Hacking the Biker's Code

by Piper Davenport

  “No. Should I?”

  “Yeah, baby, just in case we decide to go somewhere fancy.”

  I sighed, stepping into the closet and finding a dress and heels that I didn’t wear often. I carried them with me to my car, and Rabbit loaded the rest for me.

  Since he’d driven with me to the shop this morning, the driver’s seat was all jacked up, so it took me a minute to get situated and he waited behind me on his bike.

  Once I was good, I pulled out of my parking space and drove toward the garage exit. As we drove to the barn, I glanced behind me a few times and Rabbit was pretty much riding my ass. I smiled. Even on his bike, he protected me.

  Unfortunately, I caught a green just as someone pulled in front of Rabbit and it looked like he was stuck at the red.

  I looked back to see him waving me on, but when I reached the gates of the compound, I noticed he was no longer behind me at all, and although I didn’t freak out immediately, I couldn’t figure out where he’d gone.

  The gates opened and I drove through, pulling over to the side of the driveway and jumping out of my car.

  “What the fuck are you doin’, Parker?” Mouse bellowed, jogging toward me.

  “Rabbit’s not behind me.”

  “Babe, get away from the gates so I can close ’em.”

  “He was right behind me,” I snapped, trying to call him. “Something’s wrong.”

  “Jesus, you’re out of his sight for two minutes and you freak?”

  “Listen here, Ratatouille, Rabbit was right behind me. Like at my bumper. He got stopped at a red light, but he should have been close.” I threw my hands in the air. “Something’s wrong!”

  “Okay,” he said with a sigh. “Still want you inside the gates. Rabbit can take care of himself.”

  “Give me a minute.”

  “Why the fuck are the gates still open?” Alamo bellowed, stalking toward us.

  “Rabbit’s missing,” I said.

  “He’s a little late,” Mouse countered.

  “He was right behind me,” I said, again, and closed the distance between me and Alamo. “Something’s not right. You have to find him.”

  “Okay, sweetheart. Come inside. We’ll see what we can find out.” He turned to Mouse. “Grab Shadow and go look. Retrace Parker’s steps.”

  Mouse had been to my home several times, so I gave a quick Reader’s Digest recap, then followed Alamo inside.

  * * *

  Rabbit

  I remember losing Parker at a red light, then total darkness. For how long, I’m not sure, but I was out long enough to be bound, gagged, and taken to an undisclosed location.

  “He’s waking up,” a man’s voice said. “Take his hood off.”

  Looking around while my eyes adjusted to the light, I found myself inside of a large shipping container. From the looks of it, it had been converted into some sort of bomb shelter. Two men stood on either side of the chair I found myself tied to. A clean-cut man who looked to be in his mid-thirties, wearing a suit, and a huge biker with long dirty blond hair and a scruffy beard. Neither man was familiar to me and in the low light, I was unable to make out the biker’s name or his club’s patch.

  “Get his mouth, too,” the well-dressed man said, and the biker removed my gag before taking a step back.

  Both men paused, as if waiting for me to say something, but I remained silent as I quickly studied my surroundings. The place looked like something straight out of the nineteen sixties. The avocado green walls were lined with industrial shelves piled high with canned goods, batteries, and survival gear. There was a small kitchenette in one corner, at the far end. Where we were, was set up as living space, complete with shag carpet, sofa, and a kidney-shaped coffee table. Atop the table were a few books, a glass ashtray the size of my head, and a red Bakelite rotary phone. I’m not sure who the builder of this shelter was planning on calling in the dead of nuclear winter, but I somehow found this sign of optimism comforting.

  The well-dressed man stood, arms crossed, slightly smiling, but saying nothing. The biker, on the other hand, seemed irritated by my silence, and his scowl intensified as the moments passed until he finally broke.

  “Goddammit,” he growled, plunging his hand into his pocket.

  “I told you,” the suited man said.

  “I thought for sure this guy was gonna talk some serious shit,” the biker said, peeling off several twenty-dollar bills from a wad before handing them to the suited man.

