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  I sighed and rolled my eyes, then put the phone back to my ear. “Tell your friend to look into the Thunder Kings. They're an outlaw biker gang in the area, big on meth and H, and they're probably what he's looking for.”

  She didn't respond for a moment, but I had the feeling she was writing the info down.

  “Good to know,” she said.

  “Now give me the phone,” Kaci said, clapping one handed at me as she chewed the last bite of bacon. “I wanna talk to her while you finish up breakfast.”

  I grumbled and shook my head before hanging my phone over to the little wisp of a woman. Maybe having a brassy, half-crazy woman around the house wasn't such a good idea after all.

  # # #

  Kaci

  It took some convincing, but I finally got Agent Brumfield to meet with us again. This time in a less formal setting, and closer to Micah's home. We met at a little Starbucks in a nearby shopping center, some place we wouldn't know anyone from the city.

  “Alright,” Brumfield said as she sat down with her plain black coffee that was so at odds with the half-fat mocha frappucino I'd ordered for myself. “Talk.”

  Micah nodded. “Okay. I wasn't completely honest before.”

  Avery snorted and kept her eyes focused on Micah like he might bite her if she looked away. “Yeah. I know. And your little tip this morning wasn't exactly the first indication, either.”

  He shrugged and gave her a little grin, trying to be charming with her. “Okay, my associates and I have been stealing from Efraim Petrov, not doing business like I said before. We've been knocking over shipments of guns for the last year or so and moving them through our channels.”

  I hadn't exactly expected him to be that blunt, and from the look on Agent Brumfield's face, I don't think she did either. She looked like she couldn't decide if she was going to burst out laughing or arrest him on the spot.

  “Okay,” she said after a moment, nodding. “Okay,” she said again. “How long, again?”

  “Maybe a year or more,” he said with a shrug. “We got some pretty good ones, too.”

  “Funnily enough,” the agent said as she sat back in her chair, “you're probably doing more good than harm, overall. Not that the courts would see it that way, I think. But, there's irony that I think you might appreciate.”

  Micah laughed and shook his head, disbelievingly. “What do you mean, 'more good than harm?'“

  “Exactly that. Efraim is a gun smuggler, you see. He was before, and still is one now. Most of his business interests lay in sending guns overseas to different groups, destabilizing countries. He's responsible for things that would make even Kim Jong Un blush. West Africa, Central America, Mexico. Hell, the Sinaloa Cartel probably has the Bear on speed dial. Your thefts are cutting into his bottom line, which means you're hurting him where we can't. Not yet, at least.”

  “Not yet?” I asked, leaning forward. “Does that mean you're trying?”

  The agent held back a grin from her lips, but I could see it in her eyes. “We're trying right now, yes. But, we've needed someone on the inside that he'd talk to, so we could get evidence. A recording, you understand, otherwise it won't hold up in court.”

  “But I'm not on the inside,” Micah said.

  “Of course not. But, you're enough of a thorn, he'd still want to talk to you, wouldn't he?”

  “Guess so,” he replied as he drummed his fingers on the table. “I mean, I'd want to talk to the guy pissing in my cereal, if I were in his shoes.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “You'd have to wear a wire, and you'd have to get a meeting with Petrov. But, we could get you the protection you want, if you go through it. Legal and physical, if we need to.”

  This was it. This was the chance we needed. I reached over and put my hand on Micah's, squeezed it tight for support.

  He entwined his fingers in mine, glanced down at them, then at me. He nodded when he saw my eyes.

  “I'm game, if it means we can protect the ones we care about,” he said after a moment, his eyes still on mine. He turned back to the Agent Brumfield. “I'll do it. I'll wear a wire.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Micah

  We all met a couple days later at Grandpa Quentin's house, Sydney, Gov, Agent Brumfield, everyone.

  Gathered around the kitchen table, we drank beers while Grandpa got steaks ready for the grill out back. Despite the reason for us being there, it felt strangely natural and . . . normal. Just my ex-federal agent turned biker buddy, my retired FBI agent grandfather, a working FBI agent, and two retired prostitutes. Oh, and me. The president of an outlaw biker gang.

  You know. Normal.

  “Your grandson and his girlfriend are cute,” Agent Brumfield said as she popped a roast peanut into her mouth.

  Kaci perked up. “Girlfriend?” she asked.

  “Yeah, she's not my girlfriend,” I said, almost reflexively.

  We both looked down at our hands, which were entwined together.

  Agent Brumfield cackled at our expense, sending the blood rising to Kaci's face in a bright blush. “Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself that, kiddos,” she said, popping the rest of the nuts into her mouth.

  “It's kinda funny, isn't it?” Gov piped in, gently ribbing us both. “The way they both deny it at the same time?”

  “Yeah,” Sydney added in her characteristic squeak. “Almost like they're in sync, or something.”

