The Rising Sons Motorcycle Club (18 page)

“Umm…” She heard shuffling, probably Jenny sitting up in bed for the first time that day. “I smell coffee, so I think he’s up. Give me just a sec.”

Raven was heading for her Harley when Jenny passed the phone to Tanner. “ ’Sup?”

“We gotta talk.”

Ten minutes later, Raven was in her brother’s kitchen, explaining the meeting with Allan.

“…so basically, we either pay up or we’re going to have the cops on our asses like never before.”

Tanner listened to Raven tell the whole story, from getting Bear out of jail to getting Jason’s address. He nodded and didn’t say much until Raven was done. When he finally spoke, she could tell that he was still getting his thoughts together.

“Quarter mil. That motherfucker is reaching high, ain’t he? So if we don’t pay up, it won’t be long until they find out the cop had the shit beaten out of him before his place went up.”

Raven ran a hand through her hair. “There’s nothing I could have done, right? I mean, unless we want to get rid of another cop…”

“Hey, sis. You did the right thing. You bought us time. We can handle this. The PD in this town have seen us grow, and unfortunately for them, they’ve seen us grow into something that they can’t handle no more. All they can do was watch from the sidelines. There’s always an investigation going on. There’s always some nosy cop that wants to get on the five o’clock news. Hasn’t happened yet, don’t expect it to.” Tanner poured them each a cup of coffee and set them down on the kitchen table. He sat down across from his sister, his face nothing but a calm slate.

“I get that, but I think Allan might be different. He takes everything… personally.” Raven thought back to all the times she had offended Allan. It seemed so easy to do. She would give a counter argument about a law or argue for the “wrong” side during a televised trial. Allan believed in law and order—until this recent incident, that is.

She went on, “He’s not doing this because of the club. He’s doing this because of me.”

Tanner took a sip of coffee. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It may not matter to you, but it does to me.” Raven lowered her voice and looked over her shoulder. She didn’t want Tanner’s girl to hear what she was going to say. “But what if he does what the other one did? What if I end up handcuffed to a bed, and there’s no one to save me?”

“Raven, no offense, but I doubt you would let that happen. You would kick the shit out of him the very second you saw the look in his eye. You would leave him bleeding and regretting his life, and you wouldn’t think twice about it.”

Raven didn’t acknowledge the compliment. “So, what do we do? Get rid of him, too?”

Tanner shook his head. “We wait. Let’s say he does open an investigation. Let’s say he does push the autopsy through. We’re still talking about weeks. While he is trying to shove paperwork through due process, the club will be planning its next move. There’s nothing to slow us down, and that means will always be two steps ahead. I say ignore him. Make him sweat.”

“I can’t do that, Tanner. I need to keep a close eye on him. I can string him along for maybe a week. After that, he’ll get suspicious, but it’s one more week for us.”

Tanner nodded. “You’re right. I don’t know, tell him it’s going to take time to get that much money together. Tell him we have it, but not in cash. Anything to keep him waiting. I’ll call Bear, let him know we’ve got shit to talk about. We can’t handle this the way we handled the other cop. The club won’t stand for it. Your debate team skills can only work so many times.”

Raven wondered if that was true. Bear seemed to have taken a liking to her. He had always made time to single her out and give her words of wisdom. She had the secret thought that Bear was really a sucker for a pretty woman at heart. She needed to talk with Jenny, but Raven had an idea that Jenny had also been able to make a good bargain with Bear.

Just outside of Bakersfield, Vegas flipped through the channels on the motel TV. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular; distraction, maybe. His mind was on Bear and the club. Every time his mind jumped back, his heart would pound hard. Vegas can see the bike raise up before folding under the pickup. He could hear the sound of screeching metal, and he could smell the exhaust and burning rubber.
 
He could still see Bear face down in the road as he drove away.

The good side of his face curled up into a smile. It had felt so good to see Bear’s lifeless body flailing down the road like a rag doll. In that moment, Vegas understood revenge. Most people saw it as petty, but he got it. It was something beyond cathartic. It was something beyond himself, even.
 
Vegas knew Ron deserved a better death. He had been a good man, and to die at the hands of greasy, gorilla-brained bikers was a travesty.

Ron had taught Vegas everything he knew. When Ronald Bezarius the bounty hunter turned into Beezer the drug dealer, Vegas didn’t think twice about following him. It wasn’t just the power that attracted Vegas to the criminal life.
 
It was respect, money, and hands-on training; three things Vegas never expected to get as a small-town cop.

More than a mentor, Ron had been a father-figure to Vegas.
 
He had been searching his whole adult life for someone like that.
 
He’d never come out and say it, but Vegas wanted that person he could look up to; that person who would understand him.
 
