by Katie Ashley
Bishop didn’t laugh. He didn’t make a move to get off the bed, either. He continued staring at me like he hoped he could somehow will me into talking. He’d been giving me the same stare for the past few days while we’d been on the road. Whenever we’d stop for food or to gas up our bikes, I would find him staring at me, chewing his bottom lip like he wanted to say something. He had been desperate since three nights ago, when a personal tragedy within our club allowed him a tiny glimpse at my long-buried secret.
Breaking the silence between us, I asked, “What time is our meeting with the El Paso Raiders?”
“Seven.”
I glanced over my shoulder at the glowing digital clock on the nightstand. “That doesn’t give us much time to make it across the state. Better get crackin’ and hit the road. You want the shower first?”
“Nah, you can have it.” As I rose off the mattress, Bishop said, “I’ll go grab us a quick breakfast.”
“Thanks, brother.”
When I started across the threadbare carpet to the bathroom, Bishop’s words froze me. “Rev . . . you know it doesn’t matter to me what the fuck happened to you—it ain’t gonna change a damn thing about the way I feel about you. No matter what, you’re my big brother and my prez.”
Since I was both too emotionally conflicted and too stubborn to respond, I ignored him and pushed on into the bathroom. After locking the door behind me, I gazed at my reflection in the mirror. Two days of driving across Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana with minimal sleep had taken its physical toll. That, coupled with emotional stress, had left dark circles under my eyes. We’d packed up to leave so abruptly, I hadn’t bothered with a razor, so my beard was growing in. I looked like the hell that raged inside me.
Turning on the water full blast, I stepped into the shower. I placed my palms flat on the tile and stood with my head under the stream. Rolling my shoulders, I tried to ease my tense muscles.
Two days ago felt like two years and another world ago. It was hard to imagine just forty-eight hours ago I’d been dancing and drinking at my brother Deacon and sister-in-law Alexandra’s wedding. Then one phone call from the Raiders’ unofficial doctor, Bob “Breakneck” Edgeway, had changed everything.
Whenever I closed my eyes, one of two faces would haunt me. It was either the sinister visage of my rapist or the fresh-faced, innocent countenance of Breakneck’s daughter. It had been five years since I had seen Sarah at any of the Raiders events. She’d been an awkward thirteen-year-old girl in braces who had spent most of the BBQ fawning over Eric, the teenage son of our then-president, Case. Now she was a freshman at Texas A& M. From the picture Breakneck had texted me, I could see she’d grown into an auburn-haired beauty with an innocent smile.
The kind of girl that low-life traffickers were always jonesing for.
The criminal profiling of the scum who bought these women indicated they didn’t want fake-breasted, slutty types. They could pay for those any day on the streets or at the strip clubs. No, they seemed to want the unattainable female—the one who would never give them the time of day, unless she was forced. And sadly, Sarah fit that bill.
We didn’t have much to go on other than that it was the Highway Henchmen who took her and were making financial demands on Breakneck to get her back. Apparently, she had spilled the beans that her old man was a biker. Usually, girls kidnapped for trafficking never got a chance of being ransomed back to their families. Instead, they were sold to the highest bidder, into a life of sexual slavery. The thought that Sarah now faced that future turned my stomach and enraged me.
After scrubbing off yesterday’s grit and grime with the hotel’s cheap soap, I made fast work of rinsing. The moment I turned the water off, I heard my phone ringing in the bedroom. Throwing a towel around my waist, I hurried out of the bathroom to grab it. When I saw who was calling, I grimaced. “Yeah?”
“Where the hell are you?” Deacon demanded without even a hello.
“I’m touched that you thought to call me while you’re on your honeymoon.”
Deacon’s low growl came in my ear. “Don’t fucking change the subject, asshole.”
“I was just trying to be nice.”
“Yeah, you’re just being a prick is what you’re doing. Now I want a fucking straight answer.”
