Devil's Disciples MC Series- The Complete Boxed Set

by Scott Hildreth

  He set the lockpick on the table and looked right at me.

  My stomach knotted. I felt like I was going to vomit.

  “Police work is far different than most jobs. Assembling cars, for instance,” he said. “Part X attaches to part Y, and then spring B is stretched into place, followed by bearing C. Then, when that subpart is complete, the assembler starts again with part X. His job is to assemble this particular widget, and that’s it. He knows going in on Monday what his assignment will be, and he knows how he’s going to tackle it. Police work is like improv acting. It’s a lot of guesswork, a sprinkle of skill, and a dash of being in the right place at the right time.”

  Reggie’s father was unique in many respects, one of which was that didn’t have to speak to make his thoughts clear. His eyes did it for him. When we first met, I could see uncertainty in them. When Reggie and I expressed our love for one another, his pride and joy were evident.

  I peered into his piercing gray eyes. There was no disgust, hatred or regret. Not that I could see. Only disappointment looked back at me.

  He shifted his attention to a passing car in the street. “Oftentimes, police officers are left to make decisions that will affect the lives of others based on a hunch or a gut feeling they have.” He met my gaze and held it. “I’ve never been one of those guys. Before I make a decision, I want all the facts. Without them, I can’t proceed and feel right about it. Once I have all the facts, I’m never wrong about the decision I make.”

  He leaned forward and locked eyes with me. “I want the gun that was used in that crime.” He cleared his throat. “Strike that request. I need it.” He slid from the booth and stood. “Meet me here tomorrow, at nine am. Bring the weapon.”

  He tossed a twenty-dollar-bill on the table and turned away.

  Pacing his office floor, Baker was angrier than I’d ever seen him. After a few laps the full length of the floor, he paused and glared at Cash. “You were supposed to have thrown that goddamned thing in the ocean at one point in time. Then, at another, you were to have tossed it in the incinerator at FFMC’s clubhouse. Now, we find out you’ve been using it all along. What in the fuck were you thinking?”

  “It was my lucky gun,” Cash murmured.

  “Lucky?” Baker cackled a sinister laugh. “Lucky? Not so fucking lucky now, is it?”

  It was worth mentioning that the one thing that drew the police to us wasn’t the firearm, but the tattoo on Baker’s hand. I wasn’t about to mention it, though.

  “Get the gun, and bring it here,” Baker insisted. “Tito’s got to take it to Marcie’s Diner at nine am.”

  Cash spat his reply at Baker’s feet. “Fuck. That.”

  Baker sauntered to his desk, opened the drawer, and slapped a pistol onto the wooden surface with a clank! “Go get it, or I’ll put a bullet in your head where you stand.”

  Cash weighed his options. He spread his feet shoulder width apart and crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you threatening me, Bake?”

  “No,” Baker replied. “I’m making the rest of this club a promise. You either go get the pistol right now, or I’ll drop you where you stand. You lied to the club on multiple occasions, all of which put everyone in this room in jeopardy. I’m tired of your lies. I’m sick of your bullshit. I’m done sticking up for you every time someone has a beef with you. You’re no longer an asset. You’re a fucking liability, Cash.”

  Cash glanced around the room and then met Baker’s angry gaze. “Guess it’s time to go.”

  “Yes,” Baker said. “It sure as fuck is.”

  Cash left without another word.

  “What’s this cop going to do with the gun?” Reno asked.

  I sighed. “I have no idea.”

  “Fucker’s going to hang us with it,” he replied.

  “He could already hang us,” I insisted. “He’s got a picture of Baker’s tattoos, knowledge of the existence of the LLC, and knows where your C-4 came from. He has Ally’s lockpick, is aware of her being the getaway driver, and named her father by his nickname, ‘Fingers’. I’m not sure what he’s got planned, but—”

  “He’s going to fuck us,” Goose said. “He’s using you to get what he needs to strengthen his case. Once it’s solid, we’re done for.”

  “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Baker shouted. “Fucking red SUV. We never should have taken it. Should have left at 3:17. Should have listened to Tito when he said enough was enough. I deserve whatever I get.”

  “Fuck that,” Goose said. “In the grand scheme of things, those cops were collateral damage.”

  Baker gave Goose a crazy-eyed look. “Collateral damage?”

  “Goddamned right,” Goose said. “Most of what we do is good. In our eyes, it’s for all the right reasons. Their dying is no different than a man dying while at war. A small sacrifice to achieve the end result.”

  Baker’s crazy look continued. “The end result being what?”

  “Big picture?” Goose asked. “Ridding this city of scum like our old neighbor, Preston. That piece of shit poisoned half the city with the smack he sold. What about the head of the cartel? Fucking cops couldn’t have got to that piece of shit without us. What about that drug dealer up north? When I ran by the guard gate, naked? That no good son-of-a-bitch was killing school kids. The end result is that we’ve swept up a few problems in this area, and those dead cops are a sacrifice that was made during the means in which we finance our labor.”

  “I’ll think about that a while,” Baker said.

  An hour passed, and then another. We discussed opinions regarding the investigation, whether we should run to another country or not, or if obtaining alternate identities was out of the question.

