Calling the Biker's Bluff (Dogs of Fire MC: Savannah Chapter Book 7)

by Piper Davenport

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  I nodded. “Yep. I’m sure.”

  “Okay, honey. Love you.”

  “Love you, too,” I said, and hung up, handing the phone back to Shadow. “Overreact much?”

  “You sick?”

  “No.”

  “You just puked your guts out in the john,” Shadow countered.

  I sighed. “I’m not sick, Shadow. I’m pregnant.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.” I smiled. “Can you keep that a secret for the moment?”

  “I’m a vault,” he promised, and I nodded.

  “Thanks.”

  For the rest of the day, Shadow watched some boring baseball game from my cuddle chair while I fell asleep on my sofa.

  Otter

  “YOU’RE GONNA DO what?” I asked.

  “Shoot them both in the face,” Taxi said, as if he were talking about painting a fence.

  “With that?” Beau asked, pointing to the shotgun in his hands.

  “Well, I wasn’t planning on pointing my finger at them and saying ‘pew, pew.’”

  “It’s just…isn’t that a little…”

  “A little, what?” Taxi asked.

  “Jesus, man. Don’t you find it the least bit disrespectful to go Elmer Fudd on a dead guy’s face?” I asked.

  “You’d prefer we wait until wabbit season?” he asked.

  I said nothing but gave him a look.

  “Look,” Taxi said. “Atticus was specific. No proof of delivery via photos. He wants to see the bodies, himself, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Although we managed, by some miracle, to find two donor bodies that match Jordy and Tuck’s builds, these guys don’t exactly resemble them in the facial department, do they?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s not enough that we dressed them in Jordy and Tuck’s gear.”

  “We? You barely helped,” Beau snapped.

  “Either way, clothes aren’t going to be enough, and since neither of you is a plastic surgeon and I’m not a make-up artist, the tactical shot gun shall be today’s tool.”

  “These were living people only a few days ago,” I exclaimed. “You’re okay with blowing their fucking faces off?”

  “That’s right, Otter. These were living men. Good men. Men, who before they died, donated their tissue to the FBI Body Farm.”

  “Tissue?”

  “We’re not looking at people. This is dead tissue. The men that once rented these meat suits are gone and they’re not coming back.”

  “Even if they’re as dead as doornails, it still seems wrong. They okayed their bodies to go to the Body Farm once they died. They probably pictured some college student picking through their bones after they died of old age, not their young corpses getting plugged with buckshot.”

  “Is there really a difference? These two signed up to be donors because they wanted to be of service to the FBI. They wanted to help solve and prevent crimes, just like I do. In being of service this way, by helping us lock up Daphne and her crew, these two are gonna prevent countless crimes. Even murders. If we can convincingly sell these two as Jordy and Tuck, these guys will end up being heroes. And just because I know it’s the right thing to do, doesn’t mean I’m okay with it. What the fuck kind of psychopath would I be if shooting a cadaver in the face was my idea of a good time? I’m simply prepared to do a hard thing for the greater good. Just like these men once did.”

  Well, fuck me. Taxi was a pretty fucking persuasive guy. And, as much as I hated to admit it, he also seemed like his heart was in the right place.

  “Besides, this may not be the worst thing I’m gonna have to do during this job.”

  “Alright,” I said. “But I still think it’s fucked up.”

  “Not as fucked up as what Daphne will do with us if we can’t pull this off,” Taxi said, eying my cut intensely.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Did you happen to sew all those patches on yourself?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I replied.

  “By hand?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good, because my stitchwork is shit,” he replied.

  “What?”

  “Tuck was stabbed in the leg, remember?” Taxi pointed to one of the bodies. “We have to stab that guy in the same spot, then stitch up and bandage the wound.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “In case they examine the body,” Taxi replied.

  “Jesus. You really think they’re gonna look that hard?” Beau asked.

  “I hope so, at least the first time.”

  “I’ve gotta be honest. This plan seems crazy at best,” Beau said.