“Last time I checked, big brother, I wore the president’s patch.” I knew my words were the equivalent of poking a rattlesnake ready to strike. Regardless of whether I was the president of the Hells Raiders, I still owed Deacon an explanation.
“Fine, motherfucker, then answer me as your newly patched vice president, why my two brothers bailed on my reception to hit the road and are now in Texas.”
Defeated, I leaned back against the counter. I knew I couldn’t evade his questions anymore. “It’s complicated.”
“I’m listening.”
Slowly, I began unraveling the story of Sarah’s abduction, and how we were going to get her back from the Henchmen.
When I finished, Deacon merely muttered, “Fucking hell.”
“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”
Deacon exhaled a long sigh into the phone. “Man, I can’t believe you just left here without taking it to the table. You’re the president, for fuck’s sake. While it’s admirable of you to do this for Breakneck, this situation isn’t just about you. It involves the entire club.”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. Just tell the guys I’ll deal with any repercussions when I get back.”
“I just hope it doesn’t get any worse.”
Pushing off the counter, I demanded, “Are you questioning my judgment?”
“Look, I know you and your code of honor. You’ll do whatever you have to do to get Sarah back.”
“You say that like it’s the wrong thing to do.”
“It is when the Raiders are trying to go legit.”
Even though he couldn’t see me, I shook my head in disbelief. “What the fuck is wrong with you? We’re talking about an innocent girl’s life here—one of our brother’s kids. Have you forgotten that Raiders protect their own regardless of the cost? You would do anything if someone had Willow or Alexandra. Hell, you have before.”
“Do not bring my wife and kid into this,” Deacon hissed.
“Don’t question me, and I won’t. Try for a moment to remember that Sarah is Breakneck’s kid, so for his sake, I’m willing to do anything to get her back. If that means some blowback on the club, then I’ll fucking deal with it.”
“No, we’ll all end up fucking dealing with it.”
I exhaled a frustrated breath. “I know you have a lot of pressure from Alexandra for the club to go legit. But I guarantee if you told her what was happening, she would be behind me all the way, regardless of what the repercussions might be on the club.”
When Deacon cursed under his breath, I knew I had finally gotten through to him. “You’re a stubborn motherfucker,” he grumbled.
With a laugh, I replied, “I learned from the best, brother.”
Deacon snorted. “Yeah, well, just be careful.”
Since I knew Deacon wasn’t an overly emotional guy, I couldn’t help feeling a little touched at his concern. “I will. But at the end of the day, this is something I have to do.”
“Trust me, I get it. I don’t have to like it, but I sure as hell get it.”
“We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
“Call me the minute you have her.”
“I will.”
After Deacon hung up without a good-bye, which was so his style, I went to get dressed. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling of dread crisscrossing its way over my skin. Although I would never have admitted my fears to him, I knew Deacon was right. Getting Sarah back was going to have blowback on the club.
At the time, I had no idea how severe.
Bishop returned with breakfast, and we were back on the road within half an hour. After a quick stop for lunch an
d gas, we pulled into the outskirts of El Paso a little before seven. We had been asked to meet our Texas brothers at a gentleman’s club they owned, which was located in one of the seedier areas of town.
When I pushed down the kickstand and eased off my bike, every muscle in my body screamed in agony. It had been a long time since I had done such an extensive run. The distance, coupled with the stress hanging over me, made me feel positively decrepit. I wanted nothing more than a hot meal and a cold beer. But as I gazed up at the blinking, half-naked woman on the Rising Phoenix sign, I realized I would be short on the hot meal, and in its place would be a lot of hot ass.
“Man, are we fucking lucky or what?” Bishop questioned as he slipped off his helmet.
I chuckled. “Only you, little brother, would find any luck in this situation.”
“Oh, come on. We’ve been on the road for three days. What better way to unwind than to have a lap dance and a cold one?”
“Do I have to remind you that we’re here on serious business?”
Bishop rolled his eyes. “Jesus, you’re always such a hard-ass.”
