, I guess.”

  “Lately? How long has this been going on?”

  “Almost two years!” Jayce bellowed in response to Buck’s question, pacing again. “Not a lot, but they’ve been fucking since he got shot outside his mom’s. Back before you were into it with Gertie.”

  “Holy shit,” Buck muttered, looking a bit dazed as he ran his hands over his hair. “Shit, she was right.”

  “Who?” Fritter, Tank and Jayce actually said it in unison.

  “Gertie. Back after she was ... taken, she had a conversation with Downey where she got the impression the Sheriff was up to something with one of us, but I told her that was nuts.”

  “Because it is,” Jayce interrupted.

  “Then after Mickey’s memorial, she was watching you two. She said there was something up with Fritter and Downey. I told her she was imagining shit because of residual pregnancy hormones, which got me a night on the couch but ... holy fuck.”

  Gertie was one of those sharp ones you didn’t see coming. Fritter made a note to be on his guard from now on.

  “Jayce, isn’t there something you should be adding to all this?”

  At Tiny’s question all heads swiveled to the Prez, who was again glaring at Tiny. “No, there isn’t.”

  “Fucking tell him or I will.”

  There was a bizarre stand-off where Fritter was sure his head was going to explode. He was still expecting Jayce to shoot him or take his kutte, hovering on this nervous edge was actually exhausting enough without annoyance being added to the mix.

  Tiny pulled his cigarette free, eyes on Jayce, clearly giving him one more chance as he worked his mouth like he was getting ready to speak.

  “Don’t,” Jayce demanded, hand going up to point.

  Just as he did that Tiny finally spit it out. “Jayce fucked her, too.”

  He was wrong when he thought the ice in his stomach was at its worst possible point as Jayce watched video proof he was making time with someone he shouldn’t be. This was worse. This was an entire fucking glacier sliding down his gullet, taking up residence in his breastbone.

  “What?” he asked quietly, the silence in the room making it seem a fuckuva lot louder.

  “Long time ago,” Tiny went on. “Back when his old man was Prez. Downey must have been what—eighteen?”

  Fritter’s hands clenched as Jayce corrected Tiny. “Nineteen.”

  “Holy. Shit.” That wasn’t Tank’s speech problem breaking up his thought. That was the shock of a broken grasp of reality. Fritter felt it, too. He couldn’t talk.

  “What?” Buck was speaking the few sparks of thought Fritter was able to put together. “Wait—Jayce and Downey?”

  “Once,” Jayce went on, eyes on the ground, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was a Friday night party. She was here, she ... fuck. She had no idea what she was walking into, I just watched out for her a while. We did some shots. Got a bit hammered and ... yeah.”

  “Holy shit.” That was Buck that time.

  Everyone was too shocked to do anything, and while he couldn’t talk he wasn’t paralyzed, either. So Fritter did the only thing he could think of.

  With a loud war cry he launched himself at the man who’d just laid a mini-beat down on him, finding the rage came easily. Jayce wasn’t expecting it, even as Tank gave a warning shout. His shoulder connected with Jayce’s gut, and they both went down in a move that would have made Coach Blanchard at Longdale Middle Prep proud. Then he straddled Jayce and got in a shot before he was being hauled back, but Jayce got a dirty shot in as well while Fritter’s arms were held behind him. Then he noted that Tank was hauling Jayce up on his own, an effective barricade if there ever was one. The VP got between them and Fritter looked to his left to see Buck holding him by that shoulder. Tiny had the right.

  “Easy,” Tiny was whispering. His cigarette was still in his mouth. Impressive.

  “If you’d kept your mouth shut this would be a lot fucking calmer,” Buck informed the older man.

  Tiny chuckled. “No, it wouldn’t.”

  “I got a hit on the Pullmans!”

  That calmed the shit down fast, everyone turning around at Spaz’s shout from the mouth of the hallway. The kid was grinning wide, eyes lit up like Christmas.

  “What is it?” Jayce was back to business, shoving Tank off and straightening his kutte.

  “Came through the FBI channels,” Spaz rushed on, sounding out of breath from sheer excitement. Buck and Tiny let Fritter go, too, and Spaz had the entire room’s attention. “They checked into a hotel in Hazeldale under their own fucking names. FBI are en route right now.”

