Meeting Danger (Danger #1)

by Allyson Simonian

  “Brian’s got an interest in computers. Could he be assigned to something in technology?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” The warden made a note and then stood up, extending his hand first to Camden and then Eli.

  As Camden and his boss exited the prison, Eli shot him an expectant look.

  “Well?”

  “Phillips told me to go see Beck Ruiz for a job.”

  “Excellent.” Eli chuckled. “You should rest up for a couple of days first, though. Doing hard time can’t be easy.”

  As they walked to Eli’s car, Camden stared at the hills that surrounded the prison. He should be elated—the boss obviously was.

  But instead, a sense of unease filled him. These last three weeks in prison should have been the difficult part of the assignment, but something told him the second part would be the real challenge.

  CHAPTER 10

  MARCH

  Scranton, Pennsylvania

  “I’m looking for work,” Camden said as he walked into the Wrench three days later. “Colton Phillips— I mean, Slider suggested I try here. Are you Ruiz?”

  A burly man with dark hair and eyes nodded from behind the counter. He looked to be in his late thirties, and had an air of authority about him.

  The man frowned as he pulled a dirty rag from a pocket of his coveralls to wipe his hands. “Rafael Ruiz, but my friends call me Beck. How do you know Slider?”

  Camden gave him a sheepish grin. “Met him inside Edgewater.”

  Ruiz’s jaw tightened. “You’re on parole then.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Cameron. Cameron Shea.”

  “What kind of bikes have you worked with?”

  “Harleys mostly. I’ve rebuilt a Knucklehead.”

  The man gave Camden a once-over. “You can show me out back, I guess. I’ve got a CVO that needs an oil change.”

  Outside, Ruiz handed Camden a toolbox and pointed out a bike sitting on a patch of grass. Camden walked over and crouched beside it.

  “What were you inside for?”

  Camden took a wrench out of the box. “Drugs.” He looked up at Ruiz. “But I’m clean now.”

  Ruiz snorted. “Sure, you are.”

  As Camden worked, Ruiz asked him questions, casual on the surface, but all poking into his background. When Camden stood up and stepped back twenty minutes later, Ruiz eyed the bike, seeming pleased with what he had done.

  “You’re looking to be part of the club or to just work here?”

  “You taking new members?” Camden asked.

  The other man shrugged. “Given your background, we might consider it. I can give you both applications, if you want.”

  They went back inside where Ruiz handed over a stack of papers.

  “Fill these out and bring ’em back. If everything checks out, you can start working here next week. We’ll see about club membership after that.”

  Camden thanked the man before walking out of the shop. When he reached his motel room, a dingy room with threadbare furnishings he could rent by the week, he shuffled through the pages he’d been given. The application for employment was five pages long but the application for membership in the Wicked Disciples was twice that. The detailed pages asked for everything from credit scores to marital history.

  He was sitting on the bed, shaking his head in amazement at the irony of an MC going all corporate as his cell phone rang.

  “What are you doing?” Grayson asked.

  “I’m about to fill out the Wicked Disciples’ membership application. Man, you should see this thing. What we had to fill out for the task force wasn’t anywhere near as long.”

  Grayson chuckled. “You got a Social Security number you can use?”

  “Yeah.”

  Camden had been e-mailed one by their admin at Phoenix, Joanne. All he needed was to accidentally put his own down. He was as good as dead if he made a mistake like that. And he’d need to come up with a cover for the rest of the information the pages requested too.

  “I’m glad you took this assignment,” Grayson said.

  Camden set the papers onto the rickety nightstand. “Me too. You’d be in trouble here. You can’t fix a bike for shit.”

  Grayson laughed. “True, but that’s not what I mean.”

  “Things have been all right so far.”

  “And they’re going to stay that way. You’ll see.”

  As he listened to his friend, Camden kicked off his motorcycle boots and settled his feet on the bed before leaning back against the headboard.

  The one good thing about this assignment was that it was keeping him busy. The guilt over Caleb’s death hadn’t weighed as heavily this past month, and the feeling of dread from the other day had also subsided. It had probably just been the jitters that came with starting a new assignment.

