Witness (5 page)

She made a face. “He said he had a paycheck to pick up. I asked him to take me home, but he…he said it’d only take a couple minutes, and what the hell was I supposed to do? Issue an ultimatum?”

“How about not date the jackass in the first place.”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Hindsight.” Rennie settled back and began stroking one of her injured wrists, momentarily drawing Dash’s line of sight down her body.

And there it was—the familiar pang of something he didn’t want to name in his gut. The thing he’d been able to ignore, mostly, since bringing her in here. Rennie had always been a looker, even before she’d started trying. When he’d known her before, she hadn’t dolled up her face with makeup—a sin in Orson’s home—and hadn’t fashioned her hair in any particular style. She’d worn respectable clothes that bordered on gender neutral, save the few skirts that all but dragged on the floor. He’d always assumed from the few times her shirts were tight enough to show, or when he’d brushed against her, that her tits were generous, but he’d been a kid. His imagination had exaggerated every feature to ridiculous proportions.

Rennie had grown up. The skirt she wore had hiked up her legs enough to reveal enough skin to get him riled, but he’d done his best to avoid focusing there. He’d been less successful prying his gaze away from the suggestive V-neck of her blouse. It wasn’t overly revealing—the girls Gunner and the others brought to the clubhouse wore clothes in the loosest definition of the word. Dash hadn’t complained once, and had indulged more than a few times…but something about the understated sexy nature of Rennie’s natural beauty revved him more than any other woman ever had.

Her brown hair was mussed and tangled, and the sweet baby-fat that had softened her face ten years ago had smoothed into womanly lines that made him think things he shouldn’t.

He was already fucked beyond repair. Rennie should be anywhere but the clubhouse. She should be…

Well, he wouldn’t think about that right now. No answers were forthcoming. He still didn’t know what to do to fix this shithole mess he’d gotten himself in.

“So,” Dash said, “you didn’t wanna come in. But we both know you did.”

She winced as she massaged the broken skin at her wrists. “I tried calling for help after a half hour or so, but my phone was dead. Then I tried his police radio, but…I don’t know if they didn’t believe me or didn’t hear me all the way, I just knew they weren’t coming. And he’d been in there way too long. I didn’t know what to do.”

“So you decided to snoop.”

“I decided to make sure he was all right,” she retorted, her tone hard. “Everything I’d heard of Gunner and Lucifer’s Legion had me nervous. He’s a criminal.
You’re
criminals.”

“Obviously you weren’t nervous enough to stay away.”

“What would you have had me do, Dash? Tanner had the keys. I had nothing but my purse and a dead cell phone.”

“Maybe not go into the criminals’ clubhouse?” Dash would be damned before he admitted it, but the word stung. He had no delusions of nobility. With or without a murder charge, Gunner and Lucifer’s Legion had operated on the other side of the law since he’d known them. In this part of the country, firearms and narcotics—meth being the most popular—kept his wallet damn near obese. Still, hearing Rennie refer to him as such didn’t sit right with him.

Probably because he’d never thought in a thousand years he’d see her again.

“Right,” Rennie agreed dryly, jerking him back to the present. “Because sitting
outside
the criminal’s clubhouse would have made a difference.”

“You coulda been hurt.”

“Aren’t you supposed to kill me?” She arched an eyebrow at him. “And anyway, it wasn’t like I went in with both eyes closed. I was armed.”

Dash paused, then frowned. Nothing that Gunner had told him following the deputy and Luanne’s deaths had included a story featuring Rennie holding a weapon. “You had a gun?”

“A 9mm. It was in Tanner’s glove compartment.”

“Since when do you shoot?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Yeah. He was beginning to see that. “Have you always known how to shoot?”

“My father’s a government-hating country preacher. What do you think?”

He needed no goddamned reminder who her father was. “So you know how to shoot.”

She nodded. “Have since I was seven. And when I’m down here, I carry. I’m licensed. But I hadn’t brought my gun that night. I found his when I was looking for a spare set of keys. Believe me, if I’d found those, I’d have burned rubber to get out of there.”

Dash’s frown deepened. Gunner had discussed what had occurred numerous times, namely to reinforce the reasons Rennie had to be handled. She’d seen too much, she was a danger to him, putting her down was for the good of Lucifer’s Legion. After all, the club was Gunner’s legacy, as it would undoubtedly become his son’s. Regardless, never in any of the retellings had Rennie been armed.