  “Shit,” Jayce muttered. “They put the rentals together, too.”

  “Of course they did. That would have been out since the trailer out by the junk yard was raided.” Tank replied, and he eyed the Prez calmly. “What’s the play?”

  They all waited.

  “FBI has nothing on us,” Jayce said carefully, thinking it through.

  “Nothing concrete. Just suspicions. But the Mazaris had plenty of people that hated them enough to do that hit,” Buck added.

  Jayce was nodding. “Any harm in just ... watching? Safely outside the barricades?”

  Tank grinned. “I think that’d be just fine.”

  “Let’s go.” As they started moving Jayce pinned Fritter with a sharp glare. “You and me ain’t done yet.”

  Fritter set his jaw. “No, we ain’t.”

  “And this isn’t about who got there first. This is two years of hiding that shit.”

  Fritter nodded, then followed Tiny once the guy slapped his shoulder. “Let’s go,” Tiny urged. “Plenty of time to cock fight later, you guys.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “FBI just got a hot tip out in Hazeldale,” Deputy Troy said from her office door.

  Sharon looked up from the computer screen. “Oh yeah?”

  “The people that had leased all the properties where these hits took place just used their own fucking credit card to check into a motel in Hazeldale.”

  Leaning back, Sharon frowned. “That was stupid.”

  “They likely wanted to be found,” Troy filled in. “I mean, she had an ankle monitor. And let’s not forget that their names were on property papers where everyone in said properties got very, very dead.”

  “They called to tell us that?”

  Troy nodded. “They want assistance setting up a perimeter. I’m sending a car out.”

  “Cool. Thanks.”

  Troy nodded and turned to leave her doorway, nearly plowing into a shorter, round woman of some kind of Asian heritage. Sharon recognized her, she was one of the women in Markham that helped families in crisis, providing temporary foster care. An incredibly sweet, saintly woman whose name was completely eluding her at the moment.

  “Sheriff?” the woman said politely from the door with a smile to Troy.

  “Hi, come on in,” she invited, then her smile hitched a little when the woman ushered a little person through the doorway first. A small boy, about ten years old from what she could remember, with huge brown eyes, wide mouth, ears that stuck out far back his short-cropped black hair. His skin was of an olive tone with freckles
on his nose and cheeks. One of the boys they’d pulled out of the Hazeldale clubhouse.

  Her eyes went up the woman—Margreat, that was her name—somewhat surprised. “Is everything okay?”

  Margreat smiled, hands on the boy’s shoulders. “This is Adeel. He wanted to see the yellow-haired lady from the police, his direct words.”

  Sharon dropped her gaze down to the little face that was staring at her, eyes big, mouth hanging open, suddenly looking shy. “Does he speak English?”

  “Yes,” they both answered at the same time, and she had to grin.

  “Okay.” She got up and circled the desk, crouching down in front of the boy. “Nice to meet you Adeel. How are you?”

  He just stared, and Margreat leaned over. “This is Sheriff Downey. You remember, you wanted to see her.”

  Adeel nodded, eyes still on her.

  “How have you been, honey?”

  No answer, so Sharon looked up to Margreat. “He’s good,” the woman assured her. “He’s been gaining some weight. We uh ... we tracked down his family.”

  “Really?” Sharon stood, hands on her belt, still smiling down at Adeel. “They sending for him?”

  “They immigrated last year, they’re in San Francisco. They’re from Pakistan. They ... they don’t want him back.”

  With confusion, her head shot up. “What?”

  “They know what happened to him. He was taken as payment to the Mazaris, for bringing them over here. They don’t want him back since he’s been ... sullied.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Margreat’s round face was grim as she shook her head, lips in a thin line. “No. They’re putting him up for adoption.”

  Sharon winced, the cruelty of people at times still a complete surprise to her. “Jesus.” She smiled down at Adeel again. “Well, you can come visit me anytime you want,” she promised. She was rewarded with a wide, snaggle-toothed grin which made her laugh. His whole face lit up and one cheek was shot through with the deepest dimple she’d ever seen.

  There was a knock on her doorjamb, and her son was standing just beyond the door as everyone turned. He gave the room a tight smile, but Sharon knew him well enough to know something was up.