  CHAPTER 11

  Scranton, Pennsylvania

  On a Friday evening, Camden stood locking the front door of the Wrench. He’d been working at the bike shop for two weeks now. Conditional membership in the Wicked Disciples had also been granted this past week.

  He’d spent nearly all his free time with the brothers. Typically, the men passed their evenings by playing cards and drinking beer inside their clubhouse. Tonight, though, they were meeting up at a bar.

  Camden pulled out his phone as he walked toward his bike, whose license plate had been replaced by one provided by the task force to support his cover, and dialed Eli.

  “I might be late checking in tonight. The brothers are meeting downtown.”

  “Got anything new?” Eli asked.

  Camden sighed. “Unfortunately no. Still no sign of the heroin production.”

  “Think they’re farming out the work?”

  “Well, I can tell you it’s not being done here. These guys are way too relaxed.”

  “What about other chapters?”

  “If it’s being done through another chapter, my guess would be Cobb’s over in Newburgh. His name comes up a lot around here.”

  As he got onto his bike, Camden gazed at the storefront. He’d had all of three customers in the last week. One hadn’t even had anything fixed; he’d simply bought a pair of riding gloves. The club’s income definitely wasn’t coming from this shop.

  Camden said good-bye to his boss and started up his bike. When he walked into Mixers after grabbing a quick bite to eat, there was a biker sitting at the bar, a big guy with long, curly black hair tied back with a strip of leather.

  Thinking it was Romeo, a brother he hadn’t yet met, Camden walked over. But as he drew closer, he saw it wasn’t a Disciples emblem but the Helmsmen logo sewn onto the man’s leather cut.

  The man looked up and narrowed his eyes. “Yeah?”

  “Thought you were a Disciple.”

  Scowling, the man said curtly, “Well, I’m not.”

  Camden held up a hand in apology. “Sorry.” He moved to a free table across the room and sat down.

  Beck Ruiz walked inside a few minutes later, accompanied by two club members, Blade and Grizzly. Blade had a slight build and was probably in his midtwenties. He had a habit of stroking the goatee he’d grown in when his girlfriend dumped him a few months ago. Camden thought the goatee was pretty scraggly, but he kept his opinion to himself. Grizzly was a huge bear of a guy, his frizzy hair smoothed back into a short ponytail.

  Camden caught Beck’s eye and waved the group over to join him.

  After the foursome ordered shots, Camden gestured to the Helmsman. “See that guy?”

  Grizzly squinted in the dimness toward the bar. “Joe Mann? They call him Aramis.”

  When Camden frowned at him in confusion, he said, “You know, the three musketeers. Don’t you watch any old movies, man? Read a book once in a while?”

  Camden shook his head and chuckled. “I thought he was a Disciple.”

  Beck snorted. “Hardly. He’s a Helmsman.”

  “Is there bad blood between the clubs?”
Camden asked. “He looked pretty pissed when I took him for a Disciple.”

  “Yeah, there is. Ever since they started a gambling operation like the one we used to run,” Beck said.

  Camden schooled his features and played dumb. “We had a gambling operation?”

  “A poker club.”

  “And they do too?”

  “No. They got a sports betting business.”

  “Why’d we stop the gambling? Because of them?”

  “Hell no.” Beck looked offended. “They had nothing to do with why we stopped it.”

  “So, why’d you shut it down?” Camden leaned forward, hoping this was it, the moment Beck would finally reveal something about the drug operation.

  But his boss only shrugged. “Wasn’t profitable.”

  Camden laughed as he sat back in his seat. “And the motorcycle shop is? Come on, man, we’ve barely had a customer all week. I have no idea how you’re even paying me.”

  Grizzly pounded back a shot and set his glass down, pinning Camden with a warning look. “Don’t worry about it. The club’s doin’ fine. Just keep your head down and do your part.”

  Before Camden was able to ask another question, the conversation turned to the most recent Sixers game. Resisting a sigh, he looked toward the bar. Mann kept glancing at the door, clearly waiting for someone.

