by SE Chardou
These were the deals Dizzy made, including one with the White Knights MC. Cillian was in the middle of negotiating a truce between the Demon’s Bastards and the Saints. Soon, all three clubs could work together and be stronger for it as opposed to weaker. If they didn’t have to worry about other one percenter clubs, that was a huge weight off their backs, and peace of mind was worth more than all the money in the world.
The Kitaev Bratva had their backs, as did the Abandonato Mafia family and Raymond Jackson, the Original American gangster.
They had senators, congressmen and even the FBI in their back pocket. The club was untouchable and no new RICO cases would ever be filed against the club as long as they did what they needed to do.
No one ever said the underworld was fair and lesser, smaller enemies were easy pickings. Feed info to the government, arrests were made and the war on crime marched on.
Pity the biggest criminals still were allowed to operate with impunity but that was the way of the world. No one said anything about re-inventing the wheel and they could have a clean conscience knowing they’d rid the world of a few scumbags.
The police were happy, the Correctional Facilities were happy and more than that, the people in the community were content. As long as the crime never showed up on their doorstep, they were more than happy to turn the other way and pretend to hear nothing, see nothing and speak of nothing illegal as long as it didn’t affect their picture perfect lives.
His phone began to vibrate on the bedroom drawer and he silently cursed himself. In his semi-drunken haze to possess Mira, he’d left his phone out. He could explain two phones but three might be a little tougher to justify.
Pyro grabbed the iPhone 6 and answered quietly, “What’s up?”
The silky yet authoritative voice on the other end replied, “I need to meet up with you. Take a shower and meet me at the Summerlin location of Mimi’s Café. I expect you in approximately forty-five minutes.”
She ended the call before he could get in another word.
Fuck.
If she was calling then shit just got serious as if he didn’t have enough to worry about.
He wasn’t afraid of what she would do to him but he did fear what she could do to his family because she had that kind of power.
Pyro ran his hands through Mira’s dark hair before he kissed her forehead and slowly scooted out of bed without waking her.
He took a quick shower before throwing on a pair of dark jeans and a flannel short-sleeved shirt. Although he should have worn his cut, he glanced back at it where it lay on top of his MacBook Pro on the desk. After putting on a pair of shitkickers, he quickly left his suite.
Estelle was up. She lay on the sofa in the sitting room, cuddled in Chemist’s arms. They both looked up and the smiles disappeared from their eyes as they caught sight of him.
“What’s the matter, bro?”
“The Queen Bitch called. I have to meet her for an early rendezvous,” he replied in a snarky tone.
“Shit. Call us when you finish speaking to her.” Estelle bit her lip. “This is about—”
“I don’t know, honey. I’ll let you both know what happens when I get back. If Mira gets up while I’m gone just tell her I had to deal with some club business, all right?”
His sister looked at Chemist before her brown eyes met his and nodded. “Be careful, big bro. That bitch is a viper.”
“And then some,” he muttered under his breath as he walked out to the garage, hopped on his Harley and took off.
The last thing he needed to hear about was being late for a meeting.
“Well, well, well. I’m shocked you showed up on time.”
Pyro stared back at the gorgeous woman across from him. No one could deny her beauty even if she was of indeterminate age, possessed olive skin, hazel-green eyes and a severe bob she’d recently added reddish blonde highlights, which made her even more striking. She was slim enough for a woman of her age though all her clothes fit her like they were designed for her slender form.
No one would ever mistake the person in charge at the table they occupied. Just by the way Pyro slumped his shoulders as he drank strong black coffee while she sat pin-straight, adding half and half to hers.
“What’s going on?” Pyro questioned in a lowered tone of voice.
Eve Kerrigan, one of the senior FBI agents who worked exclusively on the West Coast, now had her own branch. Domestic Terrorism. It had a more than adequate budget with the recent growth in white supremacist, survivalist and Muslim cells hiding out in the States.
