Tate

In a week, the new book had received over two hundred reviews. According to the amount of praise it was receiving – and the five-star average it held – it was my best received book to date.

I scrolled through the book’s Amazon page and down to the sales rank. Much to my surprise, the ranking was below one hundred.

Sixty-six to be exact.

Notoriety had never been my goal. No differently than any other author, I hoped to one day write a New York Times Bestseller, but made no real effort to obtain the goal. The policies, procedures, and layers of bureaucratic bullshit that were required to be hurdled to reach the objective were beyond what I was willing to give.

I enjoyed writing, sharing my stories with others, and felt blessed that I could somehow manage to pay my bills with the income I received from doing so. Becoming a puppet and allowing the industry to pull my strings wasn’t on my to-do list, nor would it be.

Excited at the book’s progress, I wondered if the success was simply a result of it being the last book in the series.

I decided it was.

I checked the sales rank again, fully expecting it to have jumped to well over one hundred.

Sixty-two.

I grinned at my accomplishment. Having a book ranked in the top 100 out of all books in Amazon’s existence was a benchmark I had yet to reach, and doing so was quite an accomplishment.

For the first two years that I’d published books, I didn’t have the internet at home. I’d write a book, take my laptop to the coffee shop, and upload it through the publishing platform using their free Wi-Fi. Rankings, reviews, and sales data were observed infrequently – if at all – and only when I was able to cart my computer to the coffee shop in the saddlebag of my motorcycle.

Although the woman who later became my agent strongly suggested that I develop and maintain a Facebook profile, I had so far refused to do so. Social media, at least in my opinion, was contributing to the downfall of today’s society.

It only required a visit to my favorite coffee shop to be convinced I was right. Every girl under the age of twenty sat with her nose glued to the screen of her phone. Updating Facebook, posting Snapchat photos, and tweeting their opinions to the masses prevented today’s youth from enjoying everything else the world had to offer.

Seeing two friends sit across from one another, and then spend their leisure time with their faces buried in their phones saddened me. I realized I could do nothing to fix it, so I chose to write about characters who were far more interested in living life than spending time on social media.

I closed my laptop, pleased that the book was being held in such high regard. A ride on my bike along the coast would be my reward for a job well done. It was early morning, and neither Pee Bee or Crip – both fixtures at the clubhouse – would be there for a few more hours.

San Ysidro sat on the US side of the Mexican border, and was an hour away. If I rode the more scenic route, taking the boulevards that followed the coast, it would take a few hours, but the scenery would be second to none.

By the time I got back, the fellas should be at the shop.

The ride along the coast was refreshing. The smell of the ocean brought with it memories of my mother and father, and of having a blood family.

I was grateful for the family I had, but nothing could ever replace the family I lost.

Riding along Highway 5, I exited at East Mission Bay Drive, just west of San Diego. The ride along the less populated route allowed me to not only smell the ocean, but see it. With the wind in my face, and one of God’s greatest creations at my side, I soaked up the late-morning sun as I crept along the stretch of road.

Living along the coast was all I had ever known. I often wondered how people could live inland, or in the Midwest for that matter, and not have the leisure of using the ocean as a place to find solace.

Without it, I was certain I wouldn’t be close to sane.

I didn’t make it to San Ysidro, instead choosing to stop at Mission Beach and watch the surfers take advantage of the early morning swells. After an hour of enjoying the scenery, I rode back to Oceanside feeling cleansed of all that had been on my mind.

When I pulled into the shop, I was pleased to see Pee Bee and Crip standing in the parking lot enjoying a beer in the mid-day sun.

I flipped off the engine and rolled to a stop at their side.

“What’s shakin’, motherfucker?” Pee Bee asked.

I pulled off my helmet. “Just the ground beneath this beast. How’s the shoulder?”

“Not bad, considering the guy that fixed the fucker normally works on horses and dogs.”

Crip chose to stitch his himself, which came as no surprise. I shifted my eyes to him and arched an eyebrow. “How about your arm?”

He poked the skin bedside the wound with his index finger and winced in pain. “Good as fucking new.”

Pee Bee looked at me. “I’d ask if you saw the news about the girls, but I know you don’t have a fucking television.”