Perhaps that detail wasn’t important, but damn, Dash couldn’t see how. Because he knew, without needing to ask, that Rennie wasn’t the sort of woman who carried a weapon she wasn’t prepared to use, or who aimed a gun she didn’t mean to fire.

Something terrible occurred to him then—something that should have been immediately obvious, but had somehow escaped notice.

Gunner had been shot that night. Once in the gut, once in the kneecap. He’d claimed Wilcox had gotten off a few rounds, but hadn’t said much more about it. And truthfully, Dash hadn’t thought too much on the matter. He hadn’t felt the need. He’d been prepared to do whatever was asked. And since the gun fired at the scene had belonged to Wilcox, there had been no need to question. Not where he was concerned.

“What next?” Dash prodded, his voice soft.

“Don’t you know this story?”

“Seems there’s a famous saying about there being two sides to every good one. I wanna hear yours.”

Rennie rolled her eyes. “I went inside. I called out to announce myself. When no one answered, I went deeper. I didn’t want to go upstairs, because I’ve seen one horror movie too many and I know the score. So I went down that front hall toward the back. And that’s when I heard the noises.
Those
noises.”

“And you…”

“I heard someone yelling behind me,” she said. “And the front door slammed. So being the prize idiot I am, I decided to go toward the sex noises.”

Toward Gunner’s office—though calling it an office was a bit grandiose. It was where he dumped his shit, where he kept records. Where the vault was located, and likewise the only area of the clubhouse Wilcox had ever shown any interest in. “Yeah?”

“You’re gonna make me say it?”

“I want to hear.”

She glared at him for what felt like a century before blurting, “Tanner had some blonde spread across this pigsty of a desk, and he was fucking her.”

This was where the story got murky. “What’d you do?”

“What do you think I did?”

“I dunno. You were armed. You were pissed. The man was on a date with you.”

Rennie’s face hardened. “For fuck’s sake, Dash, are you ever going to let that go?”

“Any reason I should?” he fired back.

“I told you why I went out with him.”

“The Rennie I knew would’ve taken the ticket.”

“Well, I had to grow up sometime.” She glared at him a moment longer, then looked away. “I said something…I dunno. It sounded clever at the time. Something like I didn’t mean to interrupt their fuckathon, but I really wanted to be getting home. They stopped and looked at me like I was about to blow them away…but then I realized they weren’t scared of me. By that time, I could hear him—louder, and coming down the hall. I had enough time to get behind the door before he saw me. Gunner came in, took one look at Tanner and the blonde, said a lot of nasty things, and then…” She shivered and rubbed her trembling arms, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “My ears were still ringing when I stepped out from around the door. He didn’t see me at first…but when he did, it was clear I’d gotten the jump on him. I pointed my gun and told him to lower his. I told him to toss me Tanner’s car keys, and he did. And then I tried to back out of the room, but I knew—I
knew
—he wasn’t gonna let me. I was almost in the hall before he tried to make a move.”

A pit of dread formed in the bottom of Dash’s stomach, but it didn’t stay there. Rather, like a cancer, it began to spread, moving upward until it had seized control of his thoughts.

No.

Still, he had to at least hear it. Her version. “What next?”

“I fired,” she said simply. “I aimed for his leg. He went down. He dropped the gun. The…
murder weapon.
And then I jumped for it. God knows what I was thinking. It made sense at the time. If he didn’t have that, I could get away.”

The cancerous thought tightened its hold. Dash did his best to ignore it.

Rennie continued, oblivious to his struggle. “He grabbed me. He was so strong. And I heard them—others. Maybe even you, Dash.”

He shook his head. He hadn’t been there that night. He’d been near Neosho, checking on his Gram’s old farm following a call from the neighbor. The place had been vacant for years, namely because Dash didn’t have the heart to sell. Aside from Rennie, the old place was the only remnant of his former life. His own parents might have been pieces of shit, but that place had always been his haven.

What would have happened had Dash been at the clubhouse? Would he have seen Wilcox come in, would he have stopped the motherfucker from sticking his dick in Gunner’s woman? Would he have seen Rennie walk through that door, gun drawn, eyes wide, shoulders back. Would he have been able to save her from…?