  “Not everyone is like you, my friend,” he said, counting the bills.

  “It’s all there,” the biker said, defensively.

  The suited man placed the bills in his pocket and motioned toward me. “I told you, Rabbit here is super smart, and smart people know when to talk and when to listen.”

  “You sayin’ I’m not smart?” the biker asked.

  The suited man place a hand on the biker’s enormous shoulder. “You are very loud and very scary. That’s your superpower.”

  The biker shrugged. “I can live with that.”

  “Okay, then,” the suit said focusing his full attention on me. “Let’s see if you’re as smart as I think you are. My name is Special Agent Davis of the F.B.I. and this is my associate, Tackle, of the Killing Jokers MC.”

  I remained silent and looked straight ahead.

  “You see? Silent,” Agent Davis said to the biker before turning his attention back to me. “It’s okay. There’s no need to introduce yourself. I already know quite a bit about you. Although, I’ll admit I know a lot more about your sister, but then again, we’ve been watching her for much longer than you.”

  I bristled but remained silent.

  How the hell does this guy know about Jette?

  “How is Anjenette. By the way?”

  My eyes met Agent Davis’.

  “Oh, that’s right. You call her Jette, don’t you? Or is she still going by Sierra these days?”

  “Who the fuck are you?” I asked.

  “Holy shit. It speaks,” Tackle said.

  “I told you, my name is Special Agent Rand Davis. But you can call me Taxi.”

  “How ’bout I call you a Hearse?” I seethed.

  “No, no.” He laughed. “Not call me a taxi. Call me Taxi. It was my club name when I was in the Spiders.”

  “You’re with the Spiders?” I growled, and struggled, to no avail, to free myself from my restraints.

  “I was undercover with the Spiders in Gresham, Oregon for almost a year. My time with the club is where I came to make Tackle’s acquaintance. It’s also where I first got the idea of putting my little team together.”

  “Team?” I asked.

  “We’ll get into that. But first. If I untie you, are you gonna give me any trouble?” Taxi asked.

  “By trouble, do you mean rip your throat out with my bare hands?” I asked.

  Tackle laughed and pulled a blade from his boot. “Don’t get cute. I have the permission of the United States government to put extra holes in you if necessary.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” Taxi said. “But I do.” He opened his coat to reveal a holstered pistol.

  Tackle cut me loose and I sprang to my feet.

  “Settle down. We have a lot to talk about so you may as well make yourself comfortable,” Taxi said, taking a seat on the sofa. “Are you hungry? I’m afraid it’s mostly MREs and SMEAT down here, but I’d bet Tackle could open any can down here with his bare hands.”

  “That’d be about the extent of my cooking skills,” Tackle said, handing me a bottled water.

  “So, you’re FBI and you’re a Joker. What the hell do you want from me? And what is this place?” I asked.

  “This,” Taxi said, motioning around him, “Is one of many places that doesn’t exist according to the US government. You’ll find out more about all that later. Unless of course, you don’t accept my offer. Then, I’ll have to hit you with another shot of Ketamine. Tackle will then carry you out and you’ll wake up in a jail cell in about three
hours from now.”

  “Wait,” I said, my thoughts turning to Parker and how long I’ve been missing. “Have I been down here for three hours?”

  “Yes, but don’t worry. We’re almost done.”

  “You’d better start giving me some answers right fucking now.”

  “Relax,” Tackle said.

  “I am relaxed, and don’t tell me what to fucking do.” I pointed a finger at Tackle. “Look, if you were gonna kill me, you’d have done it by now, and if a night in jail is your biggest threat—”

  “You misunderstand me,” Taxi interrupted. “I’m not trying to threaten you. I’m merely presenting some facts to you. If I was threatening you, I’d tell you I have the authority to lock your sister in a windowless eight by eight box for the rest of her life.”

  “I’m warning you. Leave my sister out of whatever the hell this is.”

  “Hacking into a government database is a serious offense, Rabbit. One she’s committed several times, I might add. But fear not, Rabbit, I don’t want young Anjanette locked up any more than you do. In fact, I want her on the team as much as I want you.”

