Page 50 of Spyder
I shrug as I grin at her. “I’m like an onion. There are many layers to me.”
Bellamy takes my hand and leads me back into the dining room where we take our seats. She pours us a refill of wine then picks up her glass and leans back in her seat. She watches me over the rim of her glass as she takes a drink and even though I thought I was pretty smooth in deflecting her questions before, I can see the curiosity in her has been piqued. She’s not going to let it go.
“So, are you going to give me an answer?” she asks.
I take a sip of my wine, a hundred different thoughts and excuses rocketing around in my head simultaneously. If I refuse to answer, it’s going to irritate her and will likely only make her press me even harder. If I do answer, she very well could flip out, perhaps rightly believing that what I’m mixed up in could spill over and get her and her mom hurt. Zavala has no qualms about hurting innocents to make his point. And the last thing I want is for Bellamy or her mother to wind up being collateral damage in our little war.
I look into her eyes and although I see the curiosity, there is also concern. I don’t need to be a mind reader to know she’s worried that what I’m not telling her could be dangerous. It’s a safe assumption given the nature of the club. I’ve done all I can to downplay that aspect of it and reassure her there’s virtually no reason to be worried about anything, but I know she’s never believed that one-hundred percent.
I hate keeping things from her—especially things that, although the chances are remote, could affect her. I take another deep breath and let it out before draining my glass of wine to fortify my nerves, my decision made. If I want to keep growing this thing between Bellamy and me, it has to be from a place of honesty and trust. And those are two things we’ll never have if I don’t open up to her. I know I’m rolling the dice hoping she doesn’t flip out, but I feel compelled to be honest with her.
“I called you this morning because I thought it was too late to call you last night. But I really wanted to,” I tell her. “We had to handle an issue outside of town last night and when we got back, I was pretty wired. Still was this morning. That’s probably what you were picking up on.”
She ran the tip of her finger around the rim of her glass, looking at me unflinchingly. It’s as if she’s staring straight into me, rooting around in my thoughts, and trying to find the answer on her own. Bellamy seems to have the unnerving ability to do that. Or at least somehow manage to compel me to give her the answers she is looking for. She can take down all of my defenses with nothing but a glance, and like so much else she does, it’s effortless.
“What was the out-of-town issue?” she asks.
I frown, still fighting off the natural urge I have to clam up. Telling her everything is taking a big chance, but I’m trusting that she cares for me enough that she won’t immediately tell me to get out of her house and never contact her again. I’m trusting that she’ll at least discuss it with me first. Of course, I’m hoping she doesn’t toss me out of her house at all and that she can find a way to be all right with this, just as she was with everything that I told her before.
“A little while back, we got into a dustup with some guys from Mexico. They took Monk’s girl, and to get her back, we had a shoot-out with these guys. Some of them were killed,” I tell her. “We got her back, but some of their guys were killed.”
Bellamy’s face pales and her eyes widen. “When you say guys from Mexico, are you talking about a cartel?”
“Yeah. They belonged to the Zavala cartel,” I say softly.
“Jesus, Derek,” she gasps. “I thought you said you didn’t do business—”
“We don’t. Our paths only crossed because they snatched Monk’s girl. I guess she was married to the cartel’s bookkeeper or something like that,” I tell her. “We don’t do business with them, and we are not into what they are. I promise you that.”
She looks at me skeptically for a moment, her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed but then her expression softens. Bellamy doesn’t say anything further, so I take that as my cue to continue.
“Anyway, since that shoot-out, Zavala has been coming for us. He wants to take over Blue Rock and flood the streets with his shit,” I tell her. “They killed one of our guys and put four bullets into Prophet. He’s our club prez… He wasn’t at the clubhouse when you were there. He survived the hit, so now we’re fighting back. Trying to keep them from getting a foothold here.”
“So that’s what last night was? Trying to keep them out of town?”
I nod. “We got a tip that he had some of his soldiers stashed in a cabin just outside of town. The thinking was, they were here to take us out and once that was done, establish themselves in town,” I tell her. “So we hit first. Had to take them out to keep ourselves safe plus send a message to Zavala.”
Bellamy visibly shudders, her expression stricken. I can tell she’s not happy with what she’s hearing, and I can’t really say I blame her. It’s probably not easy hearing the guy you’re seeing tell you that he was part of a shoot-out that killed a bunch of guys. But she wanted me to be honest, and so that’s what I’m doing.
She looks up at me, her hands trembling and an inscrutable expression on her face. Bellamy looks like she doesn’t know what to say for a moment then looks away. And when she does, I feel my gut lurch. I get the feeling that she’s making a decision about us as she’s processing everything that I’m telling her.
“How many?” she finally asks. “How many people did you kill?”
“Seven,” I answer.
“And they were here because they were going to try to kill you?
“Without a doubt.”
“And this is happening because you killed some of their men who’d kidnapped Monk’s girl?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you just call the sheriff? Tell him what was going on?”
“Because the sheriff isn’t equipped to deal with Zavala or his soldiers. If he’d tried, he and his deputies would have been cut to ribbons. And I, for one, didn’t want their deaths on our hands. None of us did,” I say. “But we’re all ex-military, Bell. If there’s anybody trained and outfitted to deal with the cartel troops, it’s us. And I want to believe that somewhere deep down, you know that.”
She buries her face in her hands for a moment, but I can tell she’s only thinking. Not crying. Bellamy’s always been a very pragmatic person. She’s always taken a more practical view of things rather than let her emotions dictate her views on a given situation. At least, that was always the view I’d had of her. And I remember others have said she’s more clinical and less emotional than most anybody they knew. So, I’m hoping she’ll see through that pragmatic lens rather than the gut-wrenching, emotional one.
