Page 5

I was ready to sink into oblivion. Unfortunately, (well, depending on how you looked at it) running for chief of police against a piece of shit whose entire family had been tormenting the people of this town for years had made me the most popular I’d been since moving to this town.

“Size of that bottle, I’d think you were celebrating something. But the look on your face says otherwise.”

I let out a breath and turned my head to face the guy who’d just pulled up the stool next to mine. “Pope,” I greeted, giving the president of the Wraiths a chin lift. There was a small part of me, the part that held on to my belief in right and wrong, that struggled with the idea of any kind of affiliation with this man. A man I suspected danced comfortably in the gray of my black and white world. But given what I was doing, I didn’t really have the luxury of being picky when it came to a support system.

Besides, the club members I’d had run-ins with had been nothing but polite, if not a little distant.

Pope raised a hand and flicked two fingers to grab the bartender’s attention. A second later, an ice-cold beer was placed in front of him. “So which is it? We celebrating or drownin’ sorrows?”

“We’re . . . chasing oblivion.” I lifted my glass his way in cheers before downing the contents and pouring another.

I could feel Pope’s calculating gaze burrowing into my profile. “You really think that’s a smart thing to do out in public, given the bullseye you strapped to your back when you decided to run against Brady?”

I left out a humorless scoff. “Careful. You might make me think you give a shit.”

The chuckle he let out before taking a pull of his beer held a hell of a lot more humor. “Believe it or not, man, I do. Fucking blows my mind I’m sayin’ this to a cop, but you need to win. This town needs it. And I think you might be the only person capable of pulling this shit off.”

My brows pulled together as I twisted my neck to face him. “How can you be so sure about that? You barely know me.”

He lifted his shoulder in a casual shrug and took another drink. “Didn’t get to where I am in life by being stupid. I’m good at reading people, and I learned a long time ago to trust my gut.”

“What’s your gut telling you about me?”

He didn’t hesitate in answering. “It says you’re a good guy. That you got yourself a moral compass. Probably the only guy in that entire department who does. Mostly, it tells me you can help this town.”

He must have seen the skepticism on my face because he didn’t give me a chance to get a word in before speaking again. “You got secrets, anyone with one functioning eye and an ounce of common sense can see that.” He lifted his hands up in a motion of surrender. “Those are yours, man. I’m not here tryin’ to dig anything out. Just stating the facts. You got your secrets, and something tells me you got a reason for being here. The people in this town have dealt with enough bullshit. You winning this election isn’t gonna be the end, it’s just the beginning, something I’m sure you’ve given a lot of thought to.”

He wasn’t wrong about that. It was at the forefront of my mind constantly. Mainly because that bullseye he mentioned was a very real thing. Something Courtland Pope Jr. was well familiar with. It wasn’t that long ago that his family was targeted by one of Brady’s corrupt cops, and that man had gone so far as to kidnap his teenage niece. The circumstances around Pope getting her back are more than a little fuzzy . . . for multiple reasons, none of which sat right with me. Because if a cop’s willing to go as far as felony kidnapping and ends up dead, there’s no way in hell that’s as cut and dry as Brady made it out to be.

I wasn’t only dealing with assholes. I was dealing with criminals not afraid to break the law to protect themselves, and the question of just how far they were willing to go to keep their power and secrets weighed heavily on my mind.

“I can see those wheels are spinning, but I just want you to know, we have your back if you need it.”

My gaze whipped up to lock on his, my brows shooting toward my hairline in shock. “I’m not sure you realize what you’re offering,” I warned.

His gaze bore into mine, and something behind it suggested I was wrong about that. “Lived here my whole life, Hastings. I know exactly what I offered, and I didn’t do it lightly.” Holy shit. “Already talked to my guys about it, and we’re in. You win this thing, it’s going to be a long, fuckin’ scary road. You need to know you aren’t alone. Any way we can help you, we will. Hell, man. We’ve been lookin’ after this town long as I can remember. That’s never gonna change. It would be nice if we weren’t the only ones for once.”

The lump that had formed in my throat only seconds ago swelled even larger, making it a struggle to pull in a full breath. I worked to swallow it down so I could communicate. There was no way Courtland Pope—the goddamn president of a once-outlaw biker club—would understand how much what he offered meant to me, and I wasn’t foolish or prideful enough to turn that down.

“I may just take you up on that offer.” I extended my hand his way, and he didn’t hesitate to give it a firm shake.

“Let’s get you elected first. Then we’ll see what we’re up against.”

I had a feeling whatever it was, it was gonna be ugly.

THREE

IRIS

Much to my mother’s disappointment, instead of rushing out the door to find myself a booty call for the night, I changed into a comfy pair of jeans and a faded T-shirt before heading out to the shed at the back of the property that I’d taken over for my favorite hobby a few years back.

A lot of people might not find furniture restoration interesting or fun, but for me, it was the only thing that kept me sane. It hadn’t exactly been my lifelong dream to sell houses for a living. I basically stumbled into it and just so happened to be good at it, and before I realized, one day I blinked and realized it had become my career somehow.

Taking an old, battered bureau or sideboard and bringing it back to life, turning it into something even more beautiful, was like therapy for me. Unlike my actual job, pouring my sweat and time into restoring a piece didn’t feel like work to me. I could lose myself in it, in the smells of wood and varnish. At least until the drunk and high cackles of my mother and her friends dancing beneath the full moon penetrated my consciousness, that was.

I made it out just in time—before the muumuus started coming off and the spider-veined, saggy skin came out—barely sparing my eyes and brain a necessary bleaching.

With nothing else to do (my girls were all loved up at home with their men), I drove around town trying to find something to kill a few hours. Ashland might have its fair share of drama, but at the end of the day, it was still a small town, meaning most places closed with the sun, leaving me with few options.