Deadly Seduction (11 page)

Ronan had buttoned up his pants and walked over before he took the vial. He did a bump before he offered it to Kink and Cricket.

“Listen, I wouldn’t be askin’ but it’s only us around—our fathers aren’t here so this doesn’t go beyond the eight of us—and I need to start a side enterprise. Don’t worry, it’s not even stayin’ in the country. My uncle in the UK needs some and I need some extra money for a legal defense fund…I have a feeling some old shit is comin’ down the pipeline and I’ll need to be prepared. How much for a side cut?”

Carlito laughed out loud. “I have a whole factory I’m responsible for. Pops can’t watch it all. How much you need?”

“Ten kilos.”

“You know those dolls in that movie,
Traffic
? We make ‘em…it’s a fuckin piñata factory. I’ll make ‘em and I won’t even charge for labor. Where’s it going?”

“London…and Belfast…but my uncle will distribute to Belfast. I’m paying for it and when he receives it, he wires me the money.”

Carlito whistled. “A lot can go wrong,
mano
. I just hope you know what you’re doin’.”

Cillian lit a cigarette and dragged deeply. “So do I.”

“Give me twenty-four hours and I’ll let you know how long it’ll take to get that much product and how much it’s gonna cost you. I gotta give you a family discount…you need it pure?”

“I’d prefer it to not be…if you have some shit in the factory to dilute it then do it.”

“Okay…seventy percent cocaine, thirty percent baby powder.”

“Make it sixty-forty.”

“Hey, it’s your drugs, man.”

“What’s the potency of the product you’re currently selling to us?”

“Ninety-ten. The strongest shit you can get a hold of without going to Colombia and dealin’ with the drug lords themselves. Believe me, you don’t wanna, not even for an extra ten percent.”

Cillian dragged on his cigarette again before he looked at his guys and nodded his head. Cricket and Kink began to load up the crates into the back of the van while Ronan stood there with his brother. They exchanged the money in two black duffel bags that weighed a ton. Carlito took a bag and Lil Benny took the other.

“As always, nice doing business with you and see you next month.” Carlito didn’t bother with the shaking hands bit.

He was their cousin after all, and Cillian realized if he couldn’t trust him then who could he trust?

Absolutely no one except Gisela.

Even when she’d let him down, and walked out of his life, that hadn’t been her choice. With the kind of parents she had, the upscale criminal circles, which they moved in, being with someone like him hadn’t been feasible at the time. Not at the age of sixteen.

If he’d only waited a few years to be so damn irresponsible and knock her up, there wouldn’t have been anything her parents could have done about the situation. The damage could have caused harsher relations between the Saints that already existed between them and the guineas—not to mention Jackson family—but at least he would have been happy. He’d spent over twelve years of his life being a miserable piece of shit who hated everything, and everyone—his kids, Gisela, and his brothers were the exception—because he couldn’t stand what he’d become.

A fucking biker cliché. Big man with a gun who liked to get his aggressions out by shooting, maiming and torturing people who’d wronged the LS.

Ronan grabbed his shoulder, shattering him out of his contemplation. “Come on, man. One more thing to do and we can go back to the Club house and celebrate.”

“I wanted to see Gisela—”

“Naomi is gonna drop by her place and pick her up. After tonight, you might not want to leave the Club house for a while until the Feds come knockin’, know what I mean?”

The two men walked out to their Harleys as the members of
Aztecas Infierno
got into a late model black van and took off. Carlito was the only one who owned a Harley but his was a classic, one Cillian had personally restored himself.

“You boys be safe and if there are any issues, Emilio will be making the call to Dizzy, not me.”

Cillian hoped nothing went wrong. The last person he needed to deal with was his father or Emilio—even if he
was
his uncle.

Both men watched Carlito take off on his Harley and didn’t speak until the sound of the engine was just a slight murmur in the background instead of a loud, rumbling noise.

“Listen, just see me to the drop and I can take care of everything else myself. I don’t want you implicated in this crime in any way, you got it? I acted on my own accord. That’s the way it’s gotta be. Plausible deniability, remember?”

Ronan shrugged. “Yeah, I know all about that shit, Cillian, but I’m not leavin’ your side until that son of a bitch is dead, you got that? I got all my tats hidden and I’ll keep my helmet on. As you can see, I switched. All black with blackout shades—”

“Yeah but someone might be able to spot your bike—”

“And? It’s completely black too. I covered up all the insignias that would identify it as me. Let’s just get this over and done with, all right? I think we can both agree that us sittin’ here like two fuckin’ old ladies in a knitting circle isn’t going to move this job along. Come on, let’s shake a motherfuckin’ tail feather and go back to the Club house so we can get drunk, and fuck our women. Right, bro?”