  “I’ve heard that once or twice,” Taxi said.

  “Then why the risk? Why are you going through all this trouble? If you know all about Daphne and her ties to the Dixie Mafia, why not just arrest her and the whole crew?”

  “There’s a little more to all of this than I’ve told you. A lot more actually. Most of it I can’t talk about, but the bottom line is the Dogs didn’t tip me off about the Beast. The FBI has been onto them for a long time.”

  “What?” I asked. “I though the whole reason the club was cooperating with you was, so you’d help us with the Beast.”

  “That’s sort of true, in that, we’re helping each other to fight a common enemy, but the Dogs’ involvement with my new task force was my idea long before the Beast came after you.”

  “So, when you recruited Rabbit, you already knew about the Beast and the Dixie Mafia?” Beau asked.

  “Yes,” Taxi replied.

  “So much for being straight with each other,” I snapped.

  “What can I say, Otter? To effectively fight your enemy, you sometimes must operate like them. The Beast lives deep underground, so that’s where I’ve gotta live right now.”

  I raised an eyebrow, but before I could comment, he raised a hand, cutting me off.

  “Look, you have to understand that what I’m trying to do involves deep cover work. I need the cooperation of as many bikers from around the country as possible,” Taxi said.

  “I still don’t get what your deal with bikers is,” I said.

  “It’s two-sided,” Taxi said. “MCs are notoriously loyal and secretive. They are also inextricably tied to the criminal underworld at every level, in every state.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but Taxi cut me off.

  “Before you remind me that your club are not one-percenters, and have relatively clean records, let me remind you of the dozens of scum bags you’ve had run-ins with over the past decade alone.”

  I closed my mouth.

  “For some reason, the Beast is getting bolder. Stepping out from the shadows more often. In fact, until the Dogs started poking around, we’d never gotten this close to Daphne. Now that she’s surfaced, I need to grab her before she goes back underground.”

  “Okay, but if this is all so cloak and dagger, why the bit about wearing wires?” I asked.

  “Tipping off Daphne to police presence is part of the plan.”

  “I know, I’m just still a little confused as to why,” I said.

  “Because Artrope is accompanied by a security team at all times. One or two guys I can handle, but with our limited numbers, we need to even the odds as much as possible. I’m hoping a decoy will draw Artrope’s security team away from the house long enough for me and my guy to gain entrance and take Daphne and Artrope into custody. Just stick to the plan and everything will work out,” he said. “You guys have two jobs. Convince Daphne you’ve completed the hit on Jordy and Tuck, therefore proving your loyalty.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll play our parts,” I said. “You’d just better be ready if shit goes sideways for us in there.”

  “I’m always ready,” Taxi said, pulling out a four-inch tactical knife and unfolding it before plunging into fake Tuck’s thigh.

  “Why the fuck are you so calm?” I demanded.

 
“’Cause you’re from Vegas, right?” Taxi said.

  “Born and raised,” I said. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “If you’re from Vegas, I’m betting you know how to bluff.”

  * * *

  It was just before nine p.m. when Beau and I pulled up to the gates of Fallbrook Manor, a former pea plantation, and current residence of Atticus Artrope. I’d texted Shadow to make sure Shiloh was safe and sound, and he’d texted back to let me know she was sacked out on the sofa. I told him I’d be late, then shut off my phone, trusting he’d relay the information to Shiloh.

  “Look, man,” Beau started. “Taxi and I are both sworn officers of the law.”

  “So?”

  “So, you aren’t. You don’t have to do this.”

  I cocked my head. “A little late for this talk, don’t you think? We’re at Artrope’s front gate with a van full of dead guys. Besides, it’s not exactly like this is a sanctioned operation for you either.”

  “Everything’s been moving so quickly,” Beau acknowledged. “I just want to make sure you understand your role in all of this is completely voluntary.”

  “Don’t worry, I promise I won’t sue the Savannah P.D. or the federal government if I get my dumb ass shot,” I said.

