Revved Up Soul: A MC Romance (26 page)

“I’m sorry?” Jasmine asked, “what do you mean?”

Corey opened up his binder and flipped casually through the pages, muttering something nigh inaudible as he finger traced up and down the page. The man tapped the paper, “I mean that there’s no point in me suspending you now when the board will be reviewing your license as a whole; I finally got to this complaint registered against you, you see.”

“I-I don’t understand, what complaint? When is this going to happen?” Her heart lurched into her throat, “who even filed it?” God, this isn’t good.

“Well it might take some time, the board is very busy,” Corey closed the binder, raising his brows half an inch, “could be weeks. I’ll be asking the opinion of a few department heads at the hearing, maybe they’ll weigh in your favor. Wentworth, was the nurse’s name.”

The name sounded familiar. “Well, what did he say?” Jasmine asked, exhaling a breath, “this is ludicrous.”

“Normally it wouldn’t be enough, but with your prior history, I figured it would be best to have you reviewed. The man asserted that you froze up with the patient admitted; it says in the report that—“ she knew which patient he was referring to.

“That’s ridiculous,” Jasmine interrupted, stepping closer to the Dean, invading his personal space. “You should have seen how much blood there was, Mr. White – there was
nothing
that I could have done. Kids couldn’t devour shovels full of sugar and spill paint worse than that.” It was hard to remain calm, when all Jasmine could see in her head was the bloodied face of Luke’s brother looking back at her.

Corey took a single retreating step back, “Colorful description,” he remarked, “I think I’ve said enough, I’ll let you know more when things get penciled in,” the Dean walked away into the break room.

Jasmine watched as he walked away, wrapping one arm around her waist and folding the other on top, holding her head in her fingertips.

This has to be some kind of cruel karma.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Luke

The morning dawn shot fingers of golden light against the sky so clear – Luke was feeling anything but. Shooting down the S curve on the road, mighty sprawling trees at either side of him, he came to a slow and eyed the dirt road that would lead him to the club’s base of operations. He couldn’t shake the feeling deep in his bones, the utter disgust and anger – he had wanted to do more to the piece of shit, but the light of reason had gotten the better of him. Were Able’s last words really enough to convict the man? Gabriel himself had said it had to be someone on the inside; every day that passed without something turning up only proved the fact more and more, much as Luke hadn’t want to entertain the idea – it seemed the only answer now.

As he was pulling up to the front of the club, he could hear a couple of engines already idling; the host of Knights at the ready just outside the club. Luke slid over to Allen Knight and came to a stop.

Allen sized Luke up, “You’re late,” he admonished, “seen Rob? We gotta start this shit – we’re behind.”

Damn, the guns. A flash of anger went through his body; no, no, now’s not the time for this – shit. I’ll have to bring this up after, just find your Zen, he reminded. “Sorry I was at Robert’s,” true, “he had called me drunk as a skunk,” total fabrication, “so I went over and tried to get him up. Wouldn’t budge.” Christ, either way there’s gonna be hell to pay.

The President gave his customary, toothy grin, “Bastard, if I had a dollar for every time that boy made me want to punch him.” Got you covered, did way, way more than that.

“I’ll get my stuff and we’ll get this over with I guess,” Luke eyed the man before hopping off of his bike and collecting everything that was necessary.

***

The roar of Luke’s bike was only one of many on the highway; Allen, Benny, Sexton and a couple of prospects helped make up the convoy. As the cacophony of engine and steel grew, something gnawed away at Luke’s insides. The only thing that was keeping him focused, still keeping him sharp, was the soothing caress of the road.

It was Luke and Allen leading the pack; several black corrugated boxes were attached to the rear of their bikes, packaged tightly with tape. This was their usual method. They were headed to Port Angeles, where Project Restoration would be eagerly awaiting their monthly shipment.

As the band of brothers moved down along the highway, kicking up dust at their side, engines screaming, they rounded a corner that was protected by a guard rail, the rocky golden crag at their side standing a silent watcher.

