The Fear That Divides Us (The Devil's Dust #3)(64)

Her face quickly frowns, her eyes widening. She reaches her arm out, her lips parting to speak. But before she can get a word out, there’s a severe slam against my upper back. I turn and see two police officers raising their hands, banters gripped tightly in their palms. Bow thrashes it against the back of my knees, causing me to collapse. Within seconds, they fly on me, cuffing my wrists. Skeeter stands, holding his jaw. His eyes squint with anger, and he pulls out his nightstick. His eyes hooded with a violent promise that I am going to pay for my actions.

“No!” Jessica screams.

“Look away,” I mouth to her, knowing this is going to be ugly. Jessica nods, tears flowing down her cheeks.

“It was worth it,” I laugh as she turns her head, a chuckle escaping her sob.

Jessica

Two Weeks Later

“Bobby took responsibility for everything. He told the cops he killed Grant in self-defense after finding Grant had taken Jessica against her will. Having Jessica as a witness, and the fact that Bobby’s record goes to show he doesn’t shy away from confrontation, the police didn’t argue when arresting him. From what our lawyer says, Bobby is in deep shit for dislocating Skeeter’s jaw, and in return Skeeter is trying to botch the self-defense plea against Grant, causing the authorities to second-guess the statement and Jessica’s statement,” Bull informs, smoking a cigarette.

“That means they will be going over the evidence with a fine-toothed comb,” Hawk sputters from the back of the table, scratching the beard on his chin.

“Nah, Skeeter is a f*cking moron. I’m sure he half-assed the evidence,” Shadow encourages, making me feel a little hopeful.

I sigh, running my hands over my face. My bloodstream runs with inflamed rage at the thought of Bobby sitting in jail because of me. After the club’s lawyer arrived at the police station and confirmed I was a victim in the whole charade, and further explained how I got blood on myself trying to break up Bobby attacking Grant, I was let go. But to be honest, after Bobby hit Skeeter, the police didn’t question me much. They wanted Bobby to go down in flames for attacking one of their own. They don’t really seem to care about my involvement.

“He’s looking at doing some time, babe,” Bull continues, looking right at me with grief in his eyes, his words making my heart sink.

“That f*cker Skeeter is a weasel,” Lip grunts, shaking his head.

“He baited Bobby,” I inform. Reaching over, I swipe the cigarette out of Bull’s fingers and take a large drag. Bull lifts an eyebrow at me shocked as I exhale.

“I’m stressed out,” I remark, taking another puff. I have been known to have a cig here and there, and have smoked the occasional joint with Bobby as well. I’m no saint.

“You get visitation with him?” Lip asks, flicking his lip ring with the tip of his tongue.

“Yeah, I am heading over there now before I have to pick Addie up,” I add, putting the cigarette out in an ashtray. Bobby has been in county jail for two weeks and it's killing me. I can’t wait to see him.

“Go see him. Give him our love, darlin’,” Bull instructs, standing from his seat at the head of the table.

“Will do,” I remark.

***

I sit on a yellow plastic chair on one side of double-sided glass. The lighting is dim, and it smells like piss in here. The white paint on the walls is chipped revealing the gray cement and the floor is missing tiles. I can only imagine what it looks like where Bobby is held. I sigh and shake my head. This is all my fault. Bobby shouldn’t be in here because of me. Travis and Grant were my problem, and now Bobby is suffering behind bars. I smirk, Bobby. My knight in shining armor.

A giant metal door buzzes on the other side of the glass and Bobby walks out. My body sparks and my breathing hitches as I see him. I watch Bobby shuffle to a matching yellow plastic chair on the other side of the Plexiglas. He’s wearing a blue jump suit, his hands handcuffed in front of him. His blond hair is messier than usual, and he looks pale from the lack of sun.

“You got ten minutes, inmate,” an officer sneers, walking past our booth.

Bobby lifts the phone, using both of his cuffed hands, and puts it to his ear. His forehead has a square patch of gauze concealing an injury, his eyebrow stitched with beady little black string snaking in and out of it. Those cops beat the shit out of him that night. I turned my head like he told me to, but I’ll never get the sound those nightsticks made when they plowed into Bobby’s body out of my head.

His face sparks with longing when he sees me, brightening his eyes. “Hey, babe,” he greets, with that wolfish smirk of his.

“Hey,” I whisper, pushing to the edge of my seat, wanting to be closer to him.

“How are you?” he asks, looking at me through the glass.

“All right I guess.” I shrug.

He nods, biting his lip.

“You?” I ask, brushing my hair off my shoulder.

“Eh, jail hasn’t changed. Shit food, good drugs,” he laughs. Revealing two dimples that remind me just how much I miss him. It also reminds me of how much of a bitch I was when we were last together.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” I inform, looking up from under my lashes.

Bobby smiles and nods, his eyes wrinkling on the sides as he focuses on me. “I know you will,” he responds.