Page 40 of Kneeling to Candy

Atlas hides his laugh with a cough before addressing Chase. “Is there anything you can do with the city camera footage?”

“The best I can do is check the other cameras in the vicinity, see if I can find the vehicle that may have been used to grab them.”

Atlas nods. “Let us know if you find something.”

Chase smirks, opening his laptop. “You mean, let you know when I find something.”

If it was anyone else talking tech cocky, I’d roll my eyes. Yet with Chase, he’s that good at what he does. If there’s something to be found in the remaining city cameras, he’ll find it.

Ziggy says what we’re all thinking. “Three weeks is a long-ass time to hold on to abductees in a flesh trade operation.”

“The first forty-eight hours, we stand a chance. Each day after, the odds of finding a missing person decrease by half,” Tank—a security specialist in our crew—reminds us. “Do we have evidence the women are still stateside? Or are we looking at this as a mission, going nationwide?”

“We’ve had eyes on the cargo trains—nothing to note out of the ordinary. Meaning the roads are the way these women are most likely being transported. We’re hoping they’re still stateside, but we’re prepared to go nationwide,” Gauge answers.

Reaper, one of the club’s enforcers, pushes away from the table. He stands and paces the far side of the room like an angry bull. “I thought we cleaned this shit up when we uncovered Lorenzo Bianchi’s drug ring over a year ago. The feds had one job—to dismantle the Denver mob.”

“Right? We handed the old Bianchi bastard on a silver platter to the FBI,” Brass—another beefy enforcer—pipes in, echoing his best friend’s thoughts.

Stage, one of our scouts, turns to Prez. He opens his mouth, then immediately closes it.

Atlas lifts a heavy brow, his face hard as he eyes the young biker. “Have something to say, Stage?”

Stage sighs, cautiously asking, “I mean no disrespect, Prez. We all know you’ve grown close to Piero Bianchi?—”

Eagle subtly motions with his hands to stop talking. But it’s too late. Stage already let the cat out of the bag.

Atlas’s dark eyes go nearly black, glowering at Stage. It’s an act of treason to question the president of the motorcycle club about his choice of friends.

Stage hastily licks his lips, possibly sensing he’s entered dangerous territory. “We all agree Piero helped with recovering Jo, and then you when you were taken by your deranged sperm donor?—”

Shots fired!

Referring to the deceased Colombian drug kingpin—Esteban Moreno—as Atlas’s bio-pop isn’t winning him any favors. It’s like rattling the cage of a beast to awaken it.

“Stage!” Triple hisses, trying to warn our brother to stop digging himself a hole.

Not getting the memo, Stage stupidly continues to shovel figuratively. “Could our appreciation for the new don have clouded our vision to Piero’s true intent? The Bianchi family has appointed him to the new position of Don of Denver after his cousin got turned into hamburger meat by your mother-in-law running him down with his own car.”

Oh, sweet hells below. Stage is toast.

“That was an accident,” Atlas growls in warning.

It’s a lie, and we all know it. Stella Holland didn’t get the name “Mama Bear” for nothing. She knew exactly what she was doing when she threw that Lamborghini in reverse. Her tears fooled the police, but not our crew—we got built-in lie detectors from our military training. Even her husband, Jim, is convinced she intentionally killed Lorenzo, though he’d never call her out on it.

Flay—our club’s medic—runs his hands down his thick bearded face as he groans. “Stage, you idiot. You had to say the quiet part out loud. I don’t want to use my medical tools on you, brother.”

Atlas slowly stands from his seat. He places his catcher-mitt-size palms on the conference table, leaning over to the word-vomiting young biker. “Are you questioning my ability to smell a rat when one’s in front of me, Stage?”

The young biker gulps, staring wide-eyed back at Prez, like a rabbit cornered by a mountain lion. “It’s our job to question every avenue, sir. What if Piero’s intent was to get close to us, offer his services and deep pockets to locate your wife, allowing him to handle his shady dealings right under our noses?”

Atlas’s nostrils flare.

Gauge, the only one who can calm Atlas down when he’s ready to blow a gasket aside from Jo, stands from his seat to lay a heavy hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “Easy, bro. Stage makes a solid case.”

Prez turns his glower on his VP. “Have you questioned my judgment before, brother?”

Gauge snorts without humor. “I’ve questioned you so many damn times in our friendship, Atlas. It’s my job as your friend and your VP to anchor you when I feel you’re floating off course.” He juts his chin at Stage. “The young scout makes a good point. Piero is a Bianchi. How does that saying go? Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”

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