“No,” he said. Then he met her eyes. “Gram’s. I was there that night.”

Rennie’s expression softened. “How is she?”

“Dead.”

The gentle look fell. “Oh.”

“I kept it. The farm. Promised her I would. Think she thought…” He trailed off, unable to give the sentiment voice. He knew damn well what she’d thought, because she’d told him outright multiple times during her last days. She’d thought he’d drop Lucifer’s Legion, drop Gunner, and be short a place to start fresh. She hadn’t understood, though, why he needed this life. She hadn’t known his role in Dalton’s death. “Anyway,” he continued, “I wasn’t here.”

Rennie stared at him a moment longer, and fuck if the look in her eyes didn’t make him feel like he was something else. Anything else. Any
one
else, other than the sad truth provided by reality. It was that spark of recognition, this time tainted by a bastard called hope.

“I’m not like you remember,” Dash said, though he didn’t know why the words required voice. It should have been obvious.

To her credit, Rennie didn’t back down. She barely acknowledged what he’d said. Instead, she licked her lips, and continued her story. “I’d grabbed the gun. Gunner’s, the one he dropped, but I still had Tanner’s, and I couldn’t hold on to two of them. I dropped one. The other…it fired. It was awful. He made this…this terrible noise, and then he wasn’t holding me anymore. I got out. I went back until I found a door, and thank God it led outside, otherwise…” She trailed off, swallowing hard. “I ran around the house. When I got to Tanner’s car, I started freaking out until I remembered Gunner had tossed me the keys.”

“And you still had ’em? Even after—”

“They were in my bra. I guess I put them there—I don’t remember putting them there, but that was the first place I looked. I got in and took off. I drove and drove until…” She exhaled. “I ended up on the side of the road. Shock, I think. I don’t really remember what happened after that. I was told they found me.”

“They?”

She nodded numbly. “Umm, the sheriff. I guess my attempt to radio in…I dunno. They found it. The car. Me. I went to the hospital. And then they wanted to know what happened, and…everything started happening fast.” Rennie fell quiet for a moment, her eyes glazing over. The reprieve didn’t last—within seconds, her expression had turned firm again, and she looked at him. “He would have killed me if I hadn’t gotten away.”

Dash swallowed thickly. “I know.”

“And you’re okay with this?”

That answer didn’t come as quickly as it should have—yes, no. He understood. The club came first. Always. Beyond right or wrong, guilt or innocence. When Gunner had given him the choice, Dash had sworn his loyalty to Lucifer’s Legion. Nothing came before the club, and by the club’s rules, Gunner had done nothing wrong. Tanner was an employee at best and a lackey at worst, and he’d overstepped. He’d fucking trespassed. The indignity of Gunner walking in on his woman being fucked by a fucking cop had been worthy of death. The law within these walls was crystal clear.

Maybe that was the problem. Rennie brought with her the outside, and the outside had no place inside. Not in this garage, not in this building. Definitely not with Dash. Because that confused things.

Also, her account confused things. Gunner had sworn the wounds he’d taken had been at Tanner’s doing. Another reason the piece of shit had deserved to eat lead. No one fired at Gunner Pierce. To do so was to declare war on Lucifer’s Legion, and most everyone was smart enough to know that was something to avoid.

Except Rennie. All she’d wanted to do was live. Of course, that was beside the point to Gunner. She’d been a trespasser, a nuisance, and club rules were clear on what was to happen to trespassers…especially those who saw something they weren’t supposed to see.

But that wasn’t it. That wasn’t the indignity that had earned Gunner’s wrath. Sure, he’d have killed Rennie without a second thought anyway. But it wasn’t the threat of what she’d seen that had signed her death sentence in Gunner’s eyes.

It was the fact that he’d been shot by a woman in his own clubhouse.

The sick sensation from earlier resurged with a vengeance, nearly knocking Dash off his feet. He didn’t try to fight it this time. There was no point. The law was the law. Rennie had broken it. She was going to die with or without the threat of her testimony.

“Are you okay with this?” Rennie demanded again, her voice growing more frantic. “’Cause he’s going to expect me to be dead, Dash. And you…you have to—”