I hung my helmet on my handlebars and stepped over the seat. “What did it say?”

“All the girls are doing good. They’re at home. According to the Captain in charge of the gang task force, some Mexican gang got in a shootout with the MS-13 and killed five of their men in the shootout. The cop who came by here was…” He paused and did air quotes with his fingers. “In the area at the time, and got to the house just as the killers were leaving. He said they were driving an old Ford pickup truck, and appeared to be headed for the border.”

I looked at Crip.

He shrugged. “That’s what they said.”

“I’ll be damned,” I said. “A cop’s a cop, unless he’s that cop. Glad there won’t be any heat coming down on us.”

“Felt good to find those girls.” Pee Bee turned his head and looked at his shoulder. “Makes this worth it.”

The bullet that struck Pee Bee came from the rifle of the man I had killed. According to Crip, if it wasn’t for me, the bullet might have hit him in the stomach or chest. Chances of survival from that wound would have been bleak.

I certainly didn’t feel like he owed me anything, but he was more than grateful for my quick reaction to the situation.

I fully realized killing was inherently wrong, but I believed there were often extenuating circumstances that justified the act. If having grown men kidnap children and then rape them at will wasn’t justification, I supposed nothing was.

“Hearing that little girl say ‘thank you’ was all it took for me to realize we were doing the right thing,” I said.

“What girl?”

“The little girl who was wearing Crip’s shirt,” I said. “When you told her help was on the way.”

“I didn’t catch that.”

“I’m sure you were in shock. High on adrenaline, if nothing else.”

“I wish I could have killed that prick a few more times,” Crip seethed. “Killing him once wasn’t enough.”

“The one who had that little girl in the room?” I asked.

“Yeah.” His jaw went tight. “Makes me sick thinking about it.”

“Me, too.”

“Me three,” Pee Bee said.

Crip finished his beer and turned toward the open door of the clubhouse. “Like I said when we were there. I appreciate you fellas being there. Couldn’t have got it done without ya.”

“Got company, Boss,” Pee Bee said. “Smells like bacon.”

Crip and I turned around at the same time. The cop who continued to meddle in the club’s business pulled into the lot and shut off his engine.

Fuck.

He opened the car’s door and got out. “Good afternoon, fellas.”

To date, I hadn’t seen him up close, but now that I was standing within a few feet from him, my guess was that he could hold his own in a bar fight. He was over six feet tall and built like a running back.

Crip turned his head to the side and spat on the ground and then glared at him. “Something I can do for you, detective?”

“Just in the neighborhood, and thought I’d stop in and give you an update.”

Crip looked him up and down. “Didn’t know I needed one.”

“Matter of common courtesy,” the cop said.

“Since when are cops courteous?” Crip asked with a dry laugh. “Last I heard, cops were shooting men through their car windows for legally carrying weapons, shooting them in the back for having broken out taillights, and gunning ‘em down in the 7-Eleven parking lot for selling CDs.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “There’s good and bad people all over this earth, cops included. Don’t label all cops, and I won’t label all bikers.”

Crip rubbed the stubble on his jaw between his thumb and forefinger. “Wasn’t aware there was such thing as a bad biker.”

“There is, and that’s why I’m here.”

Crip cocked an eyebrow. “If you’re looking for bad bikers you’ll need to look elsewhere. We’re the good ol’ boys club. Hell, Pee Bee, Meat and I were just getting ready to go inside and play a game of parcheesi.”

“Parcheesi?” the detective coughed out a laugh. “The three of you are going to play parcheesi?”

Crip nodded. “When we’re done, we were going to go up by the pier and get a Hawaiian shaved ice. We’ll sit side by side cross-legged on the beach and wait for the sunset.”

The detective glanced at each of us. “In your jeans and kuttes?”

“That’s standard attire here at the good ‘ol boys club.”

“Sounds like a hell of a way to spend the afternoon. I’ll keep it short.”

Crip glanced at his watch. “Please do.”

