Page 5 of Broken

Nero is younger than the majority of the other officers. He has a full head of dark brown hair that he keeps short at the back and sides, but longer on top. He is always clean shaven, alwaysimmaculately turned out. Even his boots shine, which is odd for a biker. Tall and lean, but dangerous, and smart as fuck.

He’d been voted in as VP in his early thirties, then took over as President when the previous one, Crash ironically, was killed in an accident with three cars and a long-haul truck. His picture hangs on the wall of ‘Fallen Brothers’, together with the parts of his motorcycle that weren’t incinerated or crushed in the accident, all stored in a glass case.

It’s fucking morbid if you ask me, but I never voice that opinion.

We are far enough away, the TV loud enough, that our conversation will be private from Zephyr.

“How’s Phoenix?”

“Good.”

Nero finally sets his phone down and looks at me. Phoenix is his younger half-brother. They have the same dad. Nero’s mom, Darla, was his wife. Phoenix’s mom, Kate, his side piece.

Darla never accepted Phoenix, hated him even, because of who his mom is. Their dad didn’t disown Phoenix. He stepped up and took responsibility for him.

None of the ugly mess their dad caused is Phoenix’s fault, but Darla caused all manner of trouble for them when Phoenix was a kid. She put his mom in the hospital once. Fortunately, Nero didn’t let his mom’s bullshit affect how he felt about his little brother. Especially after their dad died in an accidental shooting when Phoenix was ten.

Phoenix never officially joined the club, but he was practically raised here because his mom is a club girl. One of the women who hangs around and offers themselves up when a brother wants sex. Despite birthing a child to a brother, Kate never got the title of Old Lady and after his death, she simply moved on. There is no exclusivity when it comes to club girls. They fuck whoever, whenever.

I keep out of it. Phoenix is one of my closest friends, but he hates talking about his mom, even though he loves her.

“He hasn’t been around in a while.”

“Shops busy,” I shrug, defending Phoenix.

Nero’s eyes narrow, but he drops it. “I have a job for you.”

Figured as much, so don’t comment. He slides a bulky envelope across the table to me. All the information, plus payment, will be inside. Nero trusts me and knows paying me upfront isn’t a risk. I always get the job done.

As a member of the club, working for free should be a given, but Nero recognizes my skills and we made this deal a long time ago. I am part of the club but separate from it. And I look out for Phoenix.

“I want information on everyone he has contact with, doesn’t matter if it’s the mailman. Round the clock, the whole set up.”

I don’t show my irritation. It means I need to postpone or cancel clients for the next few days. Nero won’t tell me why he wants this information, and I won’t ask.

Despite the inconvenience, surveillance only is best case scenario. I’ve pulled back from the more violent jobs. Nero is on board, and hasn’t requested enforcer jobs in months.

Nodding my compliance, I pick up the envelope. “Anything else?”

Nero scrapes a hand over his jaw, looking toward the staircase. “There’s a gathering here at the weekend. Phoenix was gonna come. Darla is upstairs, she’s been here a few days.”

“I’ll keep him away.”

If she’s here, it means she is being a nuisance, and he has no way of knowing what kind of shit she will stir up if she sees Nero’s brother. I’m almost tempted to ask Nero why he doesn’t tell his mom to get lost, but it’s not my place.

“Give me an update on Monday.”

Four days. Damn. I agree and get up. I don’t say goodbye, but Zephyr calls out and I give him a chin dip in response. I tuck the envelope in the saddle bag when I get back to my bike. I’ll check it when I get home, already mentally going through what I need for round-the-clock surveillance for four days.

Back at my building, I park the bike around back, and let myself in through the metal door in the alley, making sure all the locks engage. It’s a safe neighborhood. I’ve never been concerned, but I don’t want people wandering in here.

For a minute, I contemplate going to my apartment and getting into bed, but I need to know what I’m dealing with. After tonight, I need to be alert. I let myself into the second apartment and drop the keys and envelope on a table, then head into the smallest bedroom.

There is a thumbprint keypad on the door. The rack of shelves lined with boxes holds everything I need. I pull one out, then set it down on the desk, taking out the surveillance equipment, including mini cameras, recording equipment, and a couple of tracking devices. One is small, barely the size of a button, and as thin as a piece of paper.

You wouldn’t think it cost me almost three grand, but it is a highly sophisticated piece of tech. I try not to use them too often, but may need it.

Grabbing my laptop and the devices, I head back out and set everything down. Then I pour a glass of orange juice and open the envelope.

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