Midnight Sommelier - Anne Malcom Page 0,69
them the truth.”
He'd done a lot of thinking in the small amount of time Martin had been dead. He’d ruled out the possibility of covering this up, of finding a shallow grave where no one would find Martin. I had no doubt that Zeke was the kind of guy who knew what to do with a dead body. Fuck, I would put money on the fact that he’d disposed of one before. He was not overly fazed by the body itself; he seemed more concerned about me.
Which was romantic.
You know, in a majorly dark and fucked up way.
“The truth,” I repeated.
He nodded once.
“The truth that you came here, saved me from getting raped, possibly murdered by a misogynist asshole,” I said.
A muscle in his jaw ticked, the only outward sign of fury, yet he nodded again.
My gaze moved downward to the dead misogynist, then back up to his murderer. My midnight man. “Although he is a disgusting asshole of the highest degree, he has money,” I continued. “Not just him, but his family. Old money. The kind that buys respect, power, and influence, no matter what kind of people they are. Martin is a smart, rich asshole, he donates to charity, golfs with senators, lunches with the Mayor—people who may or may not know what kind of man he is, but even if they do, they know of him. He went to Black Mountain Academy, like his father. He has deep roots in this town. And you do not. Regardless of the fact you did this for the right reasons, you’re a stranger who’s taken down a pillar of the community, no matter how rotten he is on the inside. The chief of police isn’t an entirely corrupt man. He’s decent. Reasonable. Or at least that’s what David used to say.”
It felt beyond strange and horrific to mention what my husband used to say while standing in front of a man I was in love with, while his ‘friend’ was dead at my feet.
I sucked in a ragged breath in an attempt to calm myself, Zeke watching. He might’ve wanted to argue, might’ve seen where I was going and didn’t agree, but he saw that I wasn’t done. So he waited. For me to get my shit together. He waited patiently, like he had all the time in the world.
“I’m not exactly a lawyer, but I know even if the Chief was reasonable, you killing this man—a pillar of the community—in my defense is going to spell trouble for you. For Luna. Beyond that, if this reaches the news—which of course it will because nothing like this ever happens in this town—you will be on it. If it reaches your old club, somehow, they’ll know where you are. Where Luna is. And I’m not exactly well versed in how things work with motorcycle gangs, but I’m thinking they’ll come looking. And you’ll have to leave to keep your daughter safe. Rip her away from a life she’s made for herself. Her friends.”
Leave me, is what I didn’t say out loud.
“I’m not letting you do that,” I said, voice firm. “So I’m going to call the police. Tell them exactly what happened. Martin came over here. He made advances which I rejected. I told him to leave. He did not, and continued to make advances, more forceful this time. Then he got physical. Tried to rape me. So I defended myself. In my own home. The one that I’ve brought my children up in. The children that attend Black Mountain Academy. Whose father attended that same school. Who have the last name, the money. There’s also the added bonus that there’s no deadly gang looking to settle a score with me.” I added the joke to lighten the mood but it didn’t exactly work.
“You’re not doin’ that shit,” he clipped. “You are not taking the fucking fall for this.” Iron saturated his tone. The ‘I’m the alpha male and I don’t like when the woman takes charge’ kind of tone.
“I’m not taking the fall for anything,” I replied. “I’m protecting you. I’m protecting Luna. I’m protecting the life that I’ve grown accustomed to, the one with you and Luna in it. I’m not letting this asshole ruin it,” I said, waving my hand downward. “Dead or alive.” I eyed Zeke, my gaze hopefully as intense and strong as his. “You can try and argue with me, but I’m a single mother of two boys, I’ve got an old money mother-in-law who