“Satan’s Savages have been running dope and raping women for as long as I’ve been on the force. The other day, someone finally agreed to testify against them on a gang rape case. So, I got a warrant, waited until they were holding a meeting, and raided their clubhouse. In fact, that’s how I spent my night last night--”

“Hey, Pee Bee,” Crip said. “Run inside and see if we’ve got any of those lollipops left. I think the cop’s looking for a reward.”

The detective cleared his throat. “There’s one small problem.”

Crip let out a laugh. “One of them was holding a candy bar, and you thought it was a gun? You shot him, and now your facing charges?”

The detective’s gaze hardened. “Can you stop being a prick for a few minutes?”

“Probably not.”

The cop shifted his gaze to Pee Bee. “One of the Savages involved in the rape – the orchestrator of it, in fact – is singing like a song bird. So far, I’ve been the only one to take statements.” He reached into his back pocket, removed a notepad, and opened it. “In June of 2011, someone shot – and killed – one of the Black Diamond’s members at a rally north of Palm Springs. The murder was never solved. According to this source, James Spencer did it. You may know him as Spider. He rides with your group.”

My eyes shifted to Pee Bee. His face went stark white. I’m sure mine did the same. Stone-faced, Crip stared at the detective as he flipped to another page in his notepad.

“According to the Savage’s source, Whip, Panda, Taffy, and Lowbrow were all castrated and relieved of their respective male members by none other than you, Peanut Butter.” He glanced at Pee Bee, flipped the page on his note pad, studied it, and then looked up. “In April of 2014, Crip, Pee Bee, and Adam ‘Cholo’ Downey retaliated for a motorcycle that was stolen by a lowly club that is now defunct, but was called Broken Boyz MC at the time. Cholo ended the argument in a fist fight, which left Michael ‘Jersey Mike’ Tredetto in a coma. He died the next day.”

He flipped to another page. “Sorry, this isn’t in chronological order. Nicholas ‘Crip’ Navarro, on or about January 2004, did charge the acting president of the Southern Stars MC, Bart ‘B.A.’ Anderson, $10,000 to allow the club to operate in this region without retaliation, thereby committing extortion under the RICO act.”

“Stop,” Crip said. “I’ve heard enough. What are you getting at, detective?”

He folded the notepad, let out a sigh, and then looked at Crip. “Are you done being an asshole?”

“For now.”

“I’m not getting at anything, Navarro. I’m here to advise you of a situation that has developed, and what I believe might need to be done to resolve it.”

“I’m listening.”

“There’s enough information in this notepad to put away every principal in this MC for the rest of their lives. I think you’re aware of my beliefs regarding this club. I’d hate to see that happen. For now, I’m the only one who knows about this and I’d like to keep it that way--”

“How do you propose to do that?” Crip asked.

“I’ve got a short window of time before the informant expects me to present this to the District Attorney. Luckily for all of us, he doesn’t have an attorney. Yet.”

“What can I do to prevent that deal from being made?”

“Someone needs to get to the informant before I make it to the District Attorney’s office.”

“The informant that’s currently in jail?”

“That is correct.”

Crip arched an eyebrow. “You’re telling me that I need to have someone get tossed in the same jail, and have him ‘take care’ of this guy before the deal’s made?”

“That is also correct.”

“When do you expect you’ll be presenting the DA with the contents of that notepad? How much time do I have?”

“I can drag it on for forty-eight hours before the informant will get suspicious. After he loses faith in me, he’ll certainly start talking to someone else. That, Mr. Navarro, is my only concern. If, and when, this information lands in the hands of another detective, you – and everyone else named in this notepad – are screwed.”

Filled with disbelief, and lacking any level of trust that the entire plan wasn’t a set up, I shifted my eyes from the detective to Crip.

“You’re going to trust this fucker?” I asked.

“Don’t have a choice,” Crip said.

“The hell you don’t.”

“What’s your suggestion?” he asked.

“I don’t have any fucking idea. But, a cop’s a cop,” I said. “Sound familiar?”

“Lift up your right shirt sleeve,” Crip said.

He pulled up his sleeve, revealing a tattoo I recognized as being the Navy SEAL Trident. He turned so Pee Bee could see it.

Crip glanced at each of us. “Look familiar?”

