by Nicole Reed
Setting up a member of his MC, even one that he hated, didn’t sit right with Hold. Add into the mix that the bastard still could be his blood father. That nixed killing him, and being labeled a snitch wouldn’t ever get him freely elected as the next president of the club. There was only one solution that saved the Hell’s Highwaymen MC and even if it got him arrested along with Ward, it was the right choice.
“Privet!” The greeting was yelled in a Russian male voice.
“Hello!” Ward replied.
Ward climbed off his bike and everyone followed. Hold watched as he strolled over to Lev Boyarov, the heir apparent to the Russian mafia, who was followed by his father, Dmitry Boyarov. The older man was one mean son of a bitch and looked it. Lev, however, usually handled all of his dad’s business, so it was a surprise to see the father standing here.
“Hello, my old friend,” Dmitry said in a thick Russian accent, greeting Ward.
Lev walked over to Hold. Unlike his father, he was tall and blond and the bastard never hurt for chicks. He’d once told Hold that his mother was American and that he’d spent his first fifteen years in New York until his father claimed him. His English was perfect, but he’d pour on the Russian when it suited him.
“How’s it hangin’, Hold?” Lev asked, smiling at him. Both men greeted each other with a handclasp and pat on the back.
“Livin’, brother,” Hold replied. His nerves almost were getting the best of him—he couldn’t even fake a smile.
Behind them, several Bratva members unloaded the large crates onto the wharf. Hold was thankful that he’d perfected his poker face over the years because his heart was racing faster than the Kentucky Derby winner and he was sweating bullets. If Dmitry thought for a second that Hold betrayed them, he’d gun them all down and ask questions later.
The shrill of a siren broke the silence, the first indication that they’d been busted. Men in blue uniforms scrambled from their strategic hiding places along the dock, screaming for the bikers to freeze and put their hands up. Others arrived by speedboat and unmarked SUV’s. A helicopter even flew overhead, alerting them to its presence.
“Motherfucker!” Ward shouted, glancing around at the cops swarming them.
“Holy shit,” Badger calmly uttered beside Hold.
Hold motioned toward Shady and the other members to stand down. His biggest fear had been that if this scenario came to pass, some idiot would draw his gun. He glanced around with his hands held high over his head to see that thankfully everyone was caught off-guard by the surprise raid. Dmitry and Lev stood calmly in the middle of the Hell’s Highwaymen members. Ward glanced around, helpless in the organized chaos.
Even though his future possibly held jail time, it was a relief to know that it was almost over. The officers surrounded them with guns trained on each one.
“GET ON THE GROUND AND PLACE YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR BACK!”
The click of the handcuffs was an audible sound. They were searched lying prostrate on the rough asphalt. Hold hated having anyone’s hands roaming over him in this manner—it took iron will to keep from fighting his way out of the situation because it was a gut reaction to try to escape. He’d told his guys this morning to leave their guns, knowing most would be in violation of probation if they carried firearms. Not once did any of them question Hold.
A barrage of blue jackets that read ATF in large yellow lettering lifted the top off of the first crate. The boys and girls from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms were about to be an unhappy group. Hold glanced up to see Lev grinning at him and Dmitry sent him a slight nod as they both lay alongside each other on the ground.
“What the fuck?” A man in blue shouted.
“What is it?” Several agents turned to ask.
“It’s vodka and goddamn gummy bears.”
Several of the Russian crew that the feds had face down on the ground started to laugh. Badger caught Hold’s eye with a quick smile and shook his head. Hold turned to watch them go through all the wooden boxes, revealing the same items as the first. No contraband was found, even when they ripped open several packs of the gummy candy and tasted the liquor.
An agent walked over and carefully helped Dmitry and Lev off the ground. Hold was pretty sure he heard the man quietly apologizing in Russian as the three conversed off to the side. Hold’s eyes were immediately drawn to Ward’s and he didn’t miss the questioning gaze that Ward gave him. Hold didn’t flinch but stared back, daring the man to think what he would.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my old friends, the Hell’s Highwaymen MC.”