Some minutes later as they continued onward, they moved along a bend in the road – black cottonwood trees on either side of the convoy. Glimpsing something to his side, Luke turned his head for the briefest of moments. Shit, was that—

Sirens wailed above the sound of rubber peeling against dirt. Blue and red lights flickered behind them as the two cars went hard in the paint to catch up to the convoy. In the distance, another two cars pulled up, blocking off the road.

Five-o, guess they finally got tired of sitting on us.

Luke, as well as the rest of the riders, rolled to a stop and parked on the shoulder of the road They killed their engines and waited as the cars pulled in; several officers from the back and front exiting their vehicles.

Allen turned to Luke, his customary grin on his face, “This should be fun,” he whispered.

There was one cop that was unlike the others. Sheriff Martine Freeman. He was a notorious hardass, always seemed to have a bone to pick with the Club. The Sheriff walked over, the golden sun behind him, and stopped in front of the convoy. He smiled, not a wicked smile but a truly delighted one; he lived for this.

Freeman had light olive skin, and when he wasn’t wearing his black shades, his eyes were brown and intimidating, yet eerily friendly. The few times that Luke had seen him without his hat (a couple of times when he was breaking and entering as a kid) he had a full head of brown hair parted to one side.

Taking off his helmet, Allen slid off of his bike and stepped over to the Sheriff, the police hovering behind the convoy, and the cops in front standing mute behind Freeman.

The birds sang as the two sized one another up. Allen pushed out his chest and brought his head up a bit – he was a barrel chested man, most, even those inside the club, viewed him as particularly intimidating. He’s just a man, Luke thought.

A yellow car passed by and the trees swayed.

The Sheriff smirked, “Routine inspection.”

Allen said, “Whatever you say chief. Good to see ya, decided to lay off the doughnuts and do some actual pretend work, eh?” Benny looked over to Luke and corner of his mouth lifted.

The Sheriff chuckled, “Good to see you too. You know what’s funny is, I’ve got some in the car. But you know what’s not so funny?”

“Saturday nights when you can’t salute Pedro?” Allen pursed his lips together, making a kissing noise twice. “No, no that’s still funny,” he lamented.

Martine looked behind his shoulder and signaled his men; they went over to the squad car.

Son of a bitch.

A German Shephard came out of the backseat of the squad car and the two officers, along with the dog, slipped over to the Sheriff’s side. He raised his chin slightly, “Warrants are really overrated these days, don’t you think?” The two cops in front, leash in hand, moved over to the MC’s bikes – the German Shepard sitting on its hind end patiently.

“Wasting your time,” Allen said, “wasting my time, you’re gonna make some kids very sad. Hope you realize that.”

“We’ll see,” the man offered. Freeman’s smile never left his face, he glanced at his boys in blue and nodded – the K9 unit went to work, sniffing along each bike systematically. He turned back to face Allen, chuckling to himself and looking down at his own feet, taking off his shades and letting them hang on the pocket of his shirt. Time stood still between the men as they stared each other off, “You think you’re top dog,” Freeman said, “think that you can do . . .
whatever
you want.”

“Don’t think,” Allen interrupted, slowly reaching into his jacket, producing a cigarette and a lighter, “I know I am.” The flame kissed the end of the stick.

“I’m here to remind you that you can’t,” Freeman brought his hand to Allen’s cigarette and flicked it out of his mouth – the cigarette flew through the air, a rogue ember attacking the President’s face.

Allen jerked and his smile vanished in an instant. Oh shit, that’s not good. Luke silently voiced his concern to Benny and the prospects at his side. Allen stepped closer to the Sheriff, so close that their faces were almost touching now, “Try that when you’re not hiding behind your little blue skirt you bitch,” he growled. “I know you’re too much of a pussy.”

