Loving The Biker (MC Biker Romance) (3 page)

Raptor stared at him in disbelief. “Chatting? Come on, Hoss. You know better, brother. That’s a fucking set up if I’ve ever seen one. She’s waiting for you to tell her that you’ll pay for her flight and maybe more. Then you’ll wire her money and never hear from her again.”

Hoss began to look a little uncertain. “I think you’re wrong. She says she loves bikers.”

“Right,” said Raptor dryly “Tell me this, if she looks like that, why would she need to date strangers on the internet?”

“She’s tired of the guys in her town? I don’t know. She hasn’t asked me for money. Here, watch this.” He began typing her a message that said he’d drive down to Florida on his Hog and they could have dinner together, if she really wanted to see him.

Raptor and I both looked at each other, matching expressions on our faces.

“You’re wrong about Lana. Just wait and see,” said Hoss, grinning as he added a heart to the message. “She’s going to be fucking thrilled when she reads this.” He hit
SEND
and sent the message.

“This should be interesting,” said Raptor with a wry smile. He pointed to the screen. “Oh, look. It shows that she’s read your message already.”

Less than twenty seconds later, Lana responded and stated that she was thinking about moving to Iowa and would rather come out to see him.

“Well that’s even better,” said Hoss. His smile fell when he read the next line.

“I hate to say ‘I told you so’,” said Raptor. “But, she’s asking you to borrow her the money. And, well, would you look at that? She’ll even pay you back when she gets here.”

“Why can’t she just pay for the ticket herself then?” wondered Hoss out loud.

“Because it’s a scam,” said Raptor. “That’s how these fuckers steal your money.”

Hoss’s face turned red. “That bitch. I should drive down to Florida and really give her a piece of my fucking mind. I guess
her
beauty isn’t skin deep.”

Raptor and I looked at each other again.

He just didn’t get it.

Hoss still thought the sexy girl on the photo was still the scammer.

“This is why I stay off of social media,” said Chopper. “Everyone is after something. It’s unsafe.” He looked at Raptor. “Speaking of which, you want me to check our computer? Find out why it’s running so slowly?”

“That would be great. It’s actually Adrianna’s. She’s been having some problems.”

“I’ve got time right now. Should we head over to your place?” he asked.

“Sounds good,” he replied.

“See you later,” muttered Hoss, still staring at his computer screen.

“Why don’t you get off the computer and go take a walk? It’s a beautiful day,” said Chopper. “Get some fresh air into your lungs.”

“Who are you now? Dr. Oz?” asked Hoss.

“Very funny. You won’t be laughing when your accounts get hacked because you’re not playing it safe on the internet.”

Hoss ignored him.

“Your stubbornness is your worst enemy,” said Chopper.

“No, his dick is,” said Raptor. “And he’s thinking with it.”

“I’m not going to let her swindle me,” said Hoss, looking up. “So just chill out.”

“Whatever you do,
don’t
send her any money,” warned Raptor, walking away with Chopper. “You’ll never see it again.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t,” said Hoss, pulling the cigarette out of his pocket again. This time, he took out his lighter too.

“Don’t do it,” I said, nodding toward the cigarette.

“Fuck,” he growled, shoving them back into his pockets.

“I’d better go and fix the disposal. Don’t forget, the meeting is at two,” I told him.

“I know. How did you hear about it,” he asked, typing again.

“Tank asked me to be there.”

Hoss looked up. “
You
? Why?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He looked perplexed. “You’re just a Prospect.”

“I know.”

He sat back in his chair. “You’ve only been here two months.”

“Yeah. Maybe he’s allowing Prospects into the meetings now.”

As if on cue, one of the other Prospects, Dover, walked into the clubhouse, carrying two buckets of paint.

“Tank invite you to the meeting, Dover?” Hoss asked him.

“What meeting?” replied Dover.

“Forget about it,” mumbled Hoss. He didn’t say another word and went back to his typing.

“What meeting?” repeated Dover, this time looking at me.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, leaving the room. I went into the small kitchen in the clubhouse and began to fix the garbage disposal.

You’re just a Prospect…

Obviously, Hoss had forgotten that they’d all been one of those at one time or another. Yeah, I was a Prospect and damn good at it, too. Hell, I’d pretty much hit the ground running when Tank announced he was sponsoring me, wanting to not only make up for the shit that had happened, but also prove how committed I was to club. The grunt work, midnight errands, and wild goose chases were bad enough, but now they had me scrubbing toilets, mowing lawns, and feeding killer dogs. And hell, I did everything without batting an eye, but there were times that I wondered if they’d ever patch me.