Hold glanced up, instantly recognizing the voice. Luke Carrity stood over them in his blue ATF jacket, glaring with unadulterated menace at Ward.
“My wife sends her regards,” Luke said. Nodding toward the other agents next to him, he ordered, “Get ‘em up and off the ground.”
Hold’s stomach clenched at Luke’s words. The feds gripped their secured hands behind their backs and pulled them up. Hold watched Luke continue to stare at Ward with a cruel intensity—he obviously hated Ward but Luke would have to get in line.
“Where are the guns?” Luke asked, turning his head toward Hold.
“What guns?” Hold asked, shrugging his shoulders.
Luke let out a disgusted sigh. “You want to tell me why the Russian mafia is delivering vodka and gummy bears in large crates to you guys?
“I don’t know any Russian mafia. Those are our friends, Dmitry and Lev,” Hold said, smiling innocently at the asshole. “We’re gearing up for a huge celebration and our good buddies were only dropping off supplies.” It was a ridiculous explanation, but one the feds couldn’t deny, with no evidence supporting their theories.
“Supplies, huh?” Luke asked, moving in closer to Hold’s ear. “Where are the motherfucking guns?”
Hold didn’t back away an inch, speaking low to Luke. “I don’t know anything about guns. But we’re good.”
Luke pulled away just enough so that Hold could read his surprised expression, followed by narrowed eyes.
“You’re sure?” he asked, looking eagerly at Hold.
“Positive,” Hold said, both men referring not to the guns, but to Hels and the hit being canceled.
The morning sun chose that moment to rise and shine down on the wharf, its bright rays cutting across the fog and highlighting the confused scene surrounding them.
“Hey, Agent Carrity,” one of the local cops said, walking over to him. “We’ve got an outstanding warrant for Mr. Dawson. Since y’all don’t seem to have anything, you okay if we take ‘em?”
Hold was pissed. A warrant? On him? It would fuck up all his plans to be arrested and have Ward return home without him.
Luke slowly smiled. “Fine by me. Have at him,” he said, standing back to offer Hold to the cop.
The police officer didn’t apprehend Hold, but bypassed him to walk directly toward Ward.
“What the hell?” Ward asked, tugging on the cuffs.
“Seems you have an outstanding warrant for your arrest, Mr. Dawson.”
Ward was read his rights before they hauled him away in the back of a cop cruiser. Hold was floored. That definitely wasn’t part of the plan, only an added bonus. In the long run, he’d done what was right for him and he would handle Ward, man to man, when the time came. Ward would no doubt be out of jail by the end of the day.
“I guess I can’t get everything I want,” Luke said, arms crossed, standing beside Hold.
Hold shifted to glance at the other man. “So she’s your wife?” he asked, surprised to find that the certain answer didn’t hurt as much as it might have a year ago. It still pained him to know he’d hurt her, and she left hating him.
“Yes, and I will protect her at any cost. Uncuff ‘em,” Luke said.
It took only seconds to have the handcuffs removed and Hold immediately tried to rub the soreness from his wrists. Luke started to walk off, but turned after a few steps.
“Live your life,
Hold, and she’ll live hers,” Luke stated before strolling off.
The truth was all there in Luke’s words. If only Ward could’ve lived his life and let her go, how different things would’ve been. Hold wouldn’t make that same mistake. He had someone waiting at home for him who truly understood this life and wanted him. It made his heart race thinking about Shyla.
“I owe you a shitload of thanks,” Lev said, walking over to him with an outstretched hand, his father following closely behind him.
Hold shook it and smiled. “Hope you find those leaks. We good on what I asked you?”
Lev turned toward his father who stood stoically to the side. “It is cancelled,” Dmitry said. “I will do business with only you in the future. For now, though, we will let sleeping dogs lie.” He turned and walked toward a black sedan.