  Another hour passed.

  All efforts to contact Cash went unanswered.

  Through all the fog, fear, and frustration, two things were clear.

  Cash was gone.

  And.

  We. Were. Fucked.

  245

  Reggie

  Every muscle in my body tensed at the sight of my father walking into the store. In all my years working there he had not visited me, once.

  Worry shot through me like a sickness. My overactive mind began assembling the worst-case scenarios, all of which included a motorcycle or car wreck involving Tito. Fearing the news, but needing to know what happened, I met him just inside the entrance.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “Is Tito okay?”

  “I was in the neighborhood investigating some gang activity at the gas station down the block.” He spread his arms wide. “Thought I’d stop by.”

  I hugged him. “Nothing’s wrong?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “You just stopped by?”

  “I was within a few feet of this place,” he said with a smile. “So, I thought I would. If that’s okay.”

  “Absolutely.” Relieved, I waved my hand in a circle. “Well, this is it.”

  “Looks like it’s right up your alley,” he said. “You’ve always been one to naturally know fashion.”

  Since I was old enough to dress myself, I was concerned with what I wore. I grinned at his remark. “Thank you.”

  He glanced around the store, slowly taking everything in. His curiosity had nothing to do with the store or its inventory, the cop blood in him wouldn’t let him continue with the conversation until he was aware of his surroundings. After a complete survey of the store and the stores across the hall, he continued.

  “How’s Tito?” he asked.

  “He’s good.”

  Standing between two racks of women’s jean shorts, he lifted a pair and looked at them. He shook his head at the sight of the low-waisted micro-shorts. “These things are microscopic.”

  “They’re popular again,” I said. “Everyone’s wearing them.”

  “They don’t cover up what ought to be left to the imagination,” he complained. “They should be against the law.”

  “You arrest the criminals, and I’ll take care
of anyone breaking the laws of fashion.”

  He hung the shorts on the rack. After glancing at his hands, he wiped them on the thighs of his slacks. “Do you think you and Tito will get married one of these days?”

  I gave him a sideways look. “Where did that come from?”

  “I’m just curious.”

  “You’re the second person to ask that question today,” I replied. “Mel was here this morning, and she asked it. Now, you.”

  “Sounds like there’s a lot of people that care about you.”

  I disagreed. Not that there weren’t people who cared about me. I believed the curiosity was driven by the magic that exuded from Tito and me when we were together. It was undeniable.

  “Tito and I are undeniably in love,” I said. “I think people see that when we’re together.”

  It was obvious the answer I gave wasn’t what he was hoping for. His eyes narrowed in opposition. “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “I’ll tell you what I told her,” I replied. “I hope that one day he asks me.”

  “That would make you happy?”

  “Of course it would.”

  “How do you know you love him? That it’s not just some, I don’t know, puppy love or whatever?”

  My mother’s choice to leave my father came unannounced and without warning. Frustrated with his devotion to work after his promotion to detective, she simply left one day and never came back. The divorce that followed didn’t include bickering and fighting over custody or belongings. She washed her hands of him, me, and everything that reminded her of us.

  Being blindsided by her lack of love for what he believed to be a perfect family left him jaded. It seemed he questioned anyone’s devotion to a relationship afterward. I can’t say that I blamed him, either.

  “Puppy love? Really?” I laughed. “What’s with all the questions?”

  “You two declared your love for one another the other day. I’m trying to make sure the man who’s potentially after my daughter’s hand in marriage has got her best interest at heart.”

  “Here’s how I know he loves me.” I raised my index finger. “How I feel when he kisses me. I can’t even begin to explain it. It’s magic.” I extended my second finger. “He puts me first. Always. Doesn’t matter what it is, it’s always me first.” I extended my finger of authority. “When he holds me in his arms, I feel like nothing else matters, because nothing else does.” I raised my ring finger. “When we make love—yes, daddy, we have sex in the bed you bought me—he’s not selfish. Once again, it’s always about me.” I lifted my pinkie finger. “He makes sure he does everything in his power to protect me. It doesn’t matter if it’s keeping information from me regarding his friends in the club or putting himself between me and a crowd. He’s always protecting me.” I extended my thumb. “Lastly, he tells me he loves me. And, I believe him.”

  “So, he is in a club?” he asked.

  Out of everything that I said, he focused on the one thing that went against the grain of his beliefs. I shrugged innocently. “That slipped out.”

  “Does it bother you that he is?”

  “Not at all. It’s not what you think,” I explained. “It’s just him and a bunch of his friends from school. Well, his friends from school and one ex-military guy they met. They’re just friends. He’s talking about getting out of it, anyway.”

  He seemed surprised. “Oh really?”

  “Yeah. He mentioned it a few times.”

  “Why? Did he say what brought it on?”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re such a cop.”

  He stepped back and gave me a look. “I was asking because I wanted to know if it was recent—after your declaration of love—or if it was before. If it’s a sacrifice he’s making because he feels he needs to—”

  “He mentioned it the night we met,” I said snidely. “And, a few times since.”

