And what of Sheriff Keeler? For years, he had promised to drive the Confederate Thunder out of the county. But now even he seemed less concerned about their criminal enterprises.
It was worrying. But Rios was hesitant to look deeper. She’d already crossed the blue line once. Doing so again could have serious repercussions.
What did concern her about the Confederate Thunder was their growing conflict with the Athena Sisterhood and its potential impact on breaking the strychnine-poisoning cases. She couldn’t risk losing Shea Stevens as an asset. The body count was rising and she had few clues. More deaths were sure to follow unless Stevens infiltrated the Sisterhood and located the supplier of the deadly hex. She didn’t need the Thunder interfering with that.
Rios stopped by the cubicle belonging to Detective Elyssa Morris and her partner, Johnny Bello. Morris was at her desk looking up someone’s profile on the system. Bello was elsewhere.
“Elyssa, you and Bello were assigned last night’s assault cases at Iron Goddess Custom Cycles, right?”
“There’s no case. We got a few statements from the alleged victims claiming the Thunder ambushed them. But no other witnesses placing anyone from the Confederate Thunder at the scene. No security video.”
Rios handed her the thumb drive that Stevens had given her. “We got video.”
Morris plugged in the thumb drive and played the video. “Hard to make out anything it’s so dark.”
“Did you interview any of the Thundermen?”
“A few. They claim the Athena Sisterhood attempted to kick them out of a public event because they were men. It’s all ‘he said, she said.’ Why the interest?”
“I have an informant helping me locate the source of the strychnine-laced hex that’s been killing club patrons. We have a witness saying the supplier’s in the Athena Sisterhood. These brawls with the Confederate Thunder are complicating my investigation. Charging some of the Thundermen on this assault would help a lot.”
Bello walked up holding a coffee mug that read #1 DETECTIVE. “Don’t tell us how to work our case, Rios. Last I heard, your clearance rate isn’t looking so good.”
“What’s wrong, Bello? The wife not putting out anymore? She find out you’ve been sticking it where you shouldn’t?” asked Rios.
“Ho! You should talk. At least I ain’t sleeping with one of my witnesses.”
“That’s bullshit!” Rios gripped the wall of the cubicle to keep from punching him.
Bello scoffed. “Not what I heard.”
“Okay, guys, cut it out!” said Morris.
“Who’s spreading rumors I’m sleeping with a witness?”
Bello smirked and turned his back to Rios as he sat at his desk. “I ain’t saying. But a picture’s worth a thousand words.”
“What the hell you talking about?”
Morris stood and held up a cautious hand to Rios. “Just drop it,” she whispered. “And don’t give guys like him any more ammunition. Just back off and let us work our cases. All right?”
Rios wanted to press the issue, but she had enough on her plate. Dealing with the rumor mill could wait. She turned around and headed back to her desk, passing Detective Johnson along the way.
“Hey, Toni, I got a bunch of security videos from several Ironwood dance clubs. They’re on a thumb drive on your desk.”
“Thanks.”
Rios arrived at her desk. Next to the thumb drive was a printout of a photo. Rios picked it up and saw it was an image of her with her hand on Shea Stevens’ hand from earlier that day. The words DYKES IN LOVE had been written on the photo with a permanent marker.
Rios glanced around the room and spotted Aguilar walking out of the door. “Goddamn him!”
—
Shea drew her Glock as she recognized the approaching Thundermen. Mackey, One-Shot, Monster, and Gator, a lanky guy with a long jaw, scraggly teeth, and greasy, shoulder-length hair. There was no way this confrontation was going to end without bloodshed.
The men shut off their bikes. In the startling silence, Shea’s pulse pounded in her ears. She nudged Labrys behind her, shielding her with her body. “Just let us out of here, One-Shot, and no one gets hurt.”
“What the hell are you doing here, you fucking skank?” demanded Mackey. His little rat face was bright red. He drew a large Smith & Wesson revolver. One-Shot