  Everyone got a good laugh at us, which made Kaci just squeeze my hand tighter. Everyone except Grandpa Quentin, of course. I glanced over at him, and from the way he was beaming at us, I knew he didn't care one way or another. He just wanted us to be happy.

  “Come on,” I muttered to Kaci as I tugged at her hand and went to stand up. “You haven't seen the backyard yet.” Together, we disappeared out the back. Hopefully, their conversation would turn to something else that wouldn't include us, or our love lives.

  # # #

  Kaci

  “So,” Micah asked as we looked out from Quentin's back patio over the green of the Louisiana landscape, “think we should take the plunge?”

  I laughed. “The plunge? What do you mean?”

  “You know . . . make it official?”

  I turned and put my arms around his waist, pulling myself into him. He looked down at me with those icy blue eyes of his, then leaned down and kissed me, the stubble lightly rubbing my skin. I closed my eyes and just enjoyed the moment, the feel of our skin together, of his strong arms around. I smiled as our lips parted, then opened my eyes and gazed up at him. “You asking me to go steady, Micah Marlow?”

  “Guess I am,” he said back, his voice so thick with sarcasm you could scrape it on toast, “Kaci Sizemore.”

  “Well, ask me then.”

  “Fine,” he said, sighing as he rolled his eyes. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

  I'd never seen him be so awkward, so unsure of himself, before. It was actually kind of cute. “Let's go with . . . partners in crime,” I offered.

  He threw his head back and laughed, then shrugged a little. “Sure, why not. Partner in crime, then?”

  I nodded then stood up on tiptoes to kiss him again. “Yes. That sounds lovely.” I grinned as I turned back to the landscape. I put my elbows up on the wooden rail and leaned on them. “So, what's next?”

  “I dunno,” he said, and gave a little laugh. “Suppose we get to know each other better?”

  I laughed. “Sure. You go first, though. You know more about me than I know about you, I think.”

  “Okay,” he said, stepping up next to me and leaning on the rail. The old wood sagged a little under the added weight, but it seemed sturdy enough. A good foundation was everything, it seemed. “Well, I grew up without my momma around. She ran off on my father when I was just a boy. And, well, Jaws was off with the guys a lot.”

  I nodded along, knowing a little bit about stories like his. My daddy had been gone for a long time, and momma had to struggle to make ends meet for years before sh
e found Raymond. And, then, well, that hadn't exactly been an overall improvement. Especially with the way Raymond talked with his fists more than with his mouth.

  “But,” Micah continued, “Jaws, he brought me into the club when I was old enough to prospect. They'd been my uncles before that, then they became my brothers. When he passed a while back, I stepped in to his shoes, so to speak.”

  “Big shoes, huh?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said and grinned a little, a lopsided smile that was half pain, half pleasure at the memory of his daddy. I knew that feeling, too. “Big fucking shoes, that's for damn sure. Just, he always took these wild risks, you know? Always seemed like he had things under control to all the guys around him, but I knew what kind of people were showing up looking for him. Gambling debts, loan sharks. He almost lost the clubhouse once.”

  “Woah,” I said, taking a step back from the rail. “On a gamble?”

  “Yep. He bet it like it was nothing, just to cover his ass. When I took over after his funeral, I promised myself I'd never make a stupid fuck-up like that . . .” He trailed off and looked down into the green belt behind the house, into all the trees running rampant through the wilderness.

  I touched his arm, squeezed a big bicep. “You're not your daddy,” I said, my words as soothing as I could make them. “You're tough, and you're making the hard decision right now. We've all made mistakes, Micah. It's nothing to be ashamed of. As long as we fix them, that's what matters. But, right now, you're putting your club first, something Jaws didn't do.”

  “I know that,” he said, smiling a little, his eyes turning back to mine. “I just don't want to lose you in the process.”

  “We'll figure it out,” I said as I pressed myself into him and wrapped my arms around his waist.

  “Yeah,” he said, enveloping me in his embrace and holding my head to his chest as he stroked my hair. “Yeah, we will.”

  “Definitely,” I promised.

  Boy, were we wrong.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Micah

  “Cater to his ego,” Agent Brumfield said as she set her beer down. “He's an arrogant asshole, surrounded by yes men.”

  “Really pump it up,” Grandpa Quentin added. “Get him so puffed he feels ten feet tall and strong as Superman.”

  “You gotta admit you never could've beat him,” Avery added, “and that's why you want to join him now.”

  That last one stung a bit, having to admit that I would've lost in the long run. But, it was partially true, I guess. That'd make the lying easier. Lies are always easier to wrap up when there's a nugget of truth hidden inside. I nodded along with it all the same, though.

  “And remember,” Grandpa Quentin added, “you gotta get him talking about everything, about all his dealings overseas. Enough that they can nail him on something when it goes in front of a jury.”

  Saying I needed to get him to admit all his shit was one thing, though. Tricking him into doing it was something else altogether. “How should I get his confidence?” I asked.

