Page 23 of Justice

“Fine, Ms. Smarty Pants, you tell this lady the story then.”

It’s everything Justice can do to hold in the laugh begging to be released as she watches Beverly cross her arms in defiance. If she had to label her, she would say she is one of the town gossips, an apparent church going individual who loves to meander after the service to exchange everything she sees and hears.

“Lightning, as Beverly said, is the Vice-President for Devil’s Disciples, the local MC around here. Over the past few years, they had nearly disappeared on account of the new Mayor cleaning up the city government. Two years ago, there was two MC’s from up north who rode through town on their way to a meeting in Atlanta. Red, the President of the Disciples, was pissed off since he wasn’t invited to the rally. So, he had his guys use their bikes to block the road, which, as you can imagine, didn’t go over well with the two MC’s. A gunfight broke out and over half of what was left of the Disciples, lay dead in the street.”

Justice swallowed hard, she hadn’t read this in the paper and wondered how many of the men she gave a shit about were led to their death because of Red’s fat ego.

“About a year ago, my younger brother, Travis, was dishonorably discharged from the military. He came back home looking for work and somewhere to fit in. He met Red over at the salvage yard near Razors Edge, and the next thing we know he’s a Prospect, doing all this shit work for Red and the others.”

Justice remembered a time when Red would have the Prospects take turns with her drugged out mother. He would pump her veins full, and the second her eyes rolled back in her head, he would have one of his guys toss her body on the pool table as one by one the Prospects would take turns fucking her lifeless body.

“Charlene tried to talk to Travis, make him see this was a road he didn’t want to travel down. Instead of her talking sense into him, he introduced her to Lightning. Now, she swears she is in love with the man and is willing to change everything about herself to be with him.”

If Justice heard one story such as this one, she’s heard it a thousand times. Young girls getting caught up in the excitement of being with an outlaw biker, the money, the implied freedom to do whatever they wanted. By the time the truth of the situation showed its face, it was too late and they were in too deep.

“And this guy?” Tossing her thumb over her shoulder again.

“I don’t know his name, but I suspect it’s the rogue biker Red is looking for named Hawk. He comes in almost every day and watches the idiots across the street.”

“I don’t think you’re right.” Beverly interrupts, shaking her head rapidly, a severe scowl taking over her features. “He’s too nice to be one of them,” Beverly adds, her assumption of every biker possessing negative traits irritates Justice. Granted society paints them in a negative light, but not every MC is a one percent club.

“You can think what you want, Beverly, but according to Travis, the bike he rides matches the description of the one Hawk is known to own. Red wants this guy, he won't tell me why, but it doesn’t take a genius to know it had to be something big, and illegal, if they need someone with the reputation this Hawk has.”

Justice agreed with Tracy, if Red was indeed in search of a rogue biker, he was definitely in deep with the wrong people. Taking on a rogue biker was a huge risk, as the reason behind why they were loners ranged from killing someone within, to all sorts of crimes against the club. None of this mattered to her, she had her own agenda to follow. Justice was going to open gate night; this Hawk guy was on his own.

CHAPTERTWENTY

Cooper Marino had been undercoverwith the FBI for three years, tracking the movements of the Georgia-based MC, Devil’s Disciples. He had been in his final weeks of training when he got the word his father, Amelio, had been killed by the President, Red Campbell, after a drug deal went horribly wrong. He petitioned his supervisors to allow him to work the case and, against their better judgment, they gave him permission.

It had taken him over a year to get in the first MC, and less than three months to blaze a trail bright enough Red took notice and sought him out. After the initial meet and greet, Marino had nearly given up hope when a text message from an unknown number flashed across his screen, with the two words he had waited an eternity to see—You're in.

Six months later he, along with the rest of Devil’s Disciples, were involved in a territory war led by then Vice President, Axel, and the current President, Red. They were out-manned and, sadly, lied to. The two MC’s they tried to block didn’t want more territory, they wanted permission to fly their colors down the highway past Red’s salvage yard. Out of the eighteen members who rode to the edge of the county line, only six returned.

A month later, in what everyone suspected was a final kick to the balls, the ‘Enforcer’, a man Red placed his trust in to create the printing plates used to make counterfeit money, was arrested in a routine traffic stop. A bag containing eighty thousand dollars in newly cut bills sat in the passenger side of his cage. His fingerprints were all over the counterfeit bills and he pled guilty to racketeering.

Red hired a hit man to kill the ‘Enforcer’, when a team of agents busted down the door of Red’s home, in search of the plates the ‘Enforcer’ admitted to creating. It was all for nothing, they never found the plates and the investigation grew cold.

With a handful of men remaining, Red made Marino his Vice President, a position, which garnered him, more access to places on Red’s property. Still, he had come up empty on the location of where Red was hiding the printing plates, the one thing that would give him enough evidence to lock him up for a long time, and, ultimately, restitution for his father's death.

Marino assumed his big break had finally fallen in his lap when some big shot motherfucker from up north struck a deal with Red to use his money to make him some fake shit. One hundred thousand dollars in cash to be washed and converted into one million dollars. The process was relatively easy, given the proper tools were available. Red had it all, at least until he allowed his ego to rule him; spending the cash, and more importantly, the paper used to make the counterfeit bills.

After church one night, Red pulled Marino aside, confiding in him he had sold a few things of value around his place, gaining the one hundred thousand they needed to complete the job.

Marino could almost reach out and touch the end, like the finish line of a marathon. Having sacrificed everything to put the man responsible for his father’s death behind bars, he had nothing left and could feel the exhaustion creeping around him.

Sliding his key into the lock, he twisted the knob on the tiny one bedroom he rented for the past few years. He missed his DC condo, and all the small luxuries he left behind to come here.

He didn’t bother turning on the lights as he hung his cut on the hook in the hall. He needed a beer and eight hours of uninterrupted sleep, he planned to do both tonight.

The clicking of a gun hammer being cocked back freezes his movements. His training dictated he would never hear the gunshot that killed him, as he took a shallow breath, he debated on what to do.

“You know, for a fucking cop, you have lousy skills on protecting your surroundings.”

Marino knew the voice, granted, it had been a few years, but he would recognize it anywhere. Raising his hands in surrender, he slowly turns to see Tobias Marks seated in the ratty old recliner, his boots crossed at the ankle and the barrel of his gun pointed directly at him.

Dread settled into his gut as he stared at the man across the room. His hope of settling the score which seemed so close a moment ago, had become impossible.

“Relax, kid, I don’t want to kill you,” Tobias said as he lowered the gun, motioning to the sofa with the nod of his head. “I think you and I could help each other.”

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