Page 27 of Nicoletta
He glares down at me, and like in the alley, I feel exposed. My once sexy confidence instilled by the Harlots withers under Bolt’s damning expression.
He reaches into his cut and slaps the knife onto the table. “Talk,” he orders.
Words skitter through my head. All the sentences I should say, all the phrases I want to say but can’t quite get out.
Bolt slams his fist inches from the knife, and I jump.
“I said, talk.” His voice is rough, harsh and ragged.
“I never meant for it all to turn out this way.” I sigh heavily. “You have to believe me.”
“Ha!” Blood barks out the one word. “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding us, bitch.”
Smoke leans into the table, his palms flat against thepolished wood. His eyes are hard as stone, his voice low and menacing.
“I don’t wanna hear any excuses or any bullshit. I want you to start from the very beginning, with how you got this knife. No long drawn-out explanations, just the truth. You think you can do that?”
I nod once.
“And if you start lying, believe me, I’m gonna know.” Smoke shifts his gaze to Blood. “Then I’m gonna let him take you downstairs, and ain’t nobody gonna be able to save you.”
This time, Bolt remains silent.
“All right.” I draw in a deep, cleansing breath. “I went to Brad’s Malibu beach house on Monday afternoon to tell him I’d be moving out, and when I got there, his front door was ajar. Very unusual because Brad was anal about security. I entered the house and immediately sensed something was off, since his car was in the driveway, but he wasn’t answering me when I called out to him.”
I stare at the tabletop to avoid their glaring eyes. “I checked out on the deck and thought it was odd that the slider was slightly ajar also. I went back into the house, checked the other rooms, then climbed the stairs to the bedroom.” I swallow, remembering the bloody scene. “I entered the bedroom, and he was dead on the carpet, surrounded by blood.”
“And the knife was next to him?” Bolt asks.
I nod once. “Yes.”
Smoke slams his hand on the table. “You’re lying.”
“All right, all right.” How did he know? “The knife wasn’t next to him. My mother was holding the bloody knife in her hand.”
Smoke’s back arches. Blood leans in, and Bolt shuffles his feet.
“Your mother?”
“Yes, I’d found out the week before that she and Brad were having an affair.”
“Shit,” Blood mumbles. “Ballin’ the mother and daughter at the same time. And they say bikers are fucked up.”
“Then what?” Bolt asks.
“At the time, I was convinced my mother did it even though she denied it. Either way, I knew I had to get her and myself out of there, so I cleaned off the knife, wrapped it in a paper towel, and shoved it in my purse. Then I wiped down anything she might’ve touched and hustled her out the door.
“Can’t prove a crime without the murder weapon.” Smoke lights up a cigarette and drags deep. “Gotta say, if all this didn’t land in our laps, I’d be fuckin’ impressed.”
“When we were away from the house, I made plans for us to get out of the country.”
“One thing.” Blood crosses his arms over his chest. “How’d you get a ten-inch blade past airport security?”
“Pays to know people in high places.” I smirk. “A friend of mine has a private plane and numerous connections in the U.S. and Mexico.” I fix my gaze on Smoke. “You might’ve heard of her, Tamara Spindler.”
Smoke meets my gaze but doesn’t react.
“Spindler?” Bolt says. “Related to Eric Spindler, the hotel guy who owns a few sports teams?”