  He looked away. “Night you met, huh?”

  “Yeah. I asked if he was in one. I thought you’d be mad if he was. Ends up, I really didn’t care if you were mad or not.”

  He faced me and laughed. “I love you, Reg.”

  “Love you, too.”

  He gestured toward Raymond, who was hiding amongst a sale rack of spring clothes. “I’m guessing that kid with the makeup all over his face is Raymond?”

  I rolled my eyes. “The one and only.”

  “Who’s he hiding from?”

  I glanced in that direction. As if he thought we couldn’t see him, Raymond was wadded up into a tiny ball, peering in our direction from between two tangerine-colored shirts. His green skinny jeans and sneakers were well out-of-place, extending from the bottom of the shirts down to the floor. His entire upper body was completely obstructed by the rack of clothes, except for the one eye that peered in our direction.

  I laughed at the sight. “I’m guessing he’s hiding from you.”

  He covered his mouth with his hand to hide his laughter. “Why?”

  “Because you’re big, intimidating, and a cop.”

  “Well,” he said. “He’s got nothing to worry about.”

  “Can’t say that for the rest of this city,” I said with a laugh.

  “Making this city a better place one criminal at a time.” He spread his arms wide. “Give me a hug, I’ve got work to do.”

  I hugged him. “See you Sunday.”

  “Damn,” he said. “That crept up on us. Day after tomorrow, huh?”

  “Sure is.”

  He seemed to be ashamed. “I may have to work.”

  “Big case?” I asked.

  “The biggest.”

  He’d been chasing the same ghosts for as long as I could remember. I couldn’t recall the amount of Sunday dinners that I’d forfeited as a result of him working on that ridiculous case.

  Frustrated, I shook my head. “You’re never going to catch those guys.”

  “Never say never,” he said.

  246

  Tito

  In the past twenty-four hours, I’d all but lost my mind, completely. My time with Reggie—which could have easily been my last—was spent in state of blind confusion. Plagued with blank stares, racing thoughts, and the fear of incarceration, our night together was disastrous.

  Cash and his gun were long gone. My chances of meeting with Reggie’s father and walking away had diminished to nothing. Filled with regret for not having stepped away from the club when I had the first notion, I sat in the diner waiting on my fate.

  While I choked down my second cup of coffee, he walked into the diner, stone-faced. My field of vision narrowed to nothing, leaving me looking through a pinhole at the man I thought would one day be my father-in-law.

  He sat down across from me. “I was up all night assembling the pieces of what I hope to be an airtight case.” He raised his index finger and nodded toward the waitress. “How was your night?”

  There was no way I was going to make it the next few minutes without getting physically ill. In an attempt to disguise the fact that I might either shit myself or vomit at any instant, I raised my coffee cup to obstruct my face.

  “Sleepless,” I murmured. “My night was sleepless.”

  The waitress handed Ted a cup of coffee. After thanking her, he took a few sips. “Understandable.” His brows raised. “Where’s my murder weapon?”

  “I don’t have it.”

  The lack of expression he wore morphed to frustration. “You don’t have it?”

  “I do not.”

  “Well, we’re going to have a problem,” he said. “A very serious problem. I’ve made arrangements, all of which include the delivery of—”

  Midway through his sentence, our personal space was invaded by a large shadowy figure. Numb to my surroundings, I stared blankly at my coffee cup. Ted glanced to his left, and then quickly stood.

  “Brock “Cash” Flannigan,” Ted said. “I didn’t know you were invited.”

  My eyes darted toward the shadow. Dressed in a pair of slacks, la
ce-up leather shoes, and a button-down dress shirt, Cash stood at my side.

  “I wasn’t,” Cash said. He tossed an envelope on the table, in front of Ted. “That’s for you.”

  Ted gestured to my side of the table, and then took his seat. He reached for the envelope. “The Legal Offices of Wicks, Payne, and Perth,” he said, reading the return address printed on the envelope. “This must be important.”

  Cash took a seat at my side.

  Ted opened the envelope and removed a folded sheet of paper. He read it silently. After folding it and placing it on center of the table, he looked up. “Impressive.” He glanced at Cash. “It’s also bullshit.”

  “Take it, or leave it,” Cash said.

  Ted returned a cold glare. “Where’s the weapon?”

  Cash glared back. “In my truck.”

  “Is your truck locked?” Ted asked.

  Cash removed his keys from his pocket and tossed them on the table. “It’s in the glovebox. Silver key will unlock the glovebox. The little brass key will unlock the case it’s in. Glovebox lock’s hard to get open. Gotta jiggle it.”

  Ted picked up the keys, studied Cash for a moment, and then walked outside.

  “What the fuck’s going on?” I whispered.

  He snatched the coffee cup from my hand and took a sip. “Taking care of business.”

  “What business?” I asked. “Where in the fuck have you been, and why are you dressed like that?”

  He finished the coffee and slid the cup to the side. “I’ve been where I’ve been, and I wore this so I didn’t look like a thug during the press release. It was Kimberly’s idea.”

  Granted, I hadn’t slept in the past twenty-four hours, but I was completely lost. “What press release?”