“Mikey wanted me to talk to you, Hold,” Lev said, pulling him away from the group.
“I guess he got to you in time to set all this up. Was it hard for Dmitry to believe him?” he asked, leaning in to speak low.
“No. A couple of phone calls verified everything. My father is thankful for your information.”
“It seemed like the best move at the time. So what’s happening with Mike?”
“He doesn’t want to return home quite yet. I like the big bastard and he’s got a mean right hook. I’m returning to Russia for a while and he wants to come fight for me,” Lev said, grinning at Hold.
“Fight for you?” Hold asked, his jaw dropping to the ground.
“Yes. My father runs the biggest underground and organized fighting matches in all of Eastern Europe and Asia,” Lev said, taking out a short cigar and lighting the tip.
“You’re tellin’ me that Mikey is going to become what? Some prized Russian boxer? Like from Rocky or some shit?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief.
“If he’s lucky. Or he’ll just get the shit beat out of him a couple of times and come back home with his tail between his legs. Could go either way,” Lev said, slapping Hold’s arm. “See ya, Hold.”
“Wait. So where is he? I’d like to say goodbye,” Hold said, watching Lev turn around. He didn’t want Mikey to go. There was so much he wanted to say. Plus, Mike was supposed be his second-in-command as they always planned when it was their chance to run the Hell’s Highwaymen MC.
Lev gave a low chuckle. “He’s already halfway across the world to begin training. Sorry, droog.”
“What does that mean?” Hold asked, shouting at the other man’s back as he started to get into the car.
“It means friend,” Lev called out over his shoulder before getting in and driving away.
Hold hadn’t meant the word Lev used—he wanted to know exactly where Mikey was and how he could get in touch with him. He took out his phone to see a text from the asshole. Mike had sent it hours ago.
I just need some time. I think you did the right thing today, but everything else isn’t going to be so smooth. I don’t want to hate you, brother, because the truth is, I’m only hating myself. I’ll be back. One day. Hopefully soon. So don’t call me. I’ll call you. And take care of her, damn it, or I’ll kick your ass
He knew Mikey meant Shyla. It made Hold incredibly sad to know he’d hurt his friend so much that the only recourse was for him to leave. Maybe it was for the best. How would Mike have felt watching Hold and Shyla grow closer every day? Because that is what Hold wanted to ultimately happen. He could only wish him Godspeed to hurry safely home.
“You done looking like your favorite dog just got kicked?” Badger asked, clasping his shoulder from behind.
Hold turned to glance at him. “Mike’s gone.”
“For good?” Badger yelled, in concern.
“No, just for now,” Hold answered, shaking his head.
“You two shitheads cook all this up on your own?”
“We had a little help.”
“You did good,” Badger said, patting him on the back. “You did real good. Let’s go home.”
Hold nodded and turned to follow his friend. Nothing or no one would ever be able to replace who and what Mikey meant to him. He regretted fighting with him this last year, but he couldn’t ever regret Shyla. Now he had to return to Harmony and take control of the Hell’s Highwaymen Motorcycle Club. The day was far from over yet.
Robsen stayed behind to bail Ward out of jail. The charges were some bullshit about outstanding tickets. In a small town like this he’d be out within the hour. The others argued that it was better to get the hell out of Dodge as soon as they loaded up, but there was an ulterior motive: the other bikers, who included Hold and Badger, raced back to finish what they started today.
Hold had called his mother last night to enlist her help. Sage had struggled at first with the bonds of being an old lady versus being a mother. He didn’t try to sugarcoat how bad things had become because she knew the score. It wasn’t a secret—they’d all chosen to ignore what no one wanted to hear or see regarding Ward. Hold had asked her to round up all the members and have them waiting at the clubhouse for their return.
They arrived back in Harmony in record time. There was no doubt Ward would be close behind them. The outside of the garage and clubhouse resembled a parking lot with motorcycles, cars, and members’ trucks. It took only minutes to join their bikes with the others.
