The Rising Tide - ON HIATUS

Chapter 7

"So these are the charges?"

Amelia hadn't seen or spoken to Raylan since their not so random run in at dinner about a month before but now he was in her kitchen with a beer. They sat together, scanning the list of charges against her and Juice, as her heartrate slowly rose.

"For you," he said as he swallowed the last of his beer, "For now. More of that shit with the Niner girl will end up getting you in more trouble."

Scowling, she looked back at the paperwork. "I could really go to jail, Raylan?"

"You could," he uncrossed his legs and sat forward. "But I don't think this shit is legitimate." His long, slender fingers pointed out the list illegal substances and items supposedly found in the dispensary.

"No," she shook her head as she skimmed the list. "No fucking way. We don't mess with this shit," she pointed to the harder drugs, "And there's no way JC would have unregistered guns in there, ever. That's just stupid. Where would they get the guns to plant?"

"I don't know, I'm not a dirty cop, and I haven't seen it," he seemed nonplussed. "But I can try to take a look. If it doesn't match the shit we're looking at the IRA for, it might cast some doubt but I'll need something to compare it to, Amelia."

Her face screwed up in confusion at she looked at him. "Oh, like you want to see what IRA sells the club?"

"Exactly."

"That's not going to happen." She laughed pushing the papers back. "I mean even if I wanted to I couldn't get my hands on anything. They don't keep that particular stock on themselves, too obvious."

Raylan chewed his cheek and nodded. "Maybe a picture?"

"No." She said more forcefully. "You're going to get me killed, Raylan. I said I'd cooperate but I'm not going that far."

"Possession, like this," he pushed the papers back to her, "That's a shit ton of time with mandatory minimums, Amelia. I'm trying to keep you safe and out of prison."

"How long?" She asked anxiously as her teeth nibbled along her cuticle.

Blowing a big puff of air out from his mouth Raylan's eyes rolled back in his head as he tried to remember. "First offense?" She nodded and he continued. "That much cocaine, with mandatory federal minimums, I think you're looking at max ten but no less than about four? I'm not completely sure."

"Four to ten?" She asked stammered, her jaw hanging open in shock, as her eyes began to fill. "I can't do it."

"I can help with that." He extended his hand to her and she grasped at it desperately. "You just have to trust me."

"Juice and my dad?" She held his hand tight, her pinky tapping on his horseshoe ring, refusing to meet his intense gaze. "They'll go to jail, right? I can't like, leave them out of it?"

"Do you think either would help us?"

"Maybe?" She shrugged. "I'd have to feel it out."

"You can't." He yanked his hands away and, elbows on the table, holding her chin in between his thumb and fingers, forced her to look him in the eye. "They get any kind of idea we're talking like this and you'll be dead. Chibs and Juice can't protect you from the club; you'll be a snitch, Amelia."

"Rat," she whispered pulling her face away. "They call it ratting, not snitching."

"It doesn't matter what they call it," he said suddenly calm. "It all ends with you taking a bullet. Unless you're sure they'll back you, don't say anything."

--

"I made dinner," Amelia said cheerfully as Juice strolled into the house later that evening. He looked excited but Amelia was less than proud of the meal. "Just spaghetti," she frowned, "Sorry. German steaks are kind of expensive."

Hanging his cut by the door and placing his keys and gun on the table, Juice hid his disappointment as he joined Amelia. "Smells good."

"Thanks." Forcing a smile Amelia gave him his beer and placed a full platter before him playing happy housewife, and that was what threw Juice off.

"What's up?"

"Nothing." She shrugged.

"Meels," he looked at her knowingly. "You don't serve me," Juice gestured to the beer and dinner. "You're nervous about some shit, what happened?"

"We're broke," she said sadly. "I can't find shit for work and with the weed shop closed we're not really making a lot. So, I went by Cara Cara today."

His face went white and immediately Juice shook his head. "No fucking way. What is wrong with you?"

Smiling a little, she moved from her spot across from him to the empty one beside him. "Baby, I'm not trying to be a porn star, unless it's with you, but I was thinking about, well, anything else. Luanne and I got to talking and she said she was sure she could take me on. Scheduling shit, pretty much like her assistant, I guess?"

It wasn't that Juice wanted her home all day, playing servant and living only to be his wife, but he hated the fact that she had to work somewhere she didn't want to. Proud didn't begin to describe how he felt about her degree and career choice but her working wasn't the problem, it was the need and the undesirable location.

"There's nothing else?" He asked pushing his plate away, suddenly sick, and not interested in eating.

Amelia sighed, "Nope. Without the weed shop and with the lack of nursing jobs in the area, I don't have a choice. Trust me, baby, I don't want to be there but we don't have a choice. The wedding and the honeymoon were expensive and Max's house isn't selling. We need money."

"You talk to Chibs about it?" Hoping maybe Chibs would be able to talk her into anything else Juice feigned interest in dinner as not to hurt her feelings.

"No," she seemed confused by his question. "He's got nothing to do with it. I'm a grown ass woman."

Juice laughed, genuinely, and nodded. "Yeah, you are."

"So you're cool with it?"

"Yeah," he lied. "I'm fine with it."

--

Hours after dinner, Juice dressed for a, completely legal, protection run. At least he could bring in some extra money that way; it was all he focused on as he left Amelia sleeping quietly in their bed wearing only the top sheet over her body.

"I love you," he whispered and kissed her temple.

Rolling over she smiled sleepily. "I love you too, be safe."

"I'll be home by sunup."

She nodded and rolled over again, asleep in seconds. Unsure if she would remember, Juice scribbled a note and left it on her bedside table. "Meels, I'll be home in the morning. I love you. - JC."

Before he left their bedroom he looked back at her, peaceful and actually looing happy for the first time in weeks. That last glimpse allowed him to leave the house with a smile on his face. Jumping on his bike, Juice pulled away from the house but hardly made it a few blocks before two black sedans cut him off, dangerously close to causing a painful accident.

"Shit," he hissed. "What do you want?"

Kyle strutted from his car toward Juice with a smarmy grin. "I want to talk to you, Juan Carlos."

"Call my lawyer, asshole."

"I don't know, I think the chance of your wife spending 10 years in prison may change your tune." He crossed his arms over his chest and watched Juice's face fall. "That's what I thought. Why don't you come with us and we'll have a little conversation."

"Guess I don't have a choice."

"Oh you do," Kyle assured him, "But if you don't, you and the wife will be picked up tomorrow and held until arraignment, separately, with a bail set so high you'll never afford it."

"Yeah," Juice groaned, "Like I said, no choice."