The woman could have sent one of her cronies to meet with him but she preferred to wield her power. It wasn’t like there weren’t at least four FBI agents in the restaurant hiding in plain sight. They looked like all the other patrons, enjoying breakfast with laughter and clandestine conversations but their military mannerisms gave them away immediately to Pyro.
“How is everything going on with you and the prodigal daughter of Nel Decker?” She set her spoon down delicately and sipped from her coffee. “I never agreed with this hackneyed scheme for her to try to assassinate Fernando. What the hell happens if she succeeds? She would spend the rest of her life in prison—”
“Please, Eve . . . promise me that won’t happen. Fernando knows about her now. I’m sure he has beefed up his security. She couldn’t be a real threat to him, if she ever truly was. I know it was stupid the way we brought her into the picture—”
“Not stupid, Maarten. Not very well thought out and one of the most moronic premises I could think of to use.”
Pyro opened his mouth to respond when the waitress walked over to take their orders.
Eve ordered some sort of egg white omelet with spinach, mushrooms, turkey sausage and a side of fresh fruit. Since it was her treat, he ordered both a plate of their famous croissant French toast and a loaded omelet with a muffin and hash browns on the side.
She waited until the waitress was out of earshot before she said, “Listen, I don’t care how well protected Fernando is, she’s a woman. Furthermore, she’s not the sanest of people we’ve ever used. I have no doubt she will attempt to assassinate one of the Bureau’s most precious assets.”
“Yes, of course because scum like Fernando are so precious, God forbid they have one hair on their head fucked up,” Pyro replied in a sarcastic voice.
Eve smiled but there was absolutely no mirth in her expression, and her eyes shone cold and with little emotion. “Listen, he’s not only providing us with information about the cartels but he’s also exposed a little side operation some of your ‘buddies’ from your squad. What was your little unit known as? The ‘Thrill Kill Team?’ Do you think your little country bumpkin would be so pleased to be with you if she knew of the atrocities you and your squad committed in Afghanistan? And for what? Poppy fields so you could import heroin into the country when you came back on leave?”
“That was not my idea. Sergeant Benson ran with the idea of using the locals to harvest the heroin—”
“Yeah, that’s a great excuse for a grunt, but it just doesn’t add up . . . Corporal. You were directly under Benson. Forgive your country and its bureaucrats if we expect more out of graduates from the United States Naval Academy.”
Pyro flexed his jaw before he swallowed a large gulp of coffee. “Mira doesn’t know anything about that.”
“How much does she know? Does she know you only did a couple of tours—one in Afghanistan and one in Iraq—after you graduated from the Academy before you were transferred to Military Intelligence? Does she know I’m the only person standing between you and a dishonorable discharge? She better not know you’re one of my agents. Hell, you’re lucky I took you in and was able to get you a long-term assignment in the Saints MC.”
“She doesn’t know anything except my made up biography. Two years in Afghanistan and two years as a mercenary. She thinks I’ve been in the Saints for the last three years.”
“As opposed to the last year and a half? Than
k God the Vegas charter was in such shambles I was able to get you a council position. Well, that, and all the Originals are located in Glendale or Birch Tree. Dizzy wouldn’t have ever accepted you in his charter.”
“Listen, what’s this meeting really about?” Pyro finally sighed in defeat.
The waitress suddenly interrupted them and delivered their plates of food before walking off with the efficiency of a busy waitress in a crowded restaurant on New Year’s Day.
“Well, you’re supposed to turn her. The Bureau, ATF and US Marshals—we all get our orders from the Attorney General. She wants to bring down a major one percent club. A legend. We’re actively using the Demon’s Bastards and the Lucifer’s Saints belongs to the Feds hook, line, and sinker. We pretty much have complete control over Aztecas Infierno. So that leaves one club that is weak enough to fold,” she explained in a clinical voice.