“You think everyone’s on board?” Hold asked, striding beside Badger toward the entrance.
“There can’t be any lenience for those who aren’t,” Badger replied, hefting his jeans up.
“Here goes nothin’,” Hold said, opening the door.
The entire room was wall-to-wall men. At first there was a long silence when they barged in, but suddenly, applause broke out and everyone cheered or whistled their approval. Hold could finally take a deep breath. He hadn’t been sure what the welcome home would be, but obviously everyone was happy with today’s outcome. He’d had Shady call earlier to spread the word.
Hold waved his hands downward for everyone to quiet. “Change is never easy but we’ve lost too many of our own recently to continue down the path the Hell’s Highwaymen had previously chosen. I’m asking you all now to follow me.”
Another round of clapping began. He glanced over at Badger who nodded his head toward him.
“Ward’s time has come to an end. I can’t tell you exactly what the club will or will not be involved with at this point, but I refuse to put any members in a dangerous situation that they don’t choose.”
“All for patching Hold up to prez say aye!” Badger yelled across the room.
“Aye!” yelled the entire room.
“Works for me,” Badger said, turnin’ to look at Hold.
Ward swaggered through the front door, clapping his hands together slowly in applause. Every step that brought him closer to Hold showed the rage he didn’t care to hide.
“Well done, son,” Ward said, his beady black eyes focused directly on Hold. “I guess it’s out with the old and in with the new.”
“It’s time, Ward. You had your shot,” Hold answered, crossing his arms before him. “Now it’s my turn.”
The man who’d once defined his existence stood angrily before him. He nodded his head while staring at Hold.
“And I’m just supposed to walk away?” Ward asked, opening his arms wide to indicate everything around him. “Give it all up?”
“You don’t have to,” Hold answered, nodding his head. “You’re still part of the club.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll kill ya.”
Ward chuckled and shook his head. “You must be my son.”
“Whether I am or not doesn’t matter to me. You can still be part of this club, revered for being the founder,” he said without an ounce of sympathy, “or you can be a distant memory. Your choice.”
His father took a hard glance around the room. Hold wondered if the old man saw what he did, that he’d lost the trust of the members standing around them. It probably wasn’t recently either. The
war was lost when Ward wasn’t even looking.
“I guess I don’t have a choice,” Ward said, shrugging off his cut. He tore the president patch off and handed it over to Hold. “Let’s see what you got, son.”
Hold gripped the Hell’s Highwaymen Motorcycle Club President patch tightly in his hand. It’s all he ever wanted, but holding the patch, he realized it was only a piece of cloth. Being the club’s president was what was inside of him.
One look in Ward’s eyes told him that their beef wasn’t over, but that was okay. Hold had his brothers and his girl. Everything else could get in line.
“How much longer?” Hold asked, trying not to grimace and show Shyla how much pain he actually was in.
“Aw, poor baby. Does it hurt?” Shyla asked, smirking as she leaned over his chest with her tattoo machine.
She must have eased off the pedal because the mellow humming sound stopped. Hold watched a strand of hair drift over her eye and he couldn’t resist reaching up to tuck it behind her ear. In turn, she shyly smiled downward, carefully avoiding his gaze as her cheeks reddened. This last month with her had been the best thirty days of his life. Shyla understood him like no other and supported him beyond imaginable measure. Without complete chaos in their lives, their relationship was thriving.
Hold glanced down to see where Shyla tattooed the word brotherhood above his left peck. It meant more than ever now—a symbol for the brothers he’d lost and the ones he still lived for, even when they were halfway across the globe in God knows where.
“Do you like it?” she asked, using a paper towel to blot away the blood that seeped from the fresh black ink.
“Yeah,” he answered, his thoughts weighing heavily on where the hell Mike was and what the bastard was doing since he hadn’t called.
