Fighting Conviction by Greer Rivers

Chapter Thirty

Neal paced to calm his nerves instead of leaning against the wall. He’d already attempted that once, but his blood was crawling underneath his skin and adding even the slightest bit of pressure almost made him lose his shit.

Music from the ballroom blasted in his ears even from his position farther down the hall, but he tried to focus past his headache. It was imperative he keep his cool for as long as he could while he monitored the lobby entrance to the McIntosh Ambrosia Room.

He was looking for a Russian, but he had to pretend like he was running security. He was supposed to be off duty, but no civilian would question him while he was in his uniform, right? He was an officer of the law, they’d expect him to be part of the security to protect the people inside the hotel.

“They don’t know you can’t protect anyone.”

The biting judgment in Cici’s voice tasted like acid in his mouth. She knew he’d come to the conclusion that if the Russians didn’t pull through this time, he’d have to resort to helping them again before striking back. He needed to get them more women… just once, so they’d have to thank him somehow.

“It’s not like that Cici. Just this one last job and they’ll give me more medicine. You know I can’t go without my medicine.”

It’d become nearly impossible to go a single moment without craving the newest poison he’d resorted to feeding into his skin.

“You’ve always been weak. It was alcohol then. Drugs now. Your vices are gonna kill you.”

“No… no. It’ll help. Just one more hit and I’ll get well. I-I’ll go to rehab this time. I swear.”

You didn’t get help then. What makes you think you will now? If you hadn’t been so selfish, I would still be alive.

“It’s different this time, Cees. It’s different.”

“Your fucked-up decisions are going to get someone killed again.”

The words were in Cici’s voice, but they sounded wrong and loud in his head, halting his racing thoughts. Neal stopped to look around to see if anyone else had heard her. There were men and a few women in dressy clothes milling in front of the ballroom entrance. Drinking. Laughing.

Were they laughing at him? No. But the couple heading straight toward him were looking at him. No, staring. They wouldn’t take their eyes off of him. They must’ve heard Cici.

Could they tell how much he’d fucked everything up? Anyone who heard the hate in her voice had to know he’d ignored her. Fought against her love for him until it was broken and twisted into brambles that scratched at his heart every time he breathed.

If he’d fought for her, instead of against, they could’ve fought her sickness. Together. But she gave in.

No. She ran away.

The afterlife had seemed like a better alternative than fighting the cancer killing her slowly. The depression had set in long before the cancer, but the pills she took—all at once—those were quick. Using his favorite poison to wash them down her throat was poetic justice as she swallowed the pills that drug her to her grave.

Neal hadn’t even known she still had a prescription for Xanax, or that she’d stockpiled it over the years as a nurse. Her general practitioner hadn’t either, considering how many pills had kept Neal afloat before he resorted to drug busts and Russians.

He thought she’d gotten over the anxiety she’d developed a few years into their marriage, but he hadn’t paid enough attention. Cici might’ve wanted help with her mental health in the beginning, but in the end, she’d refused to acknowledge her depression until its hooks were embedded in her, dragging her down deep until she drowned.

“You still don’t get it… I was tryin’ to get away from you.”

She spat out her words.

“Shh, be quiet Cees. They’ll hear you.”

He ducked into an alcove in the hall, behind a tree, willing his body to stay still as he closed his eyes and collected his breath, hoping no one heard her.

“Burgess, what the fuck are you doin’ here?”

Neal snapped his head up and attempted to calm the instant rage that sliced through him when he saw his boss.

“Sheriff, what’re you doin’ here?”

“I asked you. I’m the one here monitorin’ security for the Ashland elite scholarship party.”

“I-I’m here for that, too.” As soon as he said it, he cringed, knowing what was coming.

“I told you to take time off, Burgess. You’re obviously” —Sheriff Motts waved his hand out at Neal— “unwell. Besides, after you fucked up so royally last year? These people would never vote me back in office if I had you run security on this event.”

“Sir, I—”

“No, you need to leave. Now. Consider this an order for you to take some paid leave for the foreseeable future.”

Neal’s face flushed with embarrassment.