“What part of she’s the bastard, illegitimate child of Nel Decker don’t you understand?” Pyro shoved a forkful of omelet in his mouth before he continued, chewing his food on one side of his mouth. “He didn’t give a damn about her and she’s not really missed now that she’s gone.”
Eve smiled coolly. “That’s your dick talking, Maarten. Ms. Decker has plenty on the club. She’s still quite close to her half-brother, Jake, and her cousin, Marian. Pull them in if you have to. I’ve studied Jake and he’s intelligent, business oriented. He could be a very good asset to the Saints. Marian too. Neither have a strong like or loyalty to their family—in fact, both seem almost ashamed to be associated with the White Knights MC. I doubt either would shed a tear if the club was raided and disintegrated by the U.S. government.”
“Marian loves her father though—”
“Brad and Nel Decker are both sick pedophiles who murdered an entire family, and kept a young girl as a sex slave for twelve years. Need I remind you that young woman is your blood relative and your cousin? You’re going to take the side of some good ole poontang over your own family? I thought better of you, Maarten.”
He looked down at his plate of food. “I know Mags suffered.”
“Do you?” This time there was zero sympathy in those cold, hazel-green eyes. “Here. Why don’t you take a look at your cousin’s personnel file? She describes in detail what was done to her. She remembers everything—from the moment they murdered her mother in front of her to the twelve years she spent in captivity with those sick maniacs. Read it. Then come back to me with your ‘woe is me’ attitude for Mira Decker. She got off easy compared to your poor cousin. The fact that she can fully function as an adult is a great achievement considering what she went through. I have no sympathy for the Decker clan.”
“What does that mean, Eve?”
“Turn the ones you can and everyone else gets a nice little trip to Guantanamo Bay. They are domestic terrorists after all. Why shouldn’t they be water boarded? Because they don’t possess dusky skin and quote the ‘good word’ of Allah? Nope, I’m afraid I would be happy to send them there. All prisoners who will not be taken in by a foreign entity with be executed anyway, and I highly doubt any of America’s allies would want to take those losers. You’re doing the world a favor. Don’t act like such a martyr, Maarten, because you’re far from being one.”
He brushed a hand through his hair and at that moment, if he could have gotten away with punching the shit out of Eve, he would’ve done it.
“Listen, because I know what that look on your face means. You hate me at this moment and think I am the cruelest person on earth.” She pouted at him. “Do I rank up there with Saddam Hussein, Pol Pot, Josef Stalin, and Adolf Hitler? How am I evil for wanting to protect my country from this kind of filth that wants nothing more than anarchy? Do you think if we let your little bird go back home she won’t be murdered? Nel would do it in a heartbeat, and we both know that. There is no redemption for scum like them.”
Eve threw her napkin on her plate and stood. “I know you think I’m the most cold and calculating person you’ve come in contact with but you haven’t been an agent long enough. This job will leave you jaded and beyond any hope or redemption for this pitiful excuse we call the human race. When you get to be my age, I hope you can understand why I’m so cynical and I try to grab every small victory I can . . . even if it is a drop in the ocean of bullshit I wade through everyday.”
“That’s not true about me not understanding you and your attitude, Eve.” Pyro threw forty dollars on the table before he followed her outside the restaurant. “I just think sometimes you’re a little too hard on the people who could become the good guys, and help us win these battles—no matter how small.”
A black Chevy Tahoe pulled up in front of the restaurant. The windows were all limo tinted so it was impossible to see inside the government vehicle. “Perhaps I am but when you’ve lost as much as I have in the name of this . . . ‘job,’ you stop taking everything at face value.”
She stepped into the passenger side of the vehicle. “Don’t contact me until you have something solid on this witness. I’m giving you one month, and then we let her go. I’ll ruin her reputation and drop a little anonymous note to her father she was trying to sell him out to save her own ass—”
“You can’t do that!” Pyro exclaimed as he grabbed the door before Eve could close it. “That would mean a death sentence for her.”
