Snake (The Road Rebels MC Book 3) Read online

  I was reminded of how unphased she seemed by all of it when she saw Talon holding Calista’s lifeless body in his arms.

  And then, all that shit just reminded me of the horrors she saw growing up. The fights I couldn’t shield her from and the crackling beer bottles that rained down on her smooth skin. The death she experienced at the hands of two toxic individuals that didn’t even try to do their best when it came to us.

  All of it reminded me of the shit protector I really was versus the protector I had tried to be.

  I needed every single fucking trick a woman could throw at me tonight, especially with the thoughts that were running through my head. The thoughts that plagued me at night. The dreams I wished were realities, and the realities I wished were nothing but nightmares.

  I needed a woman to take me away from what I knew was coming. The war that was on the brink of wiping us all of the face of this planet.

  The war was closer than we all thought.

  I could feel its presence prickling the back of my neck.

  Chapter 4

  Laiken

  DEA Special Agent Monaco didn’t do anything to settle my gut, so independent research was the next thing on my list. I pulled all the files they had surrounding this case, and I was shocked at the volume of information we had. I pulled out file after file on motorcycle gangs in the area. The Devil Saints and The Iron Souls and The Road Rebels. There were pictures of several Saints members with faces circles and named scribbled off to the side. Names like ‘Beast’ and ‘Roadhouse,’ and a picture of a little girl with her face circled and a question mark beside it.

  I pulled out folders on a gang called The Iron Souls and saw the dates on them were much earlier than the stuff on The Devil Saints. There was so much information that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to take it all in. So, I color-coordinated all the files with neon-colored paper clips and went to town.

  I organized the files based on dates to help me paint a trail. The very first document was filed over a year ago, and it was on a motorcycle gang called The Iron Souls. I read file after file on their drug-running antics. I read how the DEA caught up with them and was only a foothold away from putting all of them behind bars. I read testimonies of individuals who were turning on their gang. Feeding the DEA inside information to get closer to the Souls.

  Then, I came across a picture. Actually, it was multiple pictures. Of the same woman. Her face was circled in all of them, and the acronym ‘POI’ was crossed out next to it. I came across the first picture that must’ve been taken of her because it had her name beside it.

  “Sydney,” I said.

  I found pictures of her holding the hand of a little girl. I found pictures of her riding on the backs of motorcycles. I found pictures of her standing on a porch as a guy in a leather jacket mounted a bike. I saw more pictures of her and that little girl in a hotel, obviously in another part of the country.

  Maybe California? It looked like California.

  But ‘POI’ was crossed out. That meant she was a person of interest at one point, but no longer was. Why did that happen? Why was she a person of interest in the beginning?

  “We thought Sydney was our link to The Iron Souls.”

  I turned my head to look back at my captain. He was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes fell to the mound of paperwork I had in front of me, and he grinned at the color-coated paper clips.

  “Creative,” he said.

  “Easier to get things back in their proper boxes,” I said.

  “Sydney was a latecomer to the Souls,” he said. “We figured she would be the easiest to roll over, so they surveilled her. They tried to find her connection to The Iron Souls. They needed someone who could confirm and prove the routes The Iron Souls were running drugs through.”

  I picked up the picture of her standing on the porch waving to the guy in the leather jacket.

  “That was taken before they dropped her as a person of interest. She took her daughter-- the young girl in these other photos-- and fled to this man’s house. His name’s Hawk. He’s part of The Road Rebels.”

  “Why is she no longer a person of interest?” I asked.

  “Couldn’t pin anything on her. She was just joyriding with the Souls. She didn’t know anything about their routes or their inner workings. Turns out, she wasn’t even a part of their gang. Not officially. They spent all their time chasing a bad lead.”

  “But it led them into The Road Rebel’s territory,” I said.

  “She was actually the person who tipped off one of the DEA agents to a deal going down with The Devil Saints. She’s the reason we have the open drug case on The Saints, to begin with.”

  “So, she’s not a person of interest, but an informant?” I asked.

  “She’s been quiet. Went dark when the heat got taken off The Road Rebels. My guess is that man in the leather jacket is her little girl’s father, which ties her to The Rebels. The DEA has the same theory, but there’s no evidence to back that up. She didn’t designate a father on her daughter’s birth certificate, and we can’t get a paternity test done without having a legal reason to do so.”

  “And since the heat’s on The Devil Saints right now, just busting up in there and asking for one’s illegal,” I said.

  “Yep. And right now, the focus needs to be on the Saints. The drugs found outside of their compound were way too closely cut to the shit crawling across the border,” he said

  I searched through the mounds of papers until I found the part of the timeline he was talking about. There were pictures and schematics of the truck. A breakdown of the chemical makeup of the drugs in the truck. A side-by-side of these drugs compared to the shit being smuggled over the border.

  “It was cut within one percent,” I said.

  “Yep. Pretty close.”

  “But that cartel. The one you’re comparing it to… they’re exact. Every time.”

  “How do you know that?” he asked.