The detective’s involvement in the club’s activities, his provision of information regarding police investigations, and his assistance in getting me out of prison now made sense. There was one thing, however, that didn’t.

“If you two are SEAL brothers.” I glared at the detective. “Why the fuck did you arrest Crip for murder that day? Right here in the shop?”

He pulled his sleeve down and met my gaze. “Because this exact thing happened. Whipple came to me, complaining that his brother had come up missing. I tossed the complaint aside. He came to me again. I tossed it again. Then, he went to another detective. At that point, I had to act.”

“You expect me to believe that simply because you and Crip were SEALs that you’re going to let us slide on shanking a guy in the joint? I’m not buying it, detective.”

“Maybe this will help you understand,” he said. “There will always be predators, and there will always be prey. This MC is a predator. A necessary predator. Satan’s Savages are the prey--”

I choked on a laugh. “Holy shit. You just cleared everything up.” Sarcasm dripped from each word. “Want to come over for dinner?”

He glanced at each of us and then let out a long breath. “In the food chain, the grass feeds the grasshopper. The grasshopper is eaten by the snake. The snake is captured and eaten by the hawk. The hawk takes a shit from a tree branch and feeds the grass beneath him. The grass is fertilized by that hawk turd, and eventually grows enough to feed another grasshopper. The chain is endless. The Filthy Fuckers MC is my hawk. The members don’t fuck with anyone who doesn’t fuck with them. The only people who are dumb enough to fuck with you are clubs like Satan’s Savages – and a few others – who spend their spare time raping women, robbing gas stations, and cooking meth. They, gentlemen, are the prey.”

I hated to admit it, but his analogy not only made sense, I liked it.

A lot.

I nodded in acknowledgement of his statement. “Right now, you’re handing us a snake.”

“That is correct. A venomous snake.”

“Who’s the informant?” Crip asked.

“Darin ‘Gravy’ Wheatland.”

“Fucking piece of shit,” Pee Bee said. “You’re sure he raped that chick?”

“He’s even admitted it. It was the first step in him cutting a deal. According to some of the other Savages, it’s something he does with regularity.”

“That motherfucker,” Pee Bee said through his teeth. “I hate that son-of-a-bitch. I’ll take care of it. What are you going to do? Arrest me and stick me in jail with him?”

Crip shook his head. “You aren’t doing shit, Peeb. I’ll take care of it.”

The thought of going back to prison made me feel ill. Having my family living under the threat of prosecution – at the hands of a serial rapist – filled me with rage. Rage won the battle.

“This isn’t going to be simple,” I interrupted. “It’s going to take some planning. Do they have time on the yard? Meals in the cell, or meals in a chow hall? Is there a commons area that all the inmates can use, or are they confined to their cells? Are there cameras in the cell block? On the yard?”

The detective raised his index finger. “This is where it gets complicated. Although the investigation is out of the San Diego County Gang Task Force office, the men are being held in the Federal Detention Wing of the LA County Jail. We didn’t have room for them in SD County, and they’re being charged federally, so that’s where they ended up.”

My heart sank into the pit of my stomach. I looked at Crip and then at Pee Bee. “That’s where I was being held. I’ve got bad news, fellas. Inmates are on lockdown twenty-three hours a day, and they only get one hour on the yard. Short of stabbing a man to death with a golf pencil, there’s no chance of shanking anyone in there.”

“If we don’t do something with that son-of-a-bitch, every man in this club’s going down,” Crip said. “I don’t need a shank. I’ll choke the motherfucker to death.”

“Never work,” I said. “There’s cameras on the yard.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he said. “That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. I’m the president of this MC, and I’m going to fucking act like one. I can’t let that son-of-a-sorry-bitch take this club apart at the seams.”

“Hold up, Boss,” Pee Bee said. “We need to talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Crip snapped back.

I was facing the detective, standing to his left. Crip and Pee Bee were beside me, facing him, standing on his right. It seemed the four of us were in a negotiation, of sorts, but it was obvious we were getting nowhere.

The men in the Filthy Fuckers MC were inherently good men. All the crimes the detective read from his notepad were against no-good motherfuckers who were headed straight to hell whether we sent them there or not. I couldn’t let men who I’d taken an oath to support and protect be arrested when there was a way for me to prevent it.

