Their Queenpin (The Ridge MC #6)

Chapter 12Sas

Chapter Twelve

Sas

Metal clanged, the sound slicing through my grogginess, and my eyes snapped open. It had to be early, maybe even the middle of the night, but I had no fucking way to tell. No daylight or darkness in this dull gray cell. No windows. No view of doors. We had to be in the goddamn bowels of the building.

I craned my neck to look around and up at the door. A police officer, one I hadn’t seen before, escorted a slumped figure into the cell. The pig grumbled something about a noxious stench under his breath the whole time and then almost threw the drunk on the cot across the way.

My head throbbed with the remnants of sleep, and I rubbed my eyes, trying to clear the haze.

“What time is it?” I asked, pushing myself up from the cement slab they called a bed.

Yesterday had driven me stir crazy, locked in here with no one and nothing to keep my attention. I’d counted every one of the 523 ⒈／⒉ bricks in the wall across from my bed. Thank fuck my arraignment was set for nine today.

“Just past seven,” the officer grumbled, giving the new guy a final shove before stepping out and locking the gate back into place. “Sleep it off, asshole.”

The officer, however, didn’t immediately leave. Instead, he stood there, glaring down at me with beady eyes. The details of his face were obscured by the way the light cast most of it in shadow, but his eyes almost glowed. It gave me the sensation of razor blades grazing across every inch of my skin.

I wasn’t about to flinch away from the pig, though, so I winked, waved, and blew the bastard a kiss.

Nothing.

Fuck, couldn’t a guy have a little fun around here?

The drunk staggered to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall and leering at the cop. His body swayed, and for a moment, I thought he might puke. The familiar stench of cheap booze clung to him, the kind so astringent it flavored the air and burned my nose.

“Great,” I muttered under my breath, eyeing the guy.

“Get to know your new friend, Tate.” The officer laughed before leaving, the sound of jangling keys echoing off all the cinder blocks and steel.

My new cell mate gave up the fight then, and slumped down on the opposite cot, his head hanging low. He mumbled, but it didn’t even sound like words. More like the chuffing and snorting a wild hog would make. This kind of company was exactly what I’d expected from the beginning when I’d been thrown into the clink in Vegas—someone, or many someones, brought in after a wild weekend.

How many fuckers had had their vacations end this poorly? Idiots who went sloppy when they met a bottle of booze or stupid when a joint touched their lips.

I almost dismissed him entirely, but his eyes flashed up at me with a sharpness that didn’t match the act. Only for a second before he rocked to one side and then the other, his Adam’s apple bobbing like he was trying to hold in the contents of his stomach.

“Aim for the fucking can if you’re gonna spew.” I motioned toward the shitter.

More than half of me hoped he would black the fuck out. I was trash when it came to conversation, but in the tight space and bored as sin, I couldn’t keep my trap shut. The tiny cell that I’d had to myself for a day and a half seemed to shrink around us, as though it, too, squeezed the words from my throat.

There was no avoiding it.

“Rough night?” I asked, leaning back against the wall.

He didn’t answer immediately, just sat there, swaying a little. I was about to write him off when he lifted his head again, his eyes meeting mine with perfect clarity. The transformation happened in an instant, like a flipped switch. His posture straightened, the drunk melting away.

This guy was playing a role.

The man looked around himself, pressing a palm into the stained, flimsy mattress. “Looks like yours was rougher, mijo,” he said, his voice suddenly sober and measured.

My guts clenched, and I narrowed my eyes at the man. “You sober up real quick.”

“A little tequila goes a long way.” He sniffed his forearm. “’Specially when spilled.”

I would have to thank someone for the orange jumpsuits if he’d doused himself in tequila. Still... why?

With a quick glance at the cell gate, I turned back to him. “Who the fuck are you?”

He smirked, a slow, calculating curve of his lips. “Name’s Miguel. Figured I’d crash here for a bit. Got some time to kill, yo.”

Everything about him was too at ease, too in control for someone picked up on the street or dragged in from a bender. He leaned forward, pinning me with a sharp, black stare. It was the kind of look that said he was seeing right through me, peeling back the layers I wore like armor. A chill crept up my spine—the kind of sixth sense that said I’d landed in the middle of a game I didn’t understand.

I didn’t like it. Not one bit.

All the faces in the club that’d come to LA started spinning in my mind, and then the gears stopped when Adelina’s face flashed in my memory. Her face twisted in pleasureful torture as I’d made her come at the altar. Her body under my hands in the powder room.

This man had something to do with the club, possibly the cartel.

Or the Mafia.

Adelina. The thoughts of her clogged my chest, and I tried to breathe through them.

Hell, maybe this guy’s presence was for some other purpose entirely. But one thing was clear—he wasn’t here by accident. He was playing a careful game, and here I was, un-fucking-prepped.

He held his hand, rubbing the spot where a ring would be. But there was no visible indent. “Funny thing about diamonds,” he said casually, as if we were old friends chatting over coffee. “Especially the ones that don’t make it to their destination.”