  “A lot of their drugs ran up into the Los Angeles area. I’ve seen multiple overdoses. I practically have this chemical breakdown memorized. It’s deadly, but it’s always the same breakdown. I’ve never seen it deviate more than 0.2 percent.”

  “There any way you could pull that kind of paperwork for us with your former connections?” he asked.

  “I could try. Let me process all this information, and I’ll make a call,” I said.

  “Right now, there’s a feud brewing between The Rebels and The Saints. But no one knows why. There’s aggression. There are rumors flying around of The Saints chartering in shit like grenades and automatic rifles. They’re gonna get sloppy because that’s not what they run. The Saints, they’re ruthless. They prostitute their own women, marry off their children young, own half the strip clubs in this area, and use the women to smuggle in drugs. They don’t dabble in guns.”

  “You think they’re teaming up with the Rebels?” I asked.

  “Nope. I think The Saints are gunnin’ for war. The Rebels and The Saints have a long ass history of violence and hatred. It started decades ago, when fraternization between the two communities happened, and shit blew sky high.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “The Road Rebels have existed for about sixty years. The Devil Saints were born out of their gang. There was a disagreement in how they would run things and a group of them left to start their own gang.”

  “The Devil Saints,” I said.

  “They’ve been at each other’s throats since. The Rebels see The Saints as pathetic wimps who don’t live by a code, and The Saints see The Rebels as pushover pussies.”

  “Great,” I said. “Sounds fantastic. But when the DEA busted The Devil Saints, they could’ve just taken them down right then and there. Why didn’t they?”

  “When they saw how similar the chemical makeup was, they figured they could kill two birds with one stone.”

  “Of course they did,” I said, sighing.

  “I
know how you feel. It’s bullshit, and I’m ready to arrest those good-for-nothing sons of bitches. Beast-- their President-- is getting aggressive. Rumor has it he killed his own fucking wife in cold blood.”

  “Beast… I saw that name earlier…”

  “The big one in the main Devil Saints pictures.”

  I dug around for it and pulled it out so I could study his face.

  “Any evidence that he killed her?” I asked.

  “Nope. All rumors and speculation. But the wife has been missing since. What we do know is this. The bust happened, and the DEA saw an opportunity. Now, they’re surveilling The Saints big time in order to score not only them but their cartel connections. But by the way you talk, it doesn’t sound like a cartel connection at all.”

  “I don’t have any evidence for that,” I said.

  “Just a gut feeling?”

  I looked up at him and saw him grinning at me. I placed the picture back down on the table before I sighed. This was a lot of tangled information, and even though I didn’t want to admit it, Officer Riley was in the clear with a lot of what the DEA was doing.

  “Wanna hear a theory I’ve been running under the table?” he asked.

  My eyebrows rose as I turned my gaze up towards my captain.

  “With your gut telling you that it’s not the cartel, I think the drugs bust was a setup.”

  “By who?” I asked.

  “The Road Rebels.”

  “Why would they have done that?”

  I watched as he reached in front of me and grabbed a picture. It was the picture of Sydney as she stood on the porch. He handed it out for me to take and I grabbed it, my eyes searching for a connection I wasn’t putting together.

  “If there’s one thing we know about The Rebels, it’s that they live by a code. They don’t dabble in the type of shit The Saints do. They stick to their bar, their turf, and their ranks. My theory? They planted those drugs and went through all that shit to protect one of their own.”

  “Sydney and her daughter,” I said.

  “Exactly. The drug bust did just what they wanted. It took the heat and surveillance off that woman and, by proxy, them.”

  “Do you have any proof for that?” I asked.

  “Just a working theory. How does that sit with your gut?”

  “A hell of a lot better than the shit the DEA’s spewing,” I said.

  “So, this guy in the picture. You know who he is and whether he’s connected to The Road Rebels?” I asked.

  “We ran facial recognition and got a match to a guy who goes solely by the name of ‘Hawk,’ but it was only a fifty-four percent match. The house was purchased by Joe Manning, who is deceased. His surviving kin is unknown. Nothing that would hold up in court. But yes, if that man is this Hawk character, then he’s connected to The Rebels.”

  “Which means Sydney’s connected to The Rebels, and it gives your theory more traction,” I said.

  “But we can’t get close to them. Not legally, and not with the DEA breathing down our necks and focusing all of our efforts on The Saints. And don’t get me wrong, we need to keep them in line. The head of that group is losing his mind.”

  “Any proof?” I asked.

  “I like you and this proof thing, but just hear me out.”

  “No, sir. With all due respect, the proof is what keeps me in line,” I said.

  He studied me with stern eyes before he relaxed his brow and sighed.

  “No proof, but lots of rumors,” he said.

  “Okay. So, Sydney went on joyrides with The Iron Souls, tipped the DEA off on the drug bust with The Devil Saints, and if the man in this picture is ‘Hawk,’ she’s at least living with someone from The Road Rebels.”

  “She’s the spoke in this entire damn wheel.”

  “Then why the hell is no one else surveilling her?” I asked.

  “Because the DEA is interested in the cartel drugs,” he said.