  “Sorry, man, but I’m already on a team. We bowl every Tuesday night at Crosley Lanes,” I replied.

  Taxi put his hands up in surrender. “I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot here. How ’bout we start over?”

  “Before you kidnapped me?”

  “I apologize. The nature of this project requires ultimate secrecy. Even the members of your club can’t know you’re talking to me. Besides, would you have joined me for coffee if I’d asked?”

  I glared at Taxi but said nothing.

  Taxi nodded. “Exactly. Bottom line is, I don’t have time for chit chat and neither does your sister.”

  “I told you to leave—”

  “Her out of this, I understand. But I told you, I can’t.” Taxi said. “Let me start from the beginning and you’ll understand why.”

  I leaned back slightly, and Taxi continued, “Some years back, one of our agents began working with your club, here in Savannah.”

  “Agent Moore. Doom and Alamo helped him bust up that trafficking ring,” I said, having heard the campfire stories.

  “That’s right.

  “You FBI assholes almost got them killed—”

  Taxi pulled the cash Tackle had given him out of his pocket, took several bills and handed them to the biker. “Here, I owe you at least half of this money back. He’s mouthier than I thought he’d be.”

  Tackle happily slid the bills into his cut pocket and turned to me. “Look, you don’t know me from fuckin’ Elvis, but do yourself a favor and hear Taxi out. What he has to say is gonna be good for you and your club. Trust me.”

  Trusting this guy was the last thing I should do, but something about the way he spoke to me, and about the rapport between the two men, put me at a certain level of ease. There was a kind of fraternal familiarity between these unlikely partners that intrigued me. Taxi was clearly in charge, but there seemed to be a mutual respect between the two.

  “You guys ex-military or something?” I asked.

  Taxi smiled wide. “I told my boss you were smart, which is precisely why I want you on my team.”

  “Alright, I’m listening,” I said, and Taxi continued.

  “After Agent Moore’s success working with your club here in Savannah, the bureau selected five agents to work as undercover bikers all around the country. Savannah, Portland, Florida, and Colorado have all become hotbeds of all kinds of criminal activity over the past decade. These areas also have active, growing motorcycle clubs. My plan is to gain access to the bad guys through their existing associations with various motorcycle clubs. We’re not after the clubs. We’re after the cartels, traffickers, and other large criminal enterprises they do business with.”

  I had to admit that as crazy as his plan was, it also made sense, except for one detail. “The Dogs of Fire aren’t one-percenters,” I said. “We’re not tapped into the criminal underworld.”

  “Maybe not, but you run parallel with the clubs that are. Plus, I’m not really interested in you for your criminal pedigree as much as I am your mind. In fact, your clean record is a big plus. I’m going to need to convince some very uptight people to grant you access to some highly secure areas, and the cleaner your background is, the easier that will be for me. But let’s be honest. You are a criminal. You and your sister.”

  “No offense taken,” I said, dryly.

  “You can take all the offense you want. I don’t really give a shit,” Taxi replied. “Out of the five agents in the original program, I’m only one of two who are still alive. This isn’t a game to me.”

  “What happened to the other agents?”

  “One died after injuries sustained in a crash, and the other two were killed by the clubs they’d infiltrated. They were sniffed out as imposters and executed.”

  “How did you manage to make it out of the Spiders alive?”

  “Fortunately for me, I had an old Army buddy to vouch for me, so the Spiders never suspected me as an outsider. I was easily accepted into their club and eventually gained the trust of their president, Wolf.”

  “You were involved in what went down in Portland?” I asked in disbelief. The once peaceful Pacific Northwest had recently become a powder keg. Rival clubs the Gresham Spiders, and the Burning Saints were in an all-out turf war with our club smack dab in the middle. Rumors within the biker community were running wild. Now I knew where some of those “rumors” were rooted.

  “Yes, you could say I was involved,” Taxi said. “After the success of that mission, I was given the opportunity to assemble a new team of undercover agents, but rather than train agents to become bikers, I’m training bikers to become agents.”