“So, the truth finally emerges. You have feelings for the little country bumpkin after all. In that case, you better start making a move to bring her to your side real quick before I spill all to her daddy dearest, is that clear? There are certain parameters and time restraints we work on, Maarten. We don’t have infinite time—not when the government is more worried about Muslim cells than they are crazy survivalist white supremacists.”
“Why? They have proven to be just as dangerous as the Muslim terrorists or has anyone forgotten Waco, Ruby Ridge or Oklahoma City?”
Eve’s hazel-green eyes stared vacantly at him. “No, the government hasn’t forgotten about those incidents but tell the victims of 9/11 and the Boston Marathon their pain is somehow less poignant than the three incidents you pointed out. Not only did we get attacked in a major way but those events also changed everything about public safety, and how we have decided to handle terrorists. The same can’t be said about the first three incidents you mentioned. It’s a new world order, Maarten, and we have to go after the bigger threats now.”
“Then give me more than a month to convince her everything is gonna be all right,” he pleaded. “You said it yourself—you wanna take down the White Knights MC but in the end, they aren’t a major priority. I need to get her to trust me and that isn’t gonna happen in four measly weeks. Surely you can understand where I’m comin’ from?”
“I do but that’s all you have. I don’t make the rules—I merely follow them. You’ve obviously fucked her. Use the greatest weapon you have to comply her docility when the time comes. She’s no doubt falling head over heels. I don’t see why we’re discussing this at all.”
“Fine.”
Eve looked from his hand to him and back again. “Let go of my door, Maarten. I have places to be and you’re not the only agent I have to meet with today. Do your job, and keep your eye on the prize. Distance yourself from the feelings you have for her versus what needs to be done in order to assure your own survival. You’ll be just fine. I have all the faith in the world you’ll come out on top.”
Pyro let go of her door before she slammed it behind him before the SUV peeled out of the parking lot driving much faster than the designated speed limit.
He walked over to his Harley and climbed on. As he picked up his helmet, he felt like bashing the damn thing over and over again, if only to let go some of the pent up stress he felt.
When he first joined the FBI, he had no choice. It was either he became an agent or face a Court-martial, prison time, and being dishonorably discharged. He couldn’t do that to his father, who’d served proudly as a Marine during Desert Storm or his grandfathe
r, who’d served in the Vietnam War.
The Reynolds’ family had their share of disappointments; his uncle Riggs being the biggest one. The fact that he’d shamed the family by joining a biker gang and fighting against the norms of society was enough to break his grandparents’ hearts forever. He was only too glad they weren’t alive to see him now.
True, the Lucifer’s Saints were a one percent MC, and did more than their fair share of illegal activities. However, their parent chapter President worked directly with British Secret Intelligence Service and had been an agent with the organization long before he’d become a biker. Over the years, he’d also successfully infiltrated the IRA, ran from the agency, snuck into the United States and formed an MC.
Unfortunately, the SIS wasn’t finished with him, and it was quite easy for them to track his location, especially after he began an affair with an FBI agent. Eve Kerrigan had saved his life when SIS was ready to eliminate him as an agent, and a human being. He’d never forgotten what she did for him, nor had he ever fallen out of love with her.
The subject was touchy with all members of the Cox family, especially when their illegitimate child, Trey Lennon, would take over as Vice President of the parent club once Dizzy retired and Cillian took over as Club President.
The decision wasn’t completely nepotistic; none of the Original Founding Members had any wish to take over the parent charter. They’d rather leave it for their children to run so they could spend their golden years in peace, and doing the occasional paper pushing for the SIS.
None of the other charter Presidents had an issue with Cillian taking over despite him being younger than more than ninety-nine percent of them. He’d always taken care of the charters and they knew under his leadership, the club would only grow stronger. It would never be the Hell’s Angels but the Lucifer’s Saints had no wish to compete with the biggest one percent club in the world. They were more than comfortable with the position they held and being big fish in a smaller pond was all right with them.