  “That’s not what I mean, Otter,” Beau said.

  “I hear you,” I said. “But I swore an oath to my club, and that was just as important to me as the one you swore. Doc has asked me to back you and Taxi up on this move against the Beast, so here I am. If my president tells me this is the best move for our club and community, I trust him.”

  “That’s a lot of faith to put in one man,” Beau said.

  “I’m not putting it into one man alone. I’m putting my faith in my club.”

  “Sounds like more than just loyalty to your club,” Beau said.

  “The Dogs aren’t just an MC,” I said. “They’re my family. Besides, right now I’m putting my faith in you and Taxi not to get my ass blown to Kingdom Come.”

  “In that case, let’s go help put these assholes in handcuffs so we can protect that family of yours.”

  “Sounds like a fuckin’ plan to me.”

  Beau rolled down the window and pushed the talk-back button on the call box.

  “Thank you, gentlemen, for being on time,” Buford Davis’s unmistakable drawl crackled through the speaker.

  The front gates opened, and we drove up the long driveway which led to a traditional horseshoe shaped driveway. Beau drove the van all the way to the end, parking nearest to the home’s front entrance.

  We got out of the van and were greeted by Atticus, Buford, and two armed guards, both dressed in all black and shouldering semi-automatic weapons.

  “What’s with all this?” Beau asked.

  “Just making sure there’s no… funny business going on here, tonight,” Atticus said with a smile.

  “We’re cool,” Beau said.

  Atticus looked at me. “Is that true, big boy? Are you, cool?”

  “Where’s Daphne?” I asked, ignoring his question.

  “She’s inside sampling from my extensive collection of cognacs,” Atticus said. “She’s asked me to bring you boys inside once we’re sure your boots are clean.”

  Just as Taxi had suspected, we weren’t getting an unguarded word from Atticus or anywhere near Daphne until we’d both been searched for a wire and that was my cue.

  I carefully unbuttoned my dress shirt and pulled it open to reveal the tiny microphone taped to my chest. Atticus’s bodyguards both leveled their guns at me, and I responded by calmly giving them the universal shush signal. I slowly and carefully pulled on the thin white microphone wire until it was disconnected and dangling in my outstretched hand. I silently motioned for Beau to do the same and we tossed the disconnected mics at Atticus’s feet.

  “You boys had better tell me what the hell is going on here,” Atticus said, while his guards grabbed me and Beau.

  “We don’t have much time, Mr. Artrope. The cops are nearby and waiting for our signal.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Davis growled.

  “Savannah PD suspects we’re working on something with you,” Beau said. “They pinched Otter and me last night and made us wear those wires. They threatened us with time in federal prison if we didn’t co-operate by recording all our conversations with you.”

  “And you believed that load of horse shit?” Davis asked.

  “Fuck no,” Beau said. “That’s why we told you about them. We’d never rat on anyone, especially not on you. The cops are just fishing. Looking for some meth distributor named Marmaduke.”

  “Marmaduke? I’m quite sure I don’t know anyone by that name,” Atticus said.

  “Look, I’m being straight with you. There’s an undercover car parked at the end of your drive, hidden behind a hedge. You can check for yourselves. We’re supposed to meet these dickhead sergeants, Spooner and McNally there after we leave here to drop off the recorders.”

  “Or maybe, you knew we’d search you, so you thought you’d try your luck with this bullshit story,” Buford Davis said.

  “I think the two, very deceased, gentlemen in the back of the van might help to persuade you otherwise,” I said.

  “The police know about this job?” Davis asked.

  “Of course not,” I snapped. “Those guys don’t know dick. It looks to me like they are just poking around because they know you’re in town. We told those jackasses to go fuck themselves, but if we didn’t agree to wear these recorders, they would have locked us up on the spot.”

  “Fortunately, Otter and I had already taken care of these two before the cops picked us up,” Beau said, and pulled back the blanket covering Tuck’s stand in.

  “Jesus Christ. What the hell did you boys do to them?” Davis said, taking a step back.