My mouth soured, but I kept my face neutral and played dumb, nodding to where his hands twisted idly together. “Missing your wedding ring?”

His finger, however, didn’t have an indentation. I glanced down at my left hand, not seeing one there either—yet. My black ring was probably in a plastic bag in a locker somewhere. Tagged, bagged, and catalogued.

“Ni puta ni esposa. ?Verdad mijo?? 1 ” he said.

“I don’t fucking speak Spanish. Mijo,” I replied, though I recognized a little. Still, I didn’t want to discuss my wifey with this asshole.

“No whores for me, amigo. No wife either.” He lifted one brow. “Pero diamantes.? 2 “

“You lost?” I asked, throwing my hands out to indicate the cell. “This ain’t no goddamn jewelry store.”

Miguel chuckled, a low, amused sound. “Sure, play it that way. But I’m guessing El Tigre didn’t find it so funny when his”—he glanced to the gate and lowered his voice—“product got destroyed. Whole lot of profit, up in a cloud of smoke.” He spread his fingers away from his temples like they were exploding.

My mouth went dry. No way this random fuck should’ve known about the drugs that the Mafia had destroyed or the diamonds I was supposed to intercept. Miguel was fucking cartel.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice low and honed like a blade.

I had no patience for games, not with my arraignment looming and the club scrambling to fix my mess. The muscles across my chest and back went rigid with that thought. My brothers left out there to face the dangers of warring cartels and the Mafia while I rotted behind bars.

Miguel leaned back, crossing his arms. “Not what I want. What El Tigre and his compadres want. And right now, Sas, let us say your club’s clean-up job isn’t exactly impressing the boss man.”

I clenched my jaw. “My club’s handling it.” At least I thought they were. Shit was well in motion when the cops had busted my wedding.

Miguel shrugged, unconcerned. “Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t. Keep in mind though. The cartel can be a patient lot—biding their time, waiting for the right moment.”

“What the fuck are you planning?”

“Let’s be honest, Sas. You... sitting in here? Not exactly inspiring confidence that you’ve got this under control.”

I glared at him, refusing to let him see the doubts he planted. “If the cartel thinks they can scare me, they’ve got another thing coming. My club’s got this.” They would have my back. Always. Brothers.

Miguel’s smirk widened, a hint of satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “We’ll see about that. But remember, nothing’s free in this world, mijo. Your club can scrub as hard as they like, but some stains don’t wash out.”

Before a response formed, the cell door creaked open again, and Lanie strode in, dressed in her blue business suit with a garment bag slung over her shoulder. She gave Miguel a quick once-over, her brows bunching, but didn’t say a word. Instead, she turned her attention to me, dropping the bag onto the cot.

She said, “Arraignment’s in two hours, and you’re not showing up looking like a back-alley brawler.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Or a drunk they picked up for passing out on the streets.”

Miguel licked his bottom lip, his eyes raking over Lanie like he would devour her. “That’s one fine ass, mama.”

I blew up off the cot, ready to throttle the motherfucker for commenting on my brother’s ol’ lady like that.

But Melanie latched onto my elbow. “Let it go, Sas. I’ve seen his shit before.”

“You’re fucking lucky, asshole.”

Miguel held out both hands, smirked, and shrugged.

Melanie physically turned me toward my cot.

I scowled down at the bag, the expensive fabric visible through the clear plastic. “You gotta be shitting me. I’m not wearing a clown suit. Get my jeans and a cut.”

Lanie crossed her arms, not budging an inch. “Listen, Sas, you’ll be an idiot not to play along. We’ve got too many cards stacked against us. I’m still fighting to get licensed quickly here, and if they deny the petition, you’re going to need every bit of goodwill we can scrape together. Looking the part helps.”

I dropped my head back on my shoulders. I fucking hated being boxed in, every choice dictated by someone else. But she was right. This was too important to screw up. We had to be smart with the cartel’s shadow hanging over everything.

And La fucking Famiglia’s. Damn it, I needed to get out for Adelina, if no one else. Even though she’d grown up there, she didn’t belong in that world either. She married me, arranged or not. That made her mine.

Mine to fuck. Mine to own. But also—the thought I both loathed and loved the most—mine to keep safe.

“Fine,” I muttered, snatching the bag off the cot. “But if I’m putting this on, you better make sure we don’t get buried in that courtroom.”

Lanie’s expression softened a fraction. “We’ll make it work. But you’ve got to trust me, Sas. We’re up against a lot more than a judge.”

I nodded, though the pit in my stomach only grew heavier. Miguel’s message—even if not fully spoken—echoed in my mind as I pulled out the suit. The cartel waited. Watched. If this went to hell like the coke did, the whole club would burn.

I might be locked up, but I wasn’t out of the game yet—and neither was the club. We did, however, need to play our cards right. Once Melanie and I were away from this cell, I’d make sure she knew exactly who Miguel was. I’d also have her get a message to the Warden to track down his connection.

1 ? No whore. No wife. Right, son ?

2 ? But diamonds?