  As Blade walked away to use the bathroom, frustration simmered inside Camden. As a provisional member, he wasn’t an insider. Without that patch, he couldn’t attend the club’s meetings, discuss club business, or do anything without looking suspicious. And for the foreseeable future, it would remain that way. It could easily be a year before he earned that patch.

  “Aw, shit,” Grizzly said.

  “What’s wrong?” Camden followed Grizzly’s line of sight to a woman who’d just entered, short and curvy with wavy black hair and dark eyes. She was cute and looked young, almost too young to come into the bar.

  “That’s Blade’s ex.”

  Grizzly sighed as the young woman walked toward Mann at the bar. “Blade isn’t going to be happy about this. Believe me.”

  And Grizzly was right. When Blade came out of the bathroom, he stopped short once he spotted his ex-girlfriend talking to Mann. He stiffened and his face reddened before he stalked toward the bar.

  “Let’s go,” Beck said as he jumped from his chair. He and Camden reached the bar just after Blade did.

  “What the hell?” Blade was saying to his ex. “You’re with him now?”

  Mann got off the bar stool and crossed his massive forearms over his chest. “That’s right.”

  Grizzly laid a hand on Blade’s shoulder. “Let’s go, man.”

  Blade shook him off. “What the fuck is this, Gina?”

  The girl’s eyes widened as she shrank away from Blade, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to come up with an answer.

  Mann grabbed hold of Gina’s arm and yanked her behind him before he took a threatening step toward Blade. He glared at Blade, obviously daring him to try him.

  The bartender ran over. “Take it outside!” he shouted as he reached under the bar top.

  Camden wasn’t sure if the bartender was reaching for a baseball bat or a shotgun, but either way, he didn’t want to find out. “Let’s go, man,” he said to Blade, who still didn’t move.

  Beck took a step closer to the confrontation. “Bro, we don’t need this. Let’s go.”

  At Beck’s no-nonsense tone, Blade finally turned around, his face a bright shade of red.

  “Let’s go back to the clubhouse,” Beck said, giving him a firm look that brooked no argument.

  A muscle in Blade’s jaw twitched before he gave his prez a curt nod. Turning back to the Helmsman, he spat on the floor. “Don’t think this is over, because it ain’t.” He pointed a finger at the woman. “You’re a fuckin’ whore.”

  Mann’s face reddened as he clenched his fists, making him a mirror image of Blade.

  Blade’s chest heaved as Camden held up a hand. “We’re going.”

  Beck grabbed hold of Blade’s arm and tugged him toward the door as Camden and Grizzly followed, keeping a wary eye on their rear as they headed quickly for the exit.

  A short, wiry man with his gray hair scraped back into a ponytail walked in from the parking lot. “What’s going on?” he asked Beck.

  When Beck explained, the old man gazed at the bar. “Last straw?”

  “Yeah,” Blade said. “Enough of the disrespect.”

  As the men walked outside, the newcomer glanced at Camden. “You the prospect?”

  “Cameron Shea.”

  “I’m Romeo.”

  Camden nodded and walked alongside Romeo as the men headed for their bikes. It was obvious that the bad blood between the clubs ran deep. But what did Blade have planned?

  • • •

  Hours later, Camden sat at the clubhouse bar by himself, staring at the closed door of the club’s meeting room. Once they’d arrived here, the brothers had called an emergency meeting. Meetings, or church as the club called it, normally took place on Wednesday nights and lasted an hour. This meeting had already been going on for two hours.

  Did the members intend to kill Mann just for dating Blade’s ex? Camden sighed. At this point, he wouldn’t put anything past them.

  The door opened, and Camden stood as Grizzly walked out. “Church done?”

  “Nope.”

  Camden gazed at the half-open door. “Long meeting.”

  “Yeah.” Opening the fridge behind the bar, Grizzly grabbed a beer.

  “Decide anything?”

  Grizzly eyed him as he cracked open the can. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

  “It’s still a ways before I get that patch, isn’t it?”

  Grizzly took a sip. “Anxious, are we?”

  “Somewhat.”