  I looked at Tackle in disbelief. “So, you’re...”

  “Deputy Agent in training Archer King,” he said, hooking his thumbs on his belt loops.

  “I know this isn’t a joke, but...this is a joke, right?”

  “I’ve already recruited trainees from the Killing Jokers and the Burning Saints, as well as a few other clubs, but I need you and your sister to complete the team.”

  “Why Jette?”

  “Three reasons. She’s one of the best hackers in the country and she has full access to the Howlers MC in Colorado.”

  Jesus, this guy did know all about Jette. So much for hiding in plain sight.

  “What’s the third reason?” I asked.

  “Leverage,” Taxi replied. “My bosses need to know that I have both carrots and sticks to motivate my team members. Despite you and your sister’s squeaky-clean paper trail, we both know the FBI has all we need to label both of you cyber terrorists and lock you up for life.”

  “And the carrot?”

  “As long as you’re working for me, and no conflict of interest should arise, your club is protected.”

  “Do you expect me to believe the FBI is going to turn a blind eye to all the clubs you work with?”

  “That’s not what I said. In fact, your club can’t know anything about your involvement. That’s part of the reason for all of this.” Taxi motioned to our surroundings. “Only your President will be informed of your involvement and Uncle Sam will cut individual deals with each club as he sees fit.”

  “We’re goin’ to Disneyworld,” Tackle said.

  I smirked, focusing on Taxi. “But the Dogs are clean,” I said.

  “Clean enough to withstand a federal investigation? Or to turn down the government’s protection?”

  Shit. He had me by the balls.

  “Good for you and good for your club,” Tackle said.

  “If the Feds and the Dogs worked well together last time, why not just approach us directly. Why kidnap me?”

  “The only way this team will be effective is to work in secrecy. I’ve chosen each team member based, not only on their individual skills, but also on their street smarts. I know the least about you, but a lot about your club. I’m willing to
go out on a limb for you and Anjanette, but I need to know tonight if you’re in or out, and I’m going to need to meet with your sister. Face to face, as soon as possible.”

  “Then I’ll need one more carrot,” I said.

  “What?” Taxi asked.

  “I need you to help me catch a beast.”

  Parker

  I paced the great room, my stomach roiling as bikers rushed in and out of the barn. Rabbit had been gone for hours and since his phone was off, there was no way to track him.

  Mouse and Shadow had retraced our route without luck, so until they could determine what the threat was, we wouldn’t know how we could help Rabbit. Alamo walked out of the mouth of the hallway and made his way to me.

  “Did you find him?” I rasped.

  “Not yet.” He pulled me into a protective hug. “But we will.”

  “What if he’s dead in a ditch somewhere? Or hurt and we aren’t getting to him fast enough?” I gripped Alamo’s cut. “What if he’s dying and—”

  “Babe, knock it off,” he said, albeit gently. “He’s not gonna fuckin’ die. And if he were hurt, he’d get a message to you. Or at the very least, Doom.”

  Before I could respond, Rabbit walked into the great room and made a beeline for me.

  “Where the hell have you been?” I demanded, bursting into tears.

  “Come with me,” he said, holding his hand out as he nodded to Alamo. “Doc in his office?”

  “Yeah, brother.” Alamo raised an eyebrow. “Where were you?”

  “Can’t disclose until I speak with Doc.”

  Alamo frowned, but gave him a chin lift. Rabbit squeezed my hand and started down the hall. I yanked him back. “Stop!”

  “Baby, I can’t. I’ll explain everything, but we need to talk in private.”

  I let him pull me down the hall and into Doc’s office.

  “Where the fuck have you been?” he demanded.

  Rabbit closed the door. “We got a problem.”

  * * *

  I couldn’t stop crying. Rabbit and I were in our room at the barn, it was about an hour after we left Doc’s office, and I had completely lost my shit.

  “It’s okay, baby,” Rabbit whispered, pulling me against him again. “I’m here.”