“He can tell you’re sick. He can tell you need your medication. Just leave. Or wait in your car until the Russians need you.”

Neal nodded at Cici’s whispered suggestion. “I’ll do that.”

“Good. Take that time off seriously, Neal. I’m worried about you.”

Sheriff slapped his hand on Neal’s shoulder, stabbing little needles into his skin. But he at least had the wherewithal to know he couldn’t sucker punch his boss, so he shoved his hands in his pockets and grunted instead.

“Yes, sir.” Head bowed, Neal marched past the sheriff down the end of the hall, bumping into yet another pompous prick on his way to the hotel exit. Ignoring the reprimands, whispers, and chatter droning on around him, Neal continued toward the exit to the alleyway where he’d parked his vehicle.

When he was finally outside and in front of his patrol car, he pulled his phone from his pocket. Now out of earshot, he pressed the button on his chest and called the Russian as he paced in front of his vehicle.

“What do you want?” The low gruff voice on the other end irritated Neal’s eardrums, and he tried not to focus on the delayed echo of the small orchestra in the ballroom.

“I’ve been waitin’ for one of your men, to get the stuff for the information I gave you, but there’s been a problem—” He didn’t want to tell the Russian why he was leaving. That’d be humiliating, and there was no way he’d get his medicine if the Russian thought he was a liability like the sheriff did. “I have to step out for a little while—”

“For the last time, I do not give a fuck what you do. I have to go—”

“But the-the bag… one of your goons is supposed to get me a bag. I did everything you asked. You got your women in the room—”

“Neal, shut the fuck up—”

“—is it because I didn’t get you more? I-I can get you more.” He cringed at the thought but it had to be done. “You have this p-party tonight. But I can get you more women, Mr. Rusnak—”

“Do not ever use my name.” The rushed whisper hissed through the phone and Neal bit his cheek so hard at his slipup, he tasted metal. “Neal, if you do not shut the fuck up I will come find you and personally rip your tongue out of your head.” Neal swallowed at the gory vision in his head.

But he could get on their good side again, if he got them more women. That’d be good. They’d probably supply him for life. Like they’d promised once before. He wouldn’t even need rehab then.

There was a sigh on the other end before the Russian continued. “If you go home like a good little soldier… I will have Vlad drop something off for you.”

Neal nodded at a speed that felt like his head was going to bobble off. “Yes, sir. I’ll go right home.” The Russian hung up and Neal pressed the button on his chest again before pocketing his phone.

Easy enough. He just had to go home.

But was that really all they wanted him to do? Was this actually a test? If he followed their orders blindly, would they come through? Last year when they’d framed Jason Stone, Neal had been kept out of the loop and only on a need-to-know basis. Neal had trusted them without question as they’d fed him lies about Stone being the perp he’d wanted. Turns out, Neal and Stone had both been easy scapegoats to ensure the Russian could get off scot-free.

Sheriff was right about last year. When Neal realized he’d been taken for a fool, and that his other employers had been funneling women in and out of his county right under his nose, he spiraled. Taken more pills than he ever had before.

The operation he’d signed on for was never supposed to go that route. Just drugs. Last year he’d realized it didn’t stop there. Now he was too wrapped up in it all to stop anything. Somewhere deep in his mind, he knew selling his soul for his next hit was gonna kill him one way or another. But if he was going to go up in flames, he was going to take every goddamn one of those demons down with him.

Until then, he would do whatever he had to do to stay alive. And goddamnit, he needed his medicine. He was losing himself every second he suffered without it.

“You lost yourself a long, long time ago, Neal.”

“Shut up, Cici.” He growled. He had to think of something to get the Russians back on his side. First, he needed to go home so Vlad would drop off what he needed.

He kicked the tire of his patrol vehicle. A glimpse of gold shined in his periphery, stopping him in his tracks. It took him a second to register who the young woman was, staring at her phone, until the glow of her cell phone lit her face in the waning evening light.

It was the same woman who could single-handedly take him down. The one the Russians might still be interested in. His ticket to getting back in their good graces. He realized what he had to do and rested his hand on the butt of his gun.

“Hello, Miss Stone.”