Ignoring him, I started across the gravel of the parking lot to the building. Two muscular men outfitted in Raiders cuts stood guard at the front door. At the sight of Bishop and me, smiles stretched across their hardened faces. The taller one stepped forward. “Prez said to be on the lookout for you guys.”
Returning his smile, I threw out my hand. “I’m Reverend Malloy, and this is my brother Bishop.”
“Snake, and that’s Weasel,” he replied, motioning to the other guy. “Great to meet you guys. Ya know, I slept over at your clubhouse a few years back after a run.” He winked at me. “You Georgia boys sure know how to show your brothers a good time.”
With a chuckle, I replied, “We sure as hell do.”
Stepping in front of us, Snake pushed the door open. “Let me take you to Prez.”
“Thanks, man.”
As we entered the club, it reminded me of the Lounge—the strip club the Raiders owned back home. While it had once been a favorite hangout of Deacon’s and it still remained one of Bishop’s, I had never been overly fond of it. Maybe it was because it harbored bad memories for me. When I should have been old enough to know better, I had gone there searching for love and companionship. What I found was a girl who didn’t just break my heart but shredded it with her claws. She saw me as her one-way ticket out of the stripping life and played me like a fool. It’s one thing to be told your girl is cheating on you, but to walk in on her being hammered by one of your brothers is a whole other level of fucked-up. She got fired from the club and fled town, the brother got sent to another chapter after I worked him over good, and I got left with a whole lot of pain. Almost three years had passed, but I still wondered if I would remain alone forever.
There was only so much that could be done to an already broken and battered sense of trust.
Among the other patrons sitting at the bar were three men in Raiders cuts. At the sight of us, they rose off their barstools and started our way. One man, not much older than myself but with a head of white hair, stepped away from the others. “This is our president, Ghost Phillips,” Snake said by way of introduction.
“Rev Malloy,” I replied.
Ghost pumped my hand up and down. “Good to see you, man. I sure as hell wish it was under better circumstances.”
“So do I.”
Jerking his thumb behind him, Ghost said, “That’s Undertaker and Chulo, our vice president and sergeant at arms.”
I nodded at them. Ghost motioned to a table. “Have a seat. Let me get you two set up with some drinks.”
Before I could argue that we didn’t have time for drinks, Ghost had waved over a waitress. Reluctantly, I eased down into one of the chairs. Within seconds, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I glanced up as a leggy blonde dropped onto my lap, pressing her ample cleavage into my cut. When she began to grind her core against my crotch, my breath involuntarily caught in my chest. She flashed a smile at me. “Hey, baby, you look good enough to eat,” she mused.
I jerked my gaze from her back up to Ghost. He winked at me. “We wanted to show you boys a little El Paso Raiders hospitality, so the girls are on the house. Besides, I figured you guys could use some unwinding after being on the road so long.”
“Hell yeah,” Bishop replied as he appreciatively took in the attention of the brunette girl rubbing against him.
I didn’t share in Bishop’s approval of the Raiders’ show of hospitality. It angered me that Ghost and his men couldn’t see the irony in the situation. Somewhere Sarah was being passed around to strange men for their enjoyment. Sure, the difference was these women were being paid and doing it of their own volition, and Sarah had no choice, but it still didn’t sit well with me.
Shaking my head, I eased the blonde gently off my lap and onto her plastic heels. I took a few breaths to ensure that I could respond without alienating Ghost and his men. “That’s kind of you, Ghost, but when it comes to Breakneck’s daughter, I’m afraid we don’t have any time to waste.”
Ghost gave me a grim smile. “I get it, brother. I was just trying to make what I had to tell you a little easier to take.”
My brows rose in suspicion. “You mean the news about Sarah is worse than we thought?”
He nodded. “Come on, let’s go somewhere we can talk.”
After Bishop reluctantly released his girl, we fell in step behind Undertaker and Chulo and made our way through the tables to the back of the club. Another hulking biker stood guard at the door. He jerked his chin at Ghost, and then stepped aside for us.