Hoss.

I respected the guy but it was obvious that he was having a hard time accepting the turn of events. Sometimes I’d see him watching me silently, his eyes stormy and his jaw tight. He and Slammer had been best friends, from what I’d learned. Closer than any other brothers in the club. A loss like that would be felt for the rest of your days. And then there was Tank. Although he was sponsoring me as a new Prospect for the Gold Vipers, and was about to marry my sister, there was still an awkward tension between us. The reason was obvious… I’d driven his father’s killer, my sister, Raina, to-and-from the crime scene. He’d found it in his heart to forgive her for killing his old man, because she’d believed he’d been the one responsible for ordering the drive-by that had almost killed her two-year old son. Pulling the trigger on Slammer had been a crime of passion. She’d been a grieving mother, her heart and spirit broken. A woman completely undone. Although his pain had been deep, Tank had found a way to forgive her. Me, on the other hand, he owed me nothing. I’d had every chance to turn the van around and stop Slammer’s death. The truth was, deep down I didn’t think she was going to do it, but she’d surprised the hell out of me. Thinking back now, it almost made me a bigger asshole.  Slammer could have wrestled the gun away from Raina, leaving Billy motherless. She was my sister. I should have
never
let her face him alone.

Shouldn’t have.

Could have.

Didn’t.

I’d heard the words plenty of times out of Uncle Sal’s lips, back when I was a young punk. Apparently, I still need a kick in the ass when it came to getting my shit together.

Sighing, I grabbed a wrench.

There was no use dwelling on the past. All I could do was try and make up for it. I only hoped that club would someday forgive and accept me like they would anyone else.

Three

Terin

“It’s been five weeks now since Slammer’s homicide,” said Daniel Walters, the head of our unit. It was early Monday morning and he looked like he’d been up for two days. The lines on his face were deep and made him look much older than forty. “And we still don’t have a damn shooter. We need to start pressing the Gold Vipers for more information.”

“You think they really know who killed him?” I asked, but then immediately felt like an idiot when all eight eyes turned toward me.

Walters grunted. “Of course they know. Hell, even
we
know it was the Devil’s Rangers.”

“Has there been any recent retaliation at all?” I asked. “By the Gold Vipers?”

“Not yet, but there will be,” said Jeffrey Bronson, another investigator on the task force. He was stuffing his bloated, puffy face with powdered donuts. Normally, I had no problem with obese men, but this one had ‘accidently’ groped me in the copy-room the other day. Jeffrey licked the powder from his fingers and grabbed another.  “That’s what my sources are saying. The Gold Vipers are playing this cool right now. They obviously know we’re watching them. But make no mistake, someone is going to pay for murdering Slammer. I’m sure they’ll probably even use the Judge again.”

“Won’t Tank want to do it himself?” I asked, tapping my pen against the notepad in front of me. “Murder the guy who killed his father?”

“He’ll want to and maybe he even will, but my informants claim that Slammer always insisted that the club pay someone else to do their dirty work. They keep their noses clean and by using a hit-man like the Judge, they’ll stay out of prison,” said Bronson, talking with his mouth full.

From what I’d learned, the Judge was a hired hit-man and pretty much, untraceable. Rumor had it that he was used to kill Breaker and also blew up the Devil’s Ranger’s club in Hayward, Minnesota. Not only did he apparently know what he was doing but he was a master of disguise. We didn’t even have a real description of him. For all we knew, the Judge could be a young woman.

“I have people breathing down my back about this fucking case and they want answers, just as much as I do. So, we need to dig deeper. Even if it means that we grill the Gold Vipers until one of them breaks,” said Walters, running a hand over his face.

“We’ve tried,” said Bronson. “In fact, last time we were interrogating one of them, they requested a lawyer and now they’re all throwing that in our faces. ‘Talk to my fucking lawyer’. That’s all I hear now.”

“You interrogated one of them just recently?” I asked. “When was that?”

“Just a few days ago. A Prospect named Dover,” said Bronson. “Brought him in after his sister’s scumbag boyfriend was found beaten to a pulp, in the back alley of Sal’s. She had bruises on her, too. Nobody is confessing to anything, but it looks like the boyfriend might have knocked her around and when big brother found out about it, he took matters into his own hands.”

“Were there any charges pressed?” asked Walters.

“Of course not. The boyfriend is scared shitless of Dover and his club. Hell, the asshole is lucky that he just got off with a broken nose and a few bruises,” replied Bronson.