“Careful now,” Freeman warned, “I would just
hate
to embarrass you in front of your professional knuckle draggers.” Heat surged through Luke’s body; don’t act so high and mighty Marty, I’ll wipe that smug snake smile right off you.

“Come on,” Allen taunted, tapping the side of his face, “take your shot, show me what you got – show it to me. Make my day.” The dog found its way to Benny’s bike now, sniffing but still not making any noise.

Martine put his hands behind his back and stepped away.

Allen shot a hand out towards the dog, “There’s nothing to find,” he roared, “it’s kids toys for Christ’s sake.”

“In black corrugated boxes? Don’t take me for a fool; we’ve been watching you, we know you’ve been running guns.”

Allen stepped closer to the Sheriff, puffing out his chest. “Prove it.”

The dog moved over to Luke’s bike. Martine cocked his head to the side, “If you want it to go down this way,” Sheriff Martine gestured towards his men.

One of the officers made a particular whistling noise and the dog sprang into action, barking and jumping around the back of Luke’s FX-50. Come on man, “Are you serious?” Luke said, the one cop crossing his arms and looking down at him.

“Watch your tone, boy.”

Watch this, Luke flipped him the bird. The officer hawked something deep in his throat and spat at the front of Luke’s bike.

Just as the other officer was undoing the package on the rear of Luke’s bike, Luke jolted from his seat and came within an inch of shoving the pig away.

Benny called out, “Hey hey hey, keep it cool now man.” Hard to be chill when some pig is abusing their power and messing with your shit, with my baby.

The officer didn’t flinch, “What’s the matter boy, realize who’s in charge here?”

Luke simmered, but backed off, rubbing the end of his nose with his thumb. “Yeah,” he said, “I did. Can we please just hurry this shit up? I’ve got better things to do,” his mind flashed to Robert, and how his teeth came out of his mouth like a splinter from wood.

The officer examining the box produced a knife, cut through and sifted. “It’s just stuffed animals,” the man called out.

Sheriff Martine narrowed his eyes at Allen; whose grin had come back, wider than ever. “Rip a couple open,” he commanded.

Allen balked at this, “You gonna pay for this shit huh? When I was growin’ up in
America
I got the real deal, I don’t know what kind of dumb, disjointed Barbie shit your ass played with in
San Third World Hellhole
. What am I supposed to do give a kid half a bear’s fuckin’ body, stuffing comin out of its neck and say: ‘well Johnny not all bears were made equal, life’s tough – here, put its severed head beneath your pillow for good luck.’”

“Sure, whatever, tell them I’m the boogeyman for all I care,” Martine replied, looking intently at the cops near Luke’s bike, “your crew is hauling something. It’s just a matter of catching you do it, it might not be today, it might not be tomorrow. But it
will
happen.”

As the officer began ripping open a slew of stuffed animals, one of the prospects spoke up, “Go screw yourself we ain’t got shit.”

The Sheriff snapped his head over in the prospect’s direction, “Who said that?” He questioned.

Allen tried to persuade the man, “Whoa there chief,” he tried to physically block his path, but the Sheriff pushed his way through, taking long strides over to where he thought it might of come from, looking between each member of the Club; until he finally came upon the man he believed it to be. “You,” he said, pointing a finger at the prospect.

The prospect looked up.

“
Sranje jede
, you got something to say?”

“Already said what I had to say.”

Martine nodded and smiled, reaching to his hip and pulling out a Taser, waving it at the prospect’s face, “See this? I don’t know who you are – you know what that means?” He waved it some more, “hmn?”

The prospect became noticeably, and understandably, nervous. “Man,” he said, “d-don’t do that come on, get it out of my face.”

He waved it some more, closer this time. “It means that you aren’t shit. You have no value here, no input – no voice. You are a dog, my friend, a scrappy, mangy, piss soaked mutt.”

This is getting out of hand, “Martine put that away,” the officer beside Luke drew his nightstick in response, eyeing Luke cautiously.