“You’re right,” I said. “There’s nothing to think about. There’s only one way this’ll work, and there’s only one man that can get it done. It’s not either of you. I’m going back in.” I looked at the detective. “I’ve got a couple questions.”

“What are they?”

“Gravy raped that girl? You’re sure of that?”

“He admitted it. Swabs taken from the victim after the incident were a definite match. He raped her.”

“Just to get this straight, you’re telling me that you can arrest me, and then drop charges or whatever? Get me back out of jail?”

“As long as you don’t get caught committing a crime inside,” he said.

“Can you give me until the end of the day before you arrest me? Let me get my affairs in order?”

“Sure. I can--”

“Hold up a minute,” Crip said. “I can’t let you do that, Meat.”

The club started with five men. Of those five, there were four left. Stretch was almost blind, and he was weak after a long bout with pneumonia that he never fully recovered from. Crip, Pee Bee and I were the other three.

In my eyes, it was the responsibility of one of us to resolve the issue with the snitch. Pee Bee had a life with his new wife in front of him, and the Filthy Fuckers MC would cease to exist without Crip as the leader. Both men, however, were far too stubborn and prideful to negotiate with.

A decision had to be made.

So, I made it.

While the detective’s eyes were fixed on Crip, I swung my right fist into his jaw. The impact of the punch knocked him into the exterior wall of the shop.

“Holy shit!” Pee Bee shouted.

I’d always wanted to hit a cop, and looked at that wild swing as my only opportunity to do so. It was also the only way I could secure my position to be the one behind bars.

“God damn it, Meat,” Crip said with a dull laugh.

As he stumbled to stay on his feet, I turned to the side and put my hands behind my back. “There. Arrest me for assault on a law enforcement officer.”

“You cocksucker,” he groaned. “You blindsided me.”

“Had to do something before one of these two beat me to it,” I said.

He rubbed his jaw. “I was going to arrest you on a bullshit charge.”

“I just wanted to make sure it was me that got arrested,” I said.

As if he needed Crip’s approval, the detective looked at him and raised both eyebrows. “Well?”

“If he’s got the guts to do that, he must have a plan that he thinks will work.”

I glanced at Crip. “Appreciate it, Brother.” I turned toward the cop. “I need to stop at the CVS before you take me in, though.”

He looked at me like I’d asked him to let me sleep with his wife. “For what?”

“Can’t tell you,” I said. “I don’t want you to have to deny anything if this goes to trial.”

“I’m not cuffing you now.” He motioned toward the car. “Just get in.”

“Damn it, Meat,” Crip said. “Use your head in there.”

I glanced at Pee Bee and then Crip. “In case I don’t make it back, I need to tell you fellas something.”

“We’ll take care of your sled,” Crip said. “I’ll put it in the shop.”

I found the thought of rotting away in prison ironic, considering the content of my recent book. “My guess is I’m not coming back,” I said. “I’m serious.”

“You’ll be back.”

“You haven’t seen this place.” I gazed beyond him and shook my head. “I’m not coming back.”

I shifted my focus to Crip. “I’m not an editor.” My gaze fell to his boots. “I haven’t been for some time. I just want to come clean before I go. It’s the only thing I haven’t been truthful about. Been eating at me for a while, too.”

He slapped my left shoulder. “Pretty proud of you on the one you just released, TD. From what I hear you might hit the New York Times Bestseller’s list with that one.”

His response caught me off guard. I looked at him with wide eyes. “You knew?”

“Known for some time now.” He grinned. “Peyton reads all your stuff. She loves it. She’s getting ready to read the new one again right now.”

“So does Tegan,” Pee Bee said. “She loves ‘em.”

“Alright, then.” I swallowed a lump of pride. Emotion soon replaced it, all but bringing me to tears. “Well, let me go do this deal.”

I glanced at each of them. “I love you, my brothers.”

Crip rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms and then met my gaze with wet eyes. “Filthy Fuckers Forever.”

Pee Bee and I responded in unison. “Forever Filthy Fuckers.”