  “Keep your head down. Do as we say. You’ll have that patch in no time.”

  Grizzly walked back into the meeting room, shutting the door as Camden shook his head. If he heard the words keep your head down one more time, he’d probably go crazy.

  He checked his watch before pulling his phone from his pocket and heading outside to the parking lot. Standing next to his bike, he placed a call.

  “Hey,” Camden said once Eli answered.

  “You all right?”

  A creaking sound caught his attention, and Camden turned to see Romeo step out the front door.

  “Fine,” Camden said into the phone. “How about you? Feeling any better?”

  Eli paused for a moment. “Still at the club then?”

  “I am. Can I bring you anything when I leave?”

  “I’ll speak with you tomorrow, Camden.”

  “All right, babe.” Camden ended the call and slipped his phone back into his pocket.

  “Girlfriend?” Romeo’s voice came out of the darkness. He took a drag on a cigarette, and the tip glowed orange.

  “Yeah, and she’s not feeling so great,” Camden said. “Is the meeting over?”

  Romeo stepped closer and shrugged. “Just about.”

  “Was it about Mann?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Romeo took a final drag from his smoke and crushed the butt under his boot heel.

  Camden eased out a breath of frustration as he followed Romeo back inside. By then, the brothers were pouring out of the meeting room, talking loudly.

  “Let’s play cards,” Romeo said.

  Blade reached behind the bar and had just set the poker chips onto a round table when the front door opened and a woman stepped inside. Jewel was one of several groupies who hung around the members, a hard woman with auburn hair that fell to her waist and a sleeve of tattoos down her right arm. Camden guessed she was probably only thirty but looked more like forty, especially in the harsh light of day.

  Jewel raised a brow when she spotted Camden and walked over. “We haven’t gotten to spend any time together.”

  When she trailed a finger down his chest,
Camden took a step back. “Hey. I’ve got a girlfriend.”

  She grinned. “So does Beck, but that never seems to stop him.” She gave Camden a smirk before moving across the room to sidle up against Beck.

  Camden took in a breath as he watched. Forget background checks; it was blood tests the club should be concerned with.

  He moved to the poker table, took a seat, and looked around at the brothers. Why was it that no one ever brought up drugs around here? The men seemed content with just drinking beer, playing cards, and taking whatever the groupies had to offer.

  “I need something harder than liquor,” he said. “We got anything?”

  Grizzly looked up. “What’d you have in mind?”

  “Weed? But I’m up for anything.”

  “What were you in the pen for?”

  Camden took three twenties out of his wallet and exchanged them for chips. “Meth.”

  Grizzly shook his head and frowned at his cards. “Be grateful prison sobered you up. You don’t need to get back into that shit.”

  Camden looked at the faces surrounding him. No one was objecting to Grizzly’s words. Strange, considering how this club was supposedly funded.

  • • •

  By the time Camden got home that night, it was nearly morning. He shut the door of the tiny apartment he’d rented and gazed up at the ceiling. The people who lived above him were shouting at each other again.

  As he tossed his jacket onto the couch, he shook his head. What a dump this place was. The dim light on the ceiling illuminated dingy walls and a dent in the bedroom door. The door had frame damage too. At some point, it had been kicked in.

  He lifted his foot onto one of the rickety kitchen chairs and lifted his pants leg to remove his Glock 23 from his ankle holster. Being a “felon,” he shouldn’t be able to get a concealed-carry permit, and although his new brothers weren’t exactly law-abiding types, Camden had decided it was safer to keep his weapon under wraps.

  When he walked into the kitchen to get a drink of water, he found a mouse running in circles on the floor. Camden took a step forward and it scurried under the refrigerator. Could this place be more disgusting?

  Then again, it was all relative. Compared to his jail cell, it was a palace. And what’s more, it was a realistic place for him to be living, given the measly salary the Disciples paid him. Once he received his first paycheck, he’d rented this place and gone to a secondhand shop. There he’d purchased the table and chairs, a couch, a battered TV, and a queen-sized bed. They were well-used but dirt cheap; otherwise, he never would have been able to afford them without using task force money or his own personal funds.