Walters looked at me. “You haven’t met any of them face-to-face yet?”

“No,” I replied.

“Maybe we’re going about this wrong,” said Walters, tapping his thumb against the desk.

“What are you thinking?” asked Bronson, a funny smile on his face. “Send O’Brien over to the clubhouse or maybe Griffins? Have her do some undercover work?”

“Actually, that might not be a bad idea,” he replied, scratching his chin.

Fred Gervais, the fifth person in our unit, cleared his throat. “It might not be a good idea, either.”

“You have a better one, Fred?” asked Walters, looking irritated.

Fred, who was only a couple years away from retiring, shrugged. “Not really. But, she isn’t going to find anything. You know that.”

I pictured myself alone and in a biker bar. I’d probably get hit on, but I doubted that any of them would share club information, even
if
they thought they’d get lucky. “Fred is probably right. Even if I came on to one of them, which believe me, isn’t going to happen, I doubt they’d share anything. In fact, I’m pretty sure that even the Old Ladies aren’t privy to club business.”

“Relax. We’re not asking you to sleep with any of them. Just start frequenting the places they hang out,” he said. “Obviously, you’d be on the clock and getting paid for it.”

“What if one of them tries having sex with her?” asked Pen, another detective.

“Oh, I’m sure they will. All she has to do is decline the invitation. This particular club isn’t known for violence against women,” said Walters. “Anyway, I’m not asking you to do anything that I wouldn’t do. Just ask a few questions, visit the place a few times, and keep your eyes open.”

“Okay. I can do that,” I replied, relaxing.

Walters nodded. “Good. I’ll see if we can get Michelle Thomson to go with you. She hasn’t been out on the streets much yet. I doubt anyone would recognize her.”

Michelle was also new and had been assigned to the Gang Suppression team. “Okay. Thanks.”

Walters turned to the board behind him and began writing. “Let’s shoot for Thursday. We’ll have you two visit Griffin’s, from four to six. Two women going to Happy Hour. No drinking, of course.”

“Maybe they should and just nurse them,” said Fred. “Might be a little suspicious if one of them isn’t drinking booze.”

“He’s right,” I replied. “Especially a dive like that.”

“By the way, how do you know when Happy Hour is, boss?” asked Bronson, smiling.

“Same way you should know. From surveillance. Know your enemy,” said Walters. “Just like it’s important to know the best times to order chicken wings, nachos, and deep fried mozzarella sticks.” 

“Their burgers are pretty good, too,” said Fred.

“You too, huh?” said Bronson chuckling. “I suppose you both know when the sexiest strippers are dancing too?”

“None of them come out until after eight p.m. now,” said Fred. “So, during the day, it’s just a regular old bar and grill. The place has recently changed, probably because of Tank’s Old Lady, Raina.”

“Good to know,” I said, relieved. At least during our reconnaissance I wouldn’t have to stare at naked women bending over and gyrating in front of me.

“Speaking of burgers,” said Walters. “You may as well use that as your excuse for trying the place out. Tell them you heard they were the best in town.”

“Sure,” I replied, already on it.

“And sit at the bar so you can strike up a conversation with the bartender,” he added. “I think they might even have a couple of the bikers working as bartenders now.”

“Perfect,” I replied.

“Remember, be flirty but not too aggressive,” he said. “And, dress a little like a biker chick, you know? Jeans and maybe something low-cut. Do you own any Harley T-shirts?”

“No. Afraid not,” I replied, staring up at him.

“Just wear something that shows a little skin then. Not too much though. You want to make it out of there in one piece.”

“What about my hair?” I asked, a little aggravated; I was being treated like I didn’t know what in the hell I was doing. “Should I wear it up like I am now, or look like I just got laid?”

Walters’s eye twitched. He put his hands on the table and leaned toward me. “This is your first undercover job, correct?” he asked, staring at me hard.

I nodded.

“As much as you might think you know everything right now, Detective O’Brien, the fact is you don’t know squat about these pieces of shit or what they’re really capable of. One of them decides that you have something they like, you might be in the back room, down on your knees getting mouth-raped.”

“And what makes you think I won’t castrate the ‘piece of shit’ in the process?” I asked evenly.

He grunted. “Even with the barrel of a gun pointed at your temple?”

“Some things are worth dying for,” I retorted, crossing my arms over my chest. “Especially my blow jobs, which are rare, numbered, and pretty goddamn priceless. No way in hell I’m giving those out for free.”