  “Such bullshit.”

  “Yes, it is. Anyway, now you’re up to speed. Go get a drink, get some rest, and get back in here. I’m gonna put you to work on some things.”

  “Are these ‘some things’ apart from the DEA?” I asked.

  “Why would I ask you to do something like that? It’s all hands on deck with this shit.”

  Then, he gave me a sly wink.

  “I’ll be here bright and early, sir.”

  The truth was, a drink sounded wonderful. I hadn’t realized my own town had become so corrupted by gangs and guns and drugs. I had no idea women were being prostituted and killed and used for their bodies. How the hell did things get so messed up?

  Had it always been this messed up and I’d just been that blind?

  I walked out to my car and pulled out an outfit to change into. I didn’t feel like going home, but I didn’t feel like eating. I changed my clothes in the backseat of my car before I slipped out, then I slid behind the steering wheel and cranked it up. My mind was whirling with all the information that had been thrown my way, and all I wanted to do was feel the cool, soothing trickle of liquor taint my throat.

  Then, I’d sleep it off and get ready for the case of a fucking lifetime.

  Chapter 5

  Snake

  I walked back to the compound and traded my leather Rebels cut for a regular leather jacket. It was easier to pick up women at a bar if they didn’t know I was a part of an outlaw biker gang. Some women were into that kind of thing, but those women were usually crazy. They’d intentionally try to bait bikers into sleeping with them, then get pregnant and think they were badass for carrying some outlaw’s child.

  I wasn’t looking for someone to get pregnant. I was just looking for a place to rest my cock for the night.

  The lodge was packed with people. I couldn’t stand the way we’d been crowded in here by Mac like a sausage in a casing. I almost had to fight someone to get a room all to myself. Fucking Mac wanted to put some random prospect on my fucking floor on an air mattress. I didn’t pack up my shit after our job went south to sleep in a room with some dude.

  I was into a lot of shit, but having someone watch me fuck a woman wasn’t one of them.

  I blew that place wide open as I left on my bike. I went screeching onto the road and headed into town. I wasn’t heading to our bar, nor was I heading to any of the bars I frequented. I was crossing town and headed to the other side of Henderson.

  The side of Henderson, Nevada that bordered Las Vegas.

  All of the trashiest women could be found in places like that. Women with tight pants that left nothing to the imagination. Women wearing shirts low cut enough that their tits would spill out of their bras. I salivated over those women. They were the easiest targets, the sweetest lays, and they always aimed to please. It was like their curves were the perfect size of my fingertips. And when they sat down on my cock, my body roared to life.

  It was just a rule of thumb. If you wanted trashy women, get close to Vegas.

  I pulled up to a seedy dive bar just as my phone rang. I ripped my helmet off and shoved it away, ready to ignore whoever the fuck was calling me. I didn’t want to think about anything other than the piece of ass I was taking home tonight.

  But if she were really eager, I’d fuck her in one of these alleyways before dropping her back off at the bar.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Calm the fuck down,” Talon said. “I’m just calling to make sure you’re okay.”

  “Because you’re worried about me?” I asked. “Save the bullshit.”

  “No, because Gemma’s worried about you. Remember her? Your sister?”

  “You mean the woman I tried to protect from all this shit before you stepped in with your overeager dick?” I asked.

  I heard rustling on the other end of the line before her voice popped up.

  “Jace?”

  “Gemma, what do you want?” I asked.

  “Where did you go? I thought we were going to have some tea or something when you got back.”
>
  “You mean coffee? Since when do you fucking drink tea?”

  There was silence on the other end of the line before I heard my sister sigh.

  “When are you coming back?” she asked.

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m fine. How about you keep your worry stored up for when Talon screws something up?”

  “You’re angry at something, and I know it’s not me. What happened?” she asked.

  “Just let me blow off some steam, and I’ll get back to you,” I said.

  “Remember to wrap it up. Don’t want my brother contracting anything,” she said.

  “Whatever. Night.”

  I hung up on my sister then shoved my phone back in my pocket. Worried, my ass. She wasn’t worried about me. She was just pissed that I wasn’t following the rules. Sweet little Gemma, always toeing the line between being a bad girl and being a good one. Never quite good enough to be innocent and never quite bad enough to be considered cool.

  Well, I hoped she felt badass now. Because breaking the rules, I set forth for her and Talon got her into this fucking mess.

  A mess that could get her killed.

  And why the fuck was Talon calling me anyway? If Gemma was worried, she could just fucking call. She had a cell phone. She knew my number. Why the fuck did she have her little dick piece doing all her work for her?

  Oh, right. Because he was pussy-whipped.

  I felt frustration surging through my veins. I locked my helmet away in its cradle, setting my sights on the doors of the bar. I could already taste the sweet burn of the alcohol as it raced down my throat. I could already hear the voices in my head fading as I walked through the front doors. Cigarette smoke hit me, and I took it all in. I missed that fucking smell. The stale smell of beer and cigarettes after a congregation of hard-working fuckers joined in a chorus of retribution that fueled their hate-fire for life.