Rev
ROCKER’S NOT THE dumb fuck I had him pegged for. After the Hard Riders trade Evie for Sachs, he moves into Evie’s house. I know this because I still keep an eye on her. He also keeps a couple of prospects nearby, so either he’s wised up and decided she needs a bodyguard, or he knows there’s a credible threat. Not sure which pisses me off more.
I pull up behind her house two weeks after the trade. It took four days to find the right guy for this job, which is two days longer than I expected. The Feds never believe that most of the MCs are on the up-and-up, so they always have their plants. I trust my brothers and the prospects are vouched for, but that leaves the hang-arounds and wannabes. There are always guys looking to join, who show up at the clubhouse and on runs, buying rounds and looking for an in. That’s where the Feds like to place their boys. If one guy doesn’t move up in the club hierarchy, they just send in another and another. I’d done some looking and some talking, and it turns out Benjy had joined us just three months ago. He had a big, shiny-ass bike and way too many questions for a guy looking to patch in.
Hello, plant.
Hawke and the club leadership discussed it. Doesn’t sit right, bringing in the Feds, but it’s the cleanest solution. Rocker is the connection between the Black Dogs and the cartel; Sachs confirmed as much.
Sachs made the call from a burner phone and wouldn’t you know—Benjy’s all over that intel like a dog with a stick. Couldn’t drag him away from Rocker after that, which solves two problems. Gets him out of our club and sets Rocker up for the fall. Whatever happens now, it takes Rocker out of the picture. Even if he doesn’t talk when they bring him in, the cartel is gonna suspect he did. They’ll throttle back on their operation, too, waiting to see if the feds have made them, too. It buys the Hard Riders time to come up with a permanent solution.
We’ve gone over the plan a dozen times and now it’s out of our hands. I wonder if Hawke’s planning any side action. Now’s the time to hit the Black Dogs. After Rocker goes down, they’ll be reeling and looking for the sneak who sold them out. Damned glad I’m not Benjy, but I’m betting he’s got an escape plan in place. We’re uneasy allies in the war on drugs, but I don’t want to see him get plugged. We’re fighting on the same side—just with different weapons. Still, feels safer to go in myself. This outsourcing shit isn’t my thing. Can’t control the outcome the way I can when it’s my finger on the trigger.
Rocker pulls up in a white van, Evie right behind him in her pink RV. He’s been glued to her side since he brought her out of the Hard Rider clubhouse. She parks, but for a minute I think Rocker’s not gonna stop. The van idles, but he doesn’t kill the engine. Evie pops out of the RV, smiling and laughing. Christ, she looks good. She heads for Rocker’s van, her skirts all sparkly and shit in the sunshine, and I’ll bet he’s cursing up a storm.
He kills the engine—and all hell breaks loose.
Local authorities bring out the SWAT team for anything involving gangs and guns. They must have a warrant to go with their suspicions and Benjy’s intel. Not like they pop out of fucking nowhere, but it feels like it. One minute, the street’s empty and the next it’s full of SUVs and there’s a BearCat driving down the center of the road. Doors fly open and there are suddenly about twenty police officers in black vests marked POLICE swarming all over Rocker’s ride. And then the SWAT team members in full camo and Kevlar. Not like I like seeing a bunch of M-16s pointed at my girl. Nothing I can do from here but pray, and I’m damned rusty at that.
Evie screams and she’s surrounded, rushed to the sidelines. The cops bark out orders and Rocker emerges from the van, hands up.
He rakes the boys in blue with a smile. “One fuck of a welcome home committee.”
Those cops put him on the ground way harder than necessary and pat him down. Doesn’t take them long to find his piece tucked in the small of his back. That’s almost all they find, though. Rocker’s got a couple of illegal semiautomatics in the back of the van, but he’s drug-free.
Weed makes for a bulky cargo. It takes a hell of a lot of product to make good money, and it stinks like crazy if you don’t package it right. There’s not a drug dog alive that won’t tear you and your ride apart to get at it and the customers who buy that shit aren’t loyal. They’re not addicts and most of them have lives they’d like to keep. If they get busted, they sing. Plus, if you get busted while carrying a gun, the penalties get stiffer. Rocker’s Colombian connections are pushing harder stuff than that and the man’s a pro. He does exactly what he’s told. No resistance, no extra words. Just tells them he pleads the fifth and wants a lawyer.
They won’t get him for drugs, but the weapons charge will stick. The dogs find nothing in the van, but it’s merry fucking Christmas when the cops go in. Not like the back is full of coke or guns, but the fact that Rocker’s transporting a pair of semiautomatics is enough in the hands of a zealous prosecutor. They know he’s dealing, even if they can’t prove it, and they’ll use the guns as an excuse to put him away.
I watch, Vik by my side. When the cop cars pull away with Evie and Rocker, I fire off a quick message to Hawke from a burner phone. There’s no point in being stupid about this.
ME: Rocker busted. Feds all over him, but no drugs. Dumbass was transporting guns, so he’s not walking. Worried that they took Evie in too.
HAWKE: Got a lawyer on it. If your girl’s clean, it’s a bad couple of hours and then done.
ME: Gonna head down and meet the lawyer. Wanna be there when she gets out.
HAWKE: Your call. You show, she gonna suspect?
ME: Not stupid
HAWKE: So that’s a yes
ME: Thinking so
HAWKE: Bring a big fucking bunch of flowers
Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I nod to Vik. “Let’s ride.”
He sighs dramatically. “Are we playing white knight? You about to ride to the rescue?”
I flip him the bird and peel away from the curb. He’s right behind me all the way to the police station. When I get there, the club’s lawyer is just pulling up in his fancy-ass Mercedes. James Brandon didn’t waste any time getting here and I appreciate that. Lawyer Boy’s not bad-looking, which probably helps with the jury, and he’s wearing a real slick suit.
“Mr. Brady.” He tips his head at me. Then he strides into the station. I follow right on his ass. He gives me a look, but doesn’t say anything. When the front desk asks his business, he announces he’s representing Eve Kent and they wave him through.
I’m more of a problem. We’re not married. I’m not her brother, her family, or her legal representation.
James earns his goddamned paycheck. “He’s Ms. Kent’s fiancé.”
This white lie earns me a seat in the waiting room. It’s not the happiest place on the earth, so I’m ready to go when James texts me an hour later that we’re good to go. I head out to meet them. Evie’s gonna need a ride home.