Cillian slipped on his helmet in reply and climbed on to his Harley.

One more motherfuckin’ errand and he was free; that’s what he had to keep tellin’ himself.

Bookie had drawn the short straw and had the pleasure of keeping Riley company at one of the old warehouses the Saints used for deals in the past.
Unfortunately, the warehouse sat in the jurisdiction of Pine Bluff and Dizzy stopped using it because if any shit went down there, the Demon’s Bastards would be the first approached by Sheriff Briggs.

The exception was that night.

The Bastards had no connection to Riley and didn’t know who the fuck he was; regardless whether he was murdered here or on the Birch Tree side, it wouldn’t matter. All fingers would be pointed firmly in the Saints’ direction.

Riley, a tall, lean glass of water sat leisurely on an old scarred metal table lazily smoked a joint. He wasn’t wanting in the attraction department, at least not with the ladies.

Brianna had given him a whirl and then casually mentioned he had a Marines tattoo in a rather intimate part of his body.

“I thought all prospects had to reveal their military history just so you guys could check ‘em out and make sure they weren’t the Filth?”

Cillian had smirked at the time; to all Irish, anyone in authority was the ‘Filth,’ regardless whether they were run-of-the-mill police officers to the FBI, Homeland Security, NSA or any other federal organization.

This was the second clue something with Riley didn’t sit quite right with Cillian. In hindsight, he didn’t trust the guy and he wasn’t a prospect, technically. Club members even voted on who could even become a prospect and his vote had been delayed permanently after Cillian had gone to his father and told him what he knew.

Branden had gotten to work, along with Quinn and although his military record was sealed when they finally found the damn thing, the man was older than they thought. He was twenty-seven, not twenty-three.

The situation was so messed up, the only conclusion that could be drawn was Riley had to be a mole. Not that this was the first time the government had tried in infiltrate Motorcycle Clubs. There was a rumor going around a Fed had infiltrated one of the other MCs but no one knew for certain if it was the White Knights or the Demon’s Bastards.

Of course that situation was neither here nor there and if there was a traitor, they were usually given two choices: come over to the dark side and begin telling the MC what the government was working on. Double agents were invaluable because once they outlived their usefulness, most of the time, they were either killed or they disappeared into the clandestine underworld of crime. Most preferred to be dispensed the latter rather than the former.

Riley wasn’t even given a choice. He didn’t know enough about the MC but he was too far down the food chain to know any helpful information about the case the government was working on against the Saints. Either way, he would have to go and that was a very unfortunate situation for him indeed.

Cillian, followed closely by Ronan, approached Riley with a lit cigarette in his hand and the Desert Eagle in the other, close to his side and Riley’s blind spot.

“Where is everyone, bro? I thought we had a deal goin’ down the Mexicanos tonight.” Riley laughed at his own stupid humor while Bookie gazed toward the brothers with a “Give me strength” expression.

“Yeah, you missed that.” Ronan walked closer and stopped short of Riley. “Ya see…the government shouldn’t send in a rat to bring down a lion. It’s stupid and just to prove how incredibly dumb you are, we brought ya down here and ya never once guessed what was gonna go down tonight?”

“Ronan…” Cillian trailed off.

His brother waved him away with the hand he held his gun, also a Desert Eagle. “So, I’m gonna make this real easy for you. Who are you working for?”

“W-what?” Riley stuttered.

“Don’t give me w-what…that ain’t a country or a fuckin’ answer. What. Agency. Do. You. Work. For?” Ronan unlatched the safety with a loud click. “Don’t worry about my gun—she’s ready to take you down now. So unless you can get your head out of your ass, motherfucker, you’re dying. Right. Motherfuckin’. Now.”

Riley’s wide green eyes gazed from Bookie to Cillian. “I…I’m a U.S. Marshall. I was sent in to try to turn Brianna Cox…see if she wanted to get her kids in Witsec.”

“Why?” Ronan tapped his left foot. “Fuck, man, I don’t have all night.”

“The youngest…Caitlin…she can be used as leverage. She’s not Cillian’s. Her biological father is Trey Lennon.”

“Fuckhead, that’s an open secret. Why Caitlin? What does Trey Lennon have to do with anything?”

Cillian still hadn’t said a word and allowed his younger brother to do all the talking.