  “You said to send a message,” Beau said.

  “What the fuck kind of message does that unholy shit send?”

  “We made sure Mrs. Blain will have to bury her husband and son in closed caskets,” I said. “It seemed like the kind of touch your new boss would appreciate.”

  “How the fuck would she even recognize them?” Davis asked.

  “Or us, for that matter,” Atticus said, thoughtfully.

  “Wait a minute. That’s true,” Davis replied. “How do we know you two idiots even killed the right guys?”

  “May I bother one of you gentlemen for a knife?” Atticus asked his guards and one obliged. Atticus opened the blade and sliced through stunt Tuck’s pant leg, revealing the large bandage on his thigh. Atticus ripped off the bandage to reveal the knife wound and my debut suture work, which wasn’t too shabby, if I say so myself.

  “Looks like it’s them,” Atticus said, seemingly satisfied with the evidence.

  “Of course, it is,” Beau said. “Why the fuck would we go through the trouble of shooting two other guys?”

  “We did what you asked. Now, are we even? Can we get the hell out of here before the cops know we’ve tipped you off?” I asked.

  “Hold on, now. Not so fast. Daphne still wants to have a chat with you.” Atticus turned his attention to the armed guards. “You two go check to see if those cops are really down the lane and do it quietly. Text me the moment you see or hear anything.”

  “What about these two?” one of the guards asked, motioning to us.

  “Buford here has me covered,” Atticus replied. “Just go find out about the cops then get rid of those bodies.” He pointed towards the van.

  “Yes, sir,” the guard replied.

  “Come along, gentlemen. Best not to keep a lady waiting for too long.”

  Otter

  ATTICUS ARTROPE’S HOUSE was as impeccably adorned as the man himself. Every stick of furniture and art set in its picture-perfect place. Everything looked incredibly old and very expensive. The spoils of a new-world crime boss with old money taste. He led us through the entryway and up one side of a grand double stairc
ase, giving us a history lesson about every precious piece we passed.

  “Daphne’s in the study with a few of her… associates,” Atticus said, opening the door to reveal Daphne and her crew lounging in the cigar-smoke filled room. Sparkles and Rocco were playing chess. Their appearances, like the black and white squares on the board, in stark contrast to each other. Rocco was dressed in a dark suit, his jet-black hair slicked back. He looked every bit the part of a guy named Rocco. Likewise, Sparkles lived up to her moniker as well. She wore short shorts, a rainbow top, and her platinum blonde pigtails were tied up with bright pink bows. She looked more likely to be hanging out at Comic-Con than a place like this. There was a new woman there who I didn’t recognize, but Beau did.

  “Shit, Darci?”

  “Hey, Beau,” she said, turning a crazed smile onto me. “You must be Otter. No wonder Shy opened her legs to you. I wouldn’t mind a taste of that—”

  “Darci, hush,” Daphne ordered. “Have some class.”

  Daphne sat behind a large antique desk. A brandy snifter in hand, both feet on the desk, and a cigar in her mouth. Randy sat by the fireplace, his foot in a cast, and crutches by his side. He scrambled to get to his feet as soon as he saw me. His fists raised.

  “What? You want some more?” I asked, moving toward him.

  “Stop right there,” Daphne said. “Good Lord. Men are all the same. This is exactly why we had to take control of things down here.”

  I did my best to stow my personal feelings and froze in place.

  I turned to Atticus. “What is this? What the fuck is going on here?”

  Daphne answered. “Don’t be angry with Randy. It was me who told him to break into your little girlfriend’s place.”

  “Why the hell would you do that? Shiloh’s got nothing to do with any of this.”

  “No, but she’s got something to do with you and I wanted leverage,” Daphne replied taking a long puff on her stogie.

  “Leverage on me? Why?”

  “Atticus was confident that you and Beau would take out Jordy and his son out of fear and a desire to prove your loyalty to the organization. I agreed with him about Beau, but not you.”

  “What the fuck do you think you know about me?” I asked.