by Lane Hart
When I refuse to respond, Washington says, “Have you forgotten? It has been twelve years or so, but you told DEA Agent Green that the Emerald Isle Savage Kings MC members were responsible for your girlfriend’s death, and that you were going to prove it.”
Swallowing around the boulder that’s suddenly lodged in my throat at the mention of April, I tell him, “I was wrong.” How the hell does he know all of this shit?
“Maybe so, but do the Savage Kings know you started out in their organization as a confidential informant for the feds? I wonder what they would say when they find out…”
“Yeah, well, I wonder what your voters would fucking say about you trying to blackmail me!”
“Nice try, Mr. Cole, but you would have to air out all your dirty laundry to blow the whistle on me. Are you willing to risk losing everything, including your life, to try and take me down? Your word over mine?”
“I’m probably dead either way, right? The Kings will kill me if you tell them or if they find out I agreed to work for you.”
“Then they never have to know. You have my word,” he says, holding out his palm for me to shake like we’ve made an agreement.
I’m fucked upside down and sideways and the asshole knows it. Goddamn him to hell.
Blowing out a heavy exhale, I refuse to shake his hand, but I do ask, “What does she look like?”
“My daughter? Oh, Isobel is beautiful, just like her mother was,” he responds before he retrieves his phone again and then shows me her photo.
She’s so petite she looks much younger than twenty-eight. Maybe that’s just because in the picture she’s crouching down, surrounded by a bunch of Little Orphan Annie kids in tattered clothes and covered in dirt like they’re homeless or something. Despite their circumstances, they’re all hugging her tightly like she’s some sort of heaven-sent angel. And no wonder.
The governor lied about his daughter.
She’s not beautiful.
She’s so fucking gorgeous that she practically emits an ethereal glow.
“Isobel is a pediatric nurse. That picture was taken last year when she was vaccinating kids for polo in Mozambique.”
Wow, she’s the picture-perfect daughter for a politician, saving under-privileged kids and shit.
“I’m pretty sure that I’m not this woman’s type,” I tell the governor.
“She’s not currently working in the nursing field or saving children.”
“Then what is she doing?
“Drinking in bars and going home with a man in a different city every night.”
“Wow. How did she go from a baby nurse to a slut overnight?” I ask, and his fist socks me right in the mouth a half a second later. Not that I didn’t have it coming, but still, I’m surprised that the cool, calm politician snapped.
“You will treat my daughter with respect, or I’ll kill you myself!” he threatens me as I run my tongue over my teeth to make sure they’re all there. Thankfully, none are missing, but I’m pretty sure there’s a cut on my lip.
“Respect her or fuck her? Pretty hard to do both,” I respond.
“Your job is to figure it out from now until the election in November. I want her to return to nursing and to let me back into her life. Convince her of both of those things if you want to keep your life and your brothers to retain their freedom,” he says before he straightens his suit jacket and starts towards the door. After he pounds his fist on it wordlessly three times, he turns back to me and says, “Oh, and one more thing. Other than the two of us, there’s only one other person who will know what you’re doing with Isobel. I insist we keep it that way.”
“Oh yeah? Who else knows?” I ask while I reach up to wipe a drop of blood from my lips with my fingertips as I let his demands sink in.
“Ian Long.”
My entire body freezes.
Fuck. Having a Savage King in the know is not good.
“Ian turned you down, didn’t he? Is that why he’s not out of prison yet? He was supposed to be released months ago, but then there was some sort of ‘altercation’!”
“I didn’t have enough dirt on him,” Washington responds. “All I could offer Long was an early release and to keep one of his secrets from the MC. He refused by spitting on me,” he says with his lip curled in disgust. “One of the guards saw it, so the warden threw him in solitary and put it down as an assault, which cost him his good behavior time.”
Shit. Has Ian told anyone in the MC yet? I need to see him ASAP to find out.
“If I do this, I want you to let Ian out,” I say to the governor. “He deserves it, and it would give me a bargaining chip to make sure he doesn’t tell any of our brothers.”
“Here’s another bargaining chip free of charge,” he replies. “According to one of the prison guards, Ian’s been paying him off for unauthorized, private conjugal visits on the regular. It wasn’t enough blackmail for him to give in to my request, but it’s not something he probably wants his MC brothers to know.”
“So what? Why would the MC give a shit if he’s getting some ass in prison?” I ask with my brow furrowed. The poor guy has been locked up for almost five years. The dude deserves to get his dick wet every once in a while.
“Well,” the governor drawls. “For one, the conjugals have all been with a man. And secondly, he also happens to be a member of the Savage Kings.”
My jaw drops in surprise because of what he’s implying. And without any further information I’m pretty sure I know exactly which King has been visiting Ian during that private time.
“He didn’t visibly flinch when I threatened to out him, but I could tell he wasn’t looking forward to that information reaching his ‘friends’. That information should prove useful to deter Mr. Long from discussing our arrangement with the other members, don’t you think?”
“Ah, yeah. I guess so,” I say even though I would never out Ian and Gabe to the Kings, no matter what fucking happens. Doesn’t mean I’m above using the threat for leverage.