We followed Ghost down the dimly lit hallway to the last door on the left. When we got inside, I found an impressive mahogany table with ten chairs that must have worked well for short-notice meetings. After taking a seat across from Ghost, I began rapping my knuckles anxiously on the table.
“After hearing from you the other day, I immediately put out some feelers for our informants with ties to the Henchmen.”
From inside his cut, Ghost produced a manila folder. He took out a glossy black-and-white picture and then shoved it across the table at me. I sucked in a breath. It was of Sarah. She was at some college bar, having drinks with friends. Across from her on a stool at the bar was a guy in a cut. I would’ve needed a magnifying glass to prove it for certain, but I was sure he was a Henchman. Apparently she had been on their radar if they had taken the time to photograph her.
After I flashed the picture at Bishop, he asked, “Can we use the picture to trace the guy?”
Ghost shook his head. “While it was one of the Henchmen who took her, she’s no longer with them.”
I leaned forward in my chair. “What do you mean she’s not with them? They’re demanding ransom money from Breakneck for her return.”
“The Henchmen don’t make it their usual business to deal in human trafficking. But they have been known to abduct a girl or two to sell when they get into a bind with a rival club.”
“Which club?”
Ghost winced. “The Diablos.”
“Jesus Christ,” I spat. It was one thing for Sarah to have been taken by the Henchmen. Although they were dangerous, they were still a low-ranking club in membership and without many allies. The Diablos, however, were in a whole other fucking realm.
Out of the top five mega clubs in the world, the Diablos were up there in the ranks with the Hells Angels and the Mongols. They were considered dangerous, not just by the FBI and the ATF—the department of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives—but by other clubs as well. They drew their strength from their ties to some of the most powerful drug cartels in Mexico. They got off on the most extreme forms of torture, and they didn’t give a shit if they had to take out women or kids to get what they wanted.
This was a game changer of epic proportions. “Are you absolutely sure she’s with the Diablos?” I asked.
Undertaker nodded. “I have a contact at the border check. He confirmed that
a girl matching Sarah’s description was taken into Juárez yesterday morning.”
Ghost took out another photograph and slid it across the table. “We received this photo earlier this afternoon.”
Once again, Sarah’s black-and-white image appeared before me. But this photo showed a shadow of the girl who had been talking and laughing in the other photo. Her eyes were cast down to her lap where her hands were clasped. Even through the photograph, her fear was palpable.
“But I thought the cartels were trafficking girls out of Mexico, not into it,” Bishop said.
“This is the part you’re not going to like,” Ghost answered.
I grunted before telling him, “There’s not one fucking thing about any of this that I like.”
Ghost nodded at Chulo.
“It appears that upper-class white girls have become a growing commodity with high-ranking cartel members. The Diablos’ El Paso chapter has been targeting college bars and campuses. Somewhere outside of Juárez, they have a camp where they house the girls before selling them to the highest bidder,” Chulo said.
“Who owns the camp?” Bishop asked.
Chulo took a long swig of beer before replying. “Guy named Mendoza. He’s one of the Rodriguez cartel’s lugartenientes.” At Bishop’s and my blank expressions, he winked. “That’s ‘lieutenant’ for you gringos.”
I furrowed my brow in confusion. “Wait—so he’s one of their soldiers?”
Shaking his head, Chulo explained, “Being lugarteniente makes him the second-highest position in the cartel. He supervises the lower levels like the hit men.”
My mind whirling with questions, I couldn’t help asking, “So if he’s some second-in-command in the drug world, where does selling girls come into this?”
“Because of the recent crackdowns on the narcotic trade, human trafficking has become an easy way to supplement their income,” Chulo replied.
As I digested this new information about Sarah’s capture, I momentarily had to cradle my head in my hands. This was way beyond anything I had ever experienced as a club member, least of all as president. Not even Preacher Man or Case had ever come up against one of the cartels. They’d rationalized that the risks outweighed the benefits and steered clear of anything involving drugs.