Vegas didn’t come from a broken home, but it felt that way to him.
 
His father worked, paid the bills, and watched football.
 
As soon as they both realized Vegas didn’t care for football, the father gave up on his son.

As Vegas grew up, he made all of his important choices with one eye on his father. None of his life decisions seemed to impress the old man. The idea of becoming a police officer made Vegas’s father raise an eyebrow, “If that’s what you think is best.”

When the law-enforcement academy didn’t yield any jobs, Vegas decided bounty hunting might gain him some experience. After some convincing, Ron took
 
the young man on board. From the very beginning Ron saw that Vegas was eager to learn, and he quickly became a strong asset to the team. Ron was proud of Vegas, and he told them often.

Vegas learned more in a year with Ron on the streets than he ever had at school.
 
All his classes taught the golden rule of, “Do as I say, not as I do.”
 
Ron, on the other hand, gave real-world advice, not the right answer to a question on a test.
 
Vegas learned how to read people, something Ron said was one of the most valuable assets.

Realizing that the TV wouldn’t be enough to distract himself from his thoughts, Vegas hit the power button and tossed the remote to the other double bed in the room.
 
Hoisting himself up on the edge of the bed, he stared towards the mediocre bathroom.
 
Vegas decided that the constant stream of water might do the trick.

He stood and dragged his left foot along the carpet.
 
With enough effort, Vegas could raise it off the ground, but it was painful.
 
Besides, he had found out that being somewhat crippled made you nearly invisible.
 
When he dragged his foot along the streets of Sin City, he wasn’t seen as a threat or dangerous.
 
Vegas saw that as an asset.
 

With the water beginning to heat up, he stripped down and slid the curtain to one side.
 
The steam was already filling the small room.
 
With no fan, he could see the layers of mist rising and hanging in the air before him.
 
Taking a deep breath, Vegas felt the stress and memories ease into the deep recesses of his mind.
 
He stepped into the fall of hot water.

As the water fell down his back, he could feel it hitting and curving over the large scar.
 
It tortured him with a tremendous itch, as it did with any temperature change.
 
Vegas reached his right arm behind him, knowing the scar was just out of reach and knowing that the itch would never subside, no matter how much he dug at it.
 
He lowered a finger down his spine, guessing at how long it actually stretched.
 
The scar from the knife was minimal, but the doctors had split him down farther, worried about paralyzation.
 
Their work had done little but cost him more money and time in recovery.

Vegas reached up and tilted the shower head down to keep the water off his back.
 
He put a hand on the wall and leaned into the spray.
 
He took long, deep breaths of the steam, enjoying the warm air in his lungs.
 
The painful memories were still there, but Vegas did feel some peace.
 
With Bear out of the way, the club would be in shambles.
 
When Carlos had his men head towards Bakersfield, they would deliver the final blow.
 
The Rising Sons Motorcycle Club would be no more.
 

Vegas intended to wipe them from the map.
 
He wanted Bakersfield to forget they ever existed.

Between Vegas’s knowledge of the club and Carlos’s weapons, it shouldn’t be a problem.
 
He had automatic rifles, powerful shotguns, and even a few grandees.
 
They’d be the icing on the cake.
 
Vegas pictured the roadhouse bar collapsing, the neon sign shattering as it fell to the ground.
 
Once the dust settled, there would be no evidence that the Rinsing Sons were anything more than a dream.

Just outside of Bakersfield, Vegas flipped through the channels on the motel TV. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular—a distraction, maybe. His mind was on Bear and the club. Every time his thoughts drifted back, his heart would pound hard. Vegas could see the bike raise up before folding under the pickup. He could hear the sound of screeching metal, and he could smell the exhaust and burning rubber. He could still see Bear face down in the road as he drove away.

The good side of his face curled up into a smile. It had felt so good to see Bear’s lifeless body tumbling down the road like a rag doll. In that moment, Vegas understood revenge. Most people saw it as petty, but he got it. It was something beyond cathartic. It was something beyond himself, even. He knew Beezer had deserved a better death. He had been a good man, and to die at the hands of those greasy, gorilla-brained bikers was a travesty.

Beezer had taught Vegas everything he knew. When Ronald Bezarius the bounty hunter turned into Beezer the drug dealer, Vegas didn’t think twice about following him. It wasn’t just the power that attracted Vegas to the criminal life; it was respect, money, and hands-on training, three things Vegas never expected to get as a small-town cop.

More than a mentor, Ron had been a father-figure to Vegas. He had been searching his whole adult life for someone like that. He’d never come out and say it, but he wanted a person he could look up to, a person who would understand him. He didn’t come from a broken home, but it felt that way to him. His father worked, paid the bills, and watched football. As soon as they’d both realized Vegas didn’t care for football, the father had given up on him.