Pen burst out laughing.

“Oh hell,” said Fred, shaking his head with a grin. “We got ourselves a firecracker.”

“She’s Irish and a redhead,” said Bronson. “What’d you expect?”

“Really? You’re going to stereotype?” I replied, looking at him over my shoulder. I really couldn’t stand Bronson. He was a hair shy from having me file a sexual harassment claim against him. “I suppose I have a bunch of brothers who drink too much and are over-protective, too?”

“Damn right you do,” interrupted Walters. “
Us.
We’re all family here, now O’ Brien. None of us like to admit it, but we drink too much and always tell it like we see it. Sometimes we’re wrong, but most of the time we’re right. One thing is for certain, we’re all on the same side so relax.”

“Does that mean I can borrow one of my brother’s cars for this little operation on Thursday?” I asked. There was no way in hell I wanted to use my own vehicle.

“Don’t worry about using your car. We’ll loan you one from the department,” he replied.

I sighed.
“They have anything that won’t get me tagged as a cop before I make it into the parking lot? Maybe even something classy?”

“Biker bitches aren’t classy,” said Pen. “Not the ones I’ve seen, at least.”

“Bullshit. I’ve seen photos of them in the files. One of them had a white Mercedes convertible,” I replied.

“You’re not pretending to be an Old Lady,” reminded Walters. “Or a biker chick.”

“She’s going to be noticed no matter what,” said Pen. “And maybe that isn’t a bad thing.”

“He’s right. Whatever the case may be, I should try and fit in,” I replied.

“Flash them your tits, that will make you fit in with the rest of the skanks that usually hang around Griffin’s,” said Bronson.

“Maybe you should come with and flash them yours. They are much bigger than mine,” I sneered.

Bronson gave me a dirty look. 

Walters grunted. “I’m beginning to wonder if your balls are as big as your mouth, O’Brien. I guess we’re going to soon find out.”

“Why don’t you ask Bronson? He copped a feel in the back room the other day,” I said nonchalantly.

Walters’s eyebrows shot up. “What was that?’

“Oh Jesus. You’re really going to bring that up again? It was an accident,” said Bronson, rolling his eyes. “I told you that.”

“Back up the bus. What happened in the copy room?” asked Walters loudly.

“Bronson’s a little clumsy with his hands, apparently,” I replied, remembering how he’d acted like he was helping me up the ladder, to get more copy paper. The palm of his hand ended up on my girl parts.

“My hand slipped. It was an accident,” explained Bronson.

“O’Brien, you sure everything is cool?” asked Walters, ignoring him.

I let out a ragged sigh. “I’m fine,” I replied, still giving Bronson the stink eye. Little did he know, however, that I now carried a mini audio recorder with me at the office, hidden in my jacket. He tried anything else, and I’d record him. “He said it was an accident. I’ll just have to go with that.”

Bronson’s face muscles relaxed.

“I hope so because if I find out there are any more ‘accidents’ like that, I’ll have your badge. You hear me?” threatened Walters.

Bronson shoved the box of donuts away. “Yeah. I hear you. Sheesh… you know I’m happily married.”

“Won’t be too happy if Ethel gets wind of your clumsy mitts,” said Pen, pulling out a vapor cigarette.

Bronson scowled.

Walters took out his cell phone, which was buzzing. “Okay, enough,” he said, staring down at it. “O’Brien, keep reviewing the Gold Viper files so you know what kind of shitheads we’re dealing with. Also, take a trip over to Dazzle in the next day or so.”

“Dazzle? The jewelry store?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes. Raptor’s Old lady, Adrianna, works there part-time. Strike up a friendly conversation about some of the jewelry there, so that if you run into her at the bar, you’ll have something to talk about,” he replied.

“Oh. Okay,” I replied.

“The rest of you, we need to see if we can try and track down this Judge character,” said Walters.

“I’m telling you, there’s nothing out there on him,” said Bronson.

“That’s bullshit. You just haven’t turned over the right stones,” he replied. “He might seem untouchable, but he’s human. He’s made a mistake somewhere. We just need to find it.”

“Have you guys interviewed any ‘Ex’ employees of Griffin’s?” I asked. “Maybe they can give us something.”

“Surprisingly, they have a slow turnaround at that dump. But, we did speak to a gal named Misty, about two years ago. She used to bartend there,” said Pen. “She didn’t give us anything substantial though.”

“Pay her another visit,” said Walters. “It’s been a while. She might be willing to talk now.”