“If you succeed in this endeavor, then I’ll process Mr. Long’s paperwork,” Washington agrees.
“And how will you know if I succeed?” I ask.
“My daughter won’t step foot out of North Carolina again before the election. Not unless she’s treating kids in impoverished nations with a photographer capturing every second. You’ll also need to persuade her to get her job back and try to repair our relationship. If you fail to make those things happen, I’ll put you and the rest of your gang in cells right next to your friend, Ian.”
Fuck me. I’m actually going to do this shit for him. But what other choice do I have? Besides, manipulating a woman I’ve never met and don’t give two shits about sounds easy compared to life in prison for everyone I care about.
“How do I find her?” I ask our state’s dickhead leader just as the cell door swings open.
“I have the number to the burner phone they seized from your boat yesterday. I’ll send you the address of the next bar she’s sighted at. Isobel was recently spotted in Georgia, so I’m predicting she’ll be in South Carolina this week. That will give you the perfect chance to swoop in and stop her from leaving again.” Then, to the men in suits, he says, “We struck a deal, so he’s free to go. I’ve already cleared it with Agent Green. You can call him if you need to.”
Great, it looks like I’m a free man again.
Or at least as free as I get to be for the next few months while I’m stuck under the governor’s fucking thumb.
Chapter Three
Sax
“Hey, man. How you been?” I ask when the guards bring Ian into the visitation room and we clasp hands and slap each other on the back. The dude was thick before prison, but now he’s massive. Guess there’s not much to do other than workout. And apparently fuck around with Gabe…
“I’m as good as I can get in here,” Ian replies before taking a seat in one of the chairs at the empty table next to us. “After a stint in solitary, being back in the cellblock i
s almost as good as being home.”
“I heard about the, ah, ‘altercation’ with a certain politician,” I tell him. “That’s actually why I’m here.”
“Jesus fuck,” Ian groans as he slouches in his seat. “What do they have on you?”
“Evidence,” I reply, leaving out the fact that he’s blackmailing me about my past. “Not just evidence to implicate me, and all but two of the Kings. It’s serious, man.”
“So you caved, huh?” he asks.
“What choice did I fucking have? We’re all looking at life without parole.”
“Life?” he repeats with his eyebrow raised. “No shit? All of the Kings?”
“Life for everyone, well, except for Reece and Cooper,” I say again. “But they could take them down with RICO too.”
“Even Gabriel could, you know, get life?” he asks in concern. The two are obviously closer than everyone thought.
“Ah, yeah. He was there that night.”
“Fuck. Then I guess you have to do what you have to do; right, bro?”
“Yeah, I do,” I agree. “And I was hoping we could, ah, just keep this between us. Did you tell anyone about the governor’s visit yet?”
“Nope,” he mutters. “Only Gabe visits on the regular, and he couldn’t come while I was in the hole.”
I try not to let my reaction show that I’m well aware of exactly what takes place on those visits with Gabe that involves coming and holes. I think I can trust Ian without throwing that sort of personal shit in his face as blackmail. If or when him and Gabe are ready to tell us what’s going on, I’m sure they will. Until then, I’ll keep their secret.
“Okay, good,” I say in relief. “I’m gonna do what the asshole wants, and then we’ll all be free and clear, even you.”
“I don’t want jack shit from that prick,” Ian huffs.
“Aren’t you ready to get the hell out of here? It’s been too long, man.”
“And what exactly will I come home to? I barely have a penny to my name after spending everything I had on a worthless attorney.”
“You know you can stay at the clubhouse however long you need.”
“Where? In someone’s bathtub? All the rooms are taken.”
“No, most are empty now,” I inform him. “All the guys are shacking up with their old ladies. Hasn’t Gabe told you?”
Chuckling as his eyes dart away, he says, “You know how our boy is. I come in the room and the fucking waterworks turn on, so I end up talking about the shiv of the week and shit.”
Right. Guess they don’t have much time for talking when they’re doing other things together.
“Gabe’s a sensitive guy who looked up to you when you sponsored him. He hates seeing you in here,” I respond. “We all do.”
“Yeah, well, it’s on me. I fucked up getting caught with heat on me, now I have to do the time.”
“You’re getting out of here, and soon,” I assure him. I won’t let him and the other guys down; because if I fail, not only will Ian stay behind bars, we’ll all be joining him.
“Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah, I know,” I reply. “But it would be good to have you back at the table again.”
Before he can respond, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Pulling it out, I read the new text message.
“Shit. Speak of the devil…” I start.
“You gotta split?” Ian asks.
“I better get on the road and get down to Myrtle Beach to take care of business.”
“Do what you need to do, but watch your ass,” he says. “You can’t trust this prick. One favor will lead to another; and before you know it, he’ll own your ass.”
“That’s never gonna happen,” I assure him, even though I honestly have no idea how to ensure the governor won’t keep holding this shit over my head in the future and asking for more favors if I succeed.
The biker bar on the strip is the last place I expected to find the governor’s daughter. Tonight, it’s so packed that I have to park my bike in the Huddle House parking lot and walk over. I can hear the hoots and hollers of drunken men over the music from across the street. One good thing I notice when I step inside the packed room is that at least I don’t have to worry about standing out. The majority of the patrons are also wearing denim or leather cuts with MC patches. Hell, some of the guys playing pool are even local Savage Kings. I steer clear of them, though, and head to the bar to start searching for the woman in the picture the governor sent me along with the address. A girl on stage angrily belts out Joan Jett and the Blackhearts “I Hate Myself for Loving You” much to the rowdy crowd’s delight.
“What can I get you?” the giant, bald bartender comes over and asks.
“Bottle of Miller Lite,” I answer. Then, before he turns away, I pull out my phone and ask, “Have you seen this woman in here tonight?” His dark eyes narrow to look closer at the photo on the screen. His head tilts to the side and then he grins. “Why, yes, I have.”
“Is she still here?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So where can I find her?” I ask, getting annoyed with his runaround.
“On stage,” he replies. “Although she looks a little different with the blue hair. An improvement, if you ask me.”
“On stage?” I repeat as I swivel around on my bar stool to face the front of the room, the center of every man’s attention. And now I see why.
Fuck me. The angry little singer is sexy as hell. She’s a petite, five foot nothing even in her four-inch black heels with long, wavy, turquoise hair that falls nearly to her narrow waist. In fact, her hair probably covers more skin than the black leather zipper dress she’s wearing. Her eyes are heavy with smoky makeup, and her lips are thick and sensual as she belts out the well-known rock ‘n roll lyrics.
That’s the governor’s daughter?
If her hair was brown and you remove all the makeup, then yeah, I think I can see the resemblance of the young woman in the photo to the singer.
No longer the sweet girl saving children, now she could easily pass for a pin-up girl from Easy Riders’ magazine. No fucking wonder Washington wants someone to tame her. If the press got their hands on a pic of her like this, singing on stage, he’d probably have a stroke.
As a man, I can definitely appreciate her sexy show; but for some unknown reason, there’s a small part of me that would love to throw a long trench coat over her body to cover up her cleavage and mouth-watering thigh gap from the lecherous eyes of all the men currently gawking at her.
“Here you go,” the bartender says from behind me. “That’ll be three bucks, man.”
It takes me several long moments to pull my eyes from the singer’s sensual dance moves to finally fish the money from my wallet to pay up.
Grabbing my beer, I swivel back around to face the stage. The crowd noise dies down when the rock goddess speaks to them with her fingers wrapped erotically around the mic. Grinning, she says, “We’re gonna slow things down for you wild boys. This next song is dedicated to the sad, hungover women who’ll wake up beside your ugly asses tomorrow.”
Deep rumbling laughter fills the air as one of the guys on stage brings over a stool and places it in front of the microphone stand. The siren climbs up on it daintily and crosses her legs; then someone hands her an acoustic guitar that she begins to strum.
She sings the first few words so softly into the mic that I don’t have a fucking clue what the song is. All I know is that the hairs on my arms are standing straight up because she has the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard. Her notes rise gradually as the drums come in, and then she closes her eyes and croons the familiar chorus of “Angel of the Morning.”
When those smoky eyes of hers eventually reopen, I swear they land right on me even though I’m at least twenty-feet from the stage in a crowded sea of people. I’m certain I must be mistaken, that she’s just looking in my general direction. But her piercing gaze locks with mine until the very last note, paral
yzing me and making my heart skip a few beats.
There haven’t been many moments in my life that have stayed with me in excruciating detail – the first time I rode a bike and a Harley without dropping it, when I walked across the stage to accept my high school diploma, the night I was given my Savage Kings’ patch, and the phone call I had with April’s parents when they told me she was gone. But without a doubt, tonight there will be another unforgettable memory seared into my brain – the first time I saw and heard an angel sing.
Chapter Four
Isobel
“Thank you so much for having me tonight! Rock on, Myrtle Beach!” I tell the crowd after my set; then walk off stage ready to grab a cold drink and cool off. Maybe I’ll even get to talk to the blond biker sitting at the bar, the one I could feel staring at me through the entire last song. Plenty of men look at me with desire in their eyes while I’m on stage, but this guy was…different. It felt like he could actually see me, who I am underneath the costume and makeup. I wasn’t just a random singer to him. The stricken look on his face said I was someone he recognized even though we’ve never met before. I would’ve definitely remembered him if we had.
“You were fucking amazing, Izzie,” Tim, the drummer, says when he follows me off stage, his blue t-shirt drenched in sweat.
“I appreciate you guys letting me sing with you. It was fun,” I tell him while crouching down to put my guitar back into the case. Now I’m only three states away from my goal of singing on stage in all fifty.
“Just fun?” he says when I stand back up and face him. “Why the hell don’t you do this for a living? I bet record labels would be lining up to sign you if they heard you sing.”
“Eh, I’m not interested in any deals or tours,” I assure him. “There’s too much I want to see and do in the world. I don’t want anyone holding me back, especially not some label telling me how to live every second of my life.”
