Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(47)

“Yes, yes, you told us all about the trucker spa. We're well aware it's been a seedy prostitution racket for years.”

Really? Then why the f*ck didn't you raid it and close it down? I thought, chewing my bottom lip.

I swore I could still taste traces of Skin there, the only thing that comforted me. He'd want me to be strong right now. No, he was counting on it so I didn't spill the truth about his club and land them all in a world of hurt.

I had to take a few more of this *'s questions without standing up and running off to my room.

Harlow looked down at his notepad and frowned. “What doesn't add up, Miss Wilder, is why the place is totally closed down. Abandoned. Patrol says it's always been a twenty-four hour operation until now, but when my men showed up last night, there was nobody home. Not a single girl to corroborate your story. And no sign of Richard Proby to boot. It's like he's dropped off the face of the earth.”

“Oh.” I swallowed, putting on my best face to hide the fact that I'd watched the pimp die. “Well, somebody obviously tipped him off. He must've found out about my escape, and knew I'd talk. I don't know where he is, honestly. I've been on the run for weeks, hiding out in the woods.”

“Honey...” Dad's hand tightened on mine, begging me to keep composure.

I ripped my arm away from his and looked at the detective. I didn't need his damned sympathy. I didn't need anything right now except to be left the hell alone to recuperate.

“And that's the part of the story I'd like you to repeat. It seems a lot of details are being glossed over, darling. You told me all about how the pimp beat you, sold you to other men, tried to break you. I believe that part, and I'm very sympathetic.” What bullshit. The look on his face was nothing but a frustrated man doing his job. “What doesn't add up is how you got away from his underlings...”

“I already told you,” I said, looking right into the camera. “It was raining bullets. They stopped for gas, just before we hit the state line. The man in the front seat was fiddling with his gun. I saw my chance and I took it while the other two were using the bathroom. They didn't have the guts to chase me with bystanders around.”

“Yes, the state line, you mentioned that before. So, you're saying you never entered North Carolina at all? And the men charged with transporting you had no affiliation with the Deadhands Motorcycle Club?”

“Absolutely not,” I said.

Damn. Sweat beaded on my brow. It took all my energy not to shake. Lying like this in front of my father, the law, and God tied my intestines in knots.

If anybody found out, I had a feeling I'd be up for all kinds of perjury, but I didn't care. Anything for Skin. I owed him big time after he'd pulled strings to get me home.

I wasn't saying anything. I wasn't even going to mention the phrase 'motorcycle gang.' I couldn't screw over Skin. That meant leaving the Deadly Pistols and the Deadhands completely out of the equation in my lame ass story.

“I don't know where Ricky hired his men. Maybe they were thugs just like him, or inbred cousins. Who knows. I never saw them much before they picked me up for the trip, and I never saw them again after that night. Lord willing, I never will.”

The detective cocked his head, folded his hands, and leaned forward. “Look, Miss Wilder, we're aware the pimp had connections with the biggest outlaw motorcycle gang several states over. I'm asking you to please take a moment and think. Are you positive you never saw anyone like that while you were a prisoner? No patches, no bikes, no dirty business going down with outlaws?”

“I don't know what I saw, to be frank. Most of the men he brought to my room, I was only focused on one part of them, trying not to gag.”

My father winced next to me, and the color drained from his face. My heart sank. I felt bad about that.

My parents were good people, but they weren't emotionally equipped to handle my abuse. There was no worse torture than thinking about his precious baby being reduced to a common whore.

Of course, he was only hearing about it second hand. I'd lived it.

The nightmare was still alive in my head, coming to me in little flashes. I latched onto them and let my face crack, twisting in agony, looking up as I sniffed back tears.

I had to play the wounded dove card if I wanted to walk out of here sometime today.

“Are we done yet? Haven't you heard enough? I don't get what you want me to say – I barely got away from him with my life. Whatever you're asking me about bikers and bad guys, I don't know about any of that. I was too focused on survival, okay? If these Deadhands were ever there, I never saw a thing.”

Harlow stroked his short, gray beard and leaned back in his chair, studying me. His lips started to move, but before he could say anything, Dad jumped up, making the chair screech across our kitchen floor.

“That's enough, detective. I thought this was going to be short and sweet?” He reached up and flicked his spectacles back into place on his nose. “My daughter hasn't even been home for a full day. She needs to rest. Why don't you come back later this week? I'm confident you'll get more out of her when she's settled in.”

“Sir, I told you from the beginning it's imperative we get all the facts straight while they're fresh,” Harlow snapped.