Page 2 of Pirate's Plunder

“I’m scared.” She whimpers and searches my eyes.

“Aren’t all parents?”

Chapter One

Pirate

Present Day

“Iappreciate the extra cover but when the fuck is sanitation going to end this strike? It smells worse than Cyclone’s ass out here.” I roll my eyes at Knight, my vice president, and crouch lower when the back door to the building we’re watching opens.

“Shh,” I hush him and push his head down into one of the bags of trash we’re hiding behind.

“Fuck, it’s her.” I pull Knight away with me when I back up to the alley wall.

“I fucking hate you. Ugh,” I shake him and then move around the corner quickly, make my way back to where we left our Harleys.

I turn to my left so I can see him, and my hackles raise.

After all these years, the fact that my eye was taken for a crime my father didn’t commit makes me burn with rage. And that little princess I just watched walk out onto the street is my ticket for revenge.

A father for a father. I’ll let her keep her eye on it; after all, the father’s crimes should never fall on the children.

“Let’s get out of here. Call Church. I want everyone there when we arrive.” Knight nods and pulls out his cellphone to send a group text, all the brothers in my club will get in moments.

Technology is a fantastic fucking thing.

“Gross, I need to shower and a bleach soak.” How did I end up with such a melodramatic man as my vice president?

Probably the same way I found my Sergeant at Arms, Spector, in the ghettos of Harlem, where we all are just trying to survive, and all we had were the clothes on our backs.

I was luckier than others.

Pops left me everything, and once my godfather retired and returned to Texas, I stepped up and took my spot as the prodigal son of Brass, the fallen President of the Saints’ Outlaws MC at the ripe old age of twenty-five.

It took me twelve years to find out the name of the man responsible for my parents’ murder, but only six months to figure out he had a secret daughter being raised by his employer. I’m sure he hoped that would keep a target off her back, but I’m going to prove how wrong he was.

I’m not only going to take her from him, but I’m going to tie us together in a way that he’ll never be able to break. I’m going to marry the only known heir to New York’s Cosa Nostra, the head of the Italian mafia.

I think over my plan for the hundredth time as we sneak our way through the city heat back to the clubhouse. Pops’ old garage, a warehouse he transformed into a chop shop in the early seventies, which I’ve converted into a legitimate repair and customization shop, sits on the edge of Spanish Harlem by the Third Avenue Bridge.

It’s got easy access to the Bronx, the Harlem River, and, if needed, LaGuardia airport.

The only way into our compound is by a gated fence off Lexington, and to the naked eye, we’re just a long-forgotten building on the river. We have no Google footprint, and all our customers are vetted. No one enters my property without my knowledge.

Spector and his little side business ensure that.

Having a retired cyber specialist who ran the SEAL teams for the Navy is really handy. The fact that he’s family and volunteered for the job when he retired was a godsend. He runs his special ops off our dock, and I don’t ever question a thing.

We roll up to the gate, and my guys open the way for us to enter.

“Everyone’s ready,” Knight calls out to me as I park my Harley.

“Go grab one of the Tools and put them on the girl. I want to know everything by tomorrow. If they need to sit next to her while she gets her fucking toes done make sure to report back what color directly to me.” He raises an eyebrow in question.

“You want to use someone from the Box for that?” I laugh at his skepticism.

“We all started somewhere. If they can’t handle a simple surveillance job what the fuck good are they?” He nods and jogs off to address the prospects that we lovingly call Tools, and the building where they stay, is the Box.

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