  “Here,” Agent Brumfield said, getting up and going into the living room to pull a file from her briefcase. “Almost forgot,” she called from the other room, then came back in with a manila folder outstretched in front of her like an offering.

  “What's this?” I asked as I took it.

  “Details on a government contract,” she replied. “Bidding process, along with sealed bids from a couple other companies.”

  I opened the folder and began looking through the papers. Looked official and on the up and up. I didn't know the first thing about federal contracts, though. “Explain why it's important?” I asked as I kept leafing through the papers.

  “These are the bids from other arms providers to the state of Louisiana, to arm their SWAT and National Guard forces,” Agent Brumfield said. “It basically gives Petrov all the information he needs to underbid all the competitors, but stay in a sweet enough spot to make sure he gets the contract.”

  Gov whistled low as I kept flipping. I glanced up at him, but I still didn't get the significance.

  “It's basically free, almost legal money,” Gov explained. “No one has those bids, so Efraim gets a free payday when you hand him that folder.”

  “And it's real?” I asked, incredulous.

  “Yep,” Agent Brumfield said, nodding. “Don't let anyone else see it, though. We needed it to look genuine, so I, uh, borrowed the file from a friend. We'll switch it out when we're done, so it doesn't make it into evidence. Luckily, though, if you get caught with it by a normal cop, there won't be any explaining to do.”

  “’Cause they won't know what it is, mainly,” Grandpa Quentin clarified.

  “So, I give him this,” I said, closing the folder and pushing it away from me, “suck up, play nice, get him talking. Then what?”

  “Then we give you immunity on this,” Agent Brumfield said, opening up a new beer. “You, the rest of the MC. Then, you move onto Witpro.”

  I nodded along, my eyes focused on that manila folder in front of me. I'd seen some of the numbers in there, numbers with lots and lots of dollar signs and zeroes. Real money, not this crap we were pulling down with the MC.

  But, I had to forget about all that. Because I was going into protection. My life was going to be gone, disappeared. I was going to be disappeared. But, at least I'd be taking Kaci with me. I could live with that.

  And besides, everyone else would be safe.

  I nodded again. As long as the rest of the MC was able to stay clear of this, my biggest fuck up, I'd be fine. I wouldn't pull anyone else down with me, not like my father almost did all those years ago.

  “Alright,” I said, finally. “Let's do this.”

  # # #

  Kaci

  “I don't give two shits about what you think you gotta do!” Grin yelled right in Micah's face, flecks of spittle flying everywhere. His face was redder than a beet, and veins were popping out all over like he'd been shooting ‘roids for the last six months.

  The look on Micah's face was calm though, collected, almost serene.

  “Look,” my newly-minted partner in crime said, “I understand you don't want me to split from the club, but I have to. If I don't, we'll be having even worse things coming down the pike.”

  Damn it was weird to call him that. Partner. It had a nice ring to it, though. I hadn't had anything like him since I was back home. All I'd had were all the men, and that didn't count for much of anything.

  But now I had Micah.

  Too bad I might have to lose him, too, when I went after Efraim again.

  “Grin,” Gov added in a slightly frustrated voice, “just sit your ass down and listen to some fucking reason for once in your miserable life.”

  “You can't leave the club, though! We've always had a Marlow in the lead!”

  “And, maybe,” Micah said, pausing to take a deep sigh, “just maybe, that's been the problem. You guys can handle this just fine without me around. Probably better.”

  Grin grunted and crossed his arms as he sat back down in his seat. He was still stewing, I could tell.

  “What's the plan then? Why're we doing this?”

  “To take the heat off you,” Micah reminded him. “Less y'all know, the better.”

  “Agreed,” Gov said.

  “Fine,” Grin said, harrumphing again. “What's going to happen, then?”

  “You're gonna kick my ass at the big rally this weekend.”

  Grin barked out a harsh laugh and shook his head. “Ain't no one gonna believe that, Don.”

  “They will if you make it look good enough. What's that old quote? No one believes a little lie, but everyone believes a big one?”

  After that, we closed down the meeting. We kept what was going to happen to just the top three men in the club. The less they knew, the better. At least, that was the way Micah saw things. I tended to agree.

  After that, we closed down the meeting. We kept what was going to happen to just the top three
men in the club. The less they knew, the better. At least, that was the way Micah saw things. I tended to agree.

  With Grin gone, Micah pulled Gov aside. “Alright,” Micah said, “here's the deal. I need you to set the meeting, but you gotta do it in person, up at his offices in Baton Rouge. Can't have this tracked back to us if things go tits up, right?”

  “Alright, Don, anything. You got a place in mind? Like a hotel?”

  “The Renaissance, downtown. Tell him one other person will be coming with me as backup.”

  Gov nodded, scratched his chin. “Sounds good to me. When should I leave?”