Page 61 of Marcus: Sins of the Father

The cops corral us into one location in the yard, while they tear through the clubhouse. They tried to take our phones, but Cole said our persons weren’t on the warrant, just the building. Seemed to piss off the sheriff, but he seemed to know that violating the warrant would derail any chance of charging us with any shit they did find.

“What the hell is this about?” Red Dog mutters.

“No, idea.” His eyes connect with mine. “Send word out. Nobody comes to the club. I don’t need more guys showing up and something dumb happening.”

I nod and send out a mass text.

CLUB BEING RAIDED - STAY AWAY

“What are you two doing here?” Cole asks Red Dog and Jake.

“We were playing pool last night. Got late, and we both crashed here.”

Cole nods. The raid continues for hours, but nothing gets taken out.

After a while, the sheriff makes his way over. My phone vibrates, and I glance down. Incoming call from Brandy. I send it to voicemail, knowing I can’t answer with the cop headed this way. He has a crewcut like he’s been deployed, but I doubt he ever served. Probably just a wannabe. Bet he was a bully in high school, and when he got to the real world, he realized he couldn’t boss people around anymore, so he became a cop. He looks at Cole through his mirrored sunglasses.

“Find anything?” Cole muses, already knowing the answer. We’re not idiots. We never keep the evidence of our more questionable business dealings where the cops could find it.

“Well, there was some marijuana in one of the rooms.”

“Yeah? That shit’s legal. So, nothing then?”

“You can go back in.” He goes to turn.

“Who the hell's going to clean up the mess you pigs made?” Cole yells.

“Looks like you’re getting started on spring cleaning early.” He laughs.

“What the fuck was this about?” Cole asks.

“We got an informant. I guess you boys have a rat.” The sheriff chuckles as he turns.

“Bullshit,” Jake mutters.

The squads roll out, and we trek inside. The place is in shambles. And I can only guess it’s gonna be us prospects that put it right.

“Damn, this is going to take all day to clean up.” Red Dog eyes the damage.

“Yeah, Marcus, you better call Billy and TJ in to help you,” Cole orders.

I take a breath and blow it out. Great. “Yes, sir.”

***

Brandy—

I call Marcus again, but on the second ring, it gets sent to voicemail. My breath huffs out in frustration. I spent the night in my old bedroom at my parent’s house last night, but now I’m ready to get home. Finding some old clothes in my drawers, I slide into a pair of faded jeans and a loose cable-knit sweater.

When I descend the staircase, I hear the clinking of silverware in the dining room and find my parents and Holt eating brunch.

“Oh, good. Brandy, come join us,” my mother calls, gesturing to an open seat.

“What are you doing here?” I direct my comment to Holt, not moving from where I stand in the doorway.

“Brandy Marie Arrington. That is no way to talk to a guest,” my mother chastises.

“Well, your dad and I caught an early tennis match this morning, and then Mr. Arrington invited me over for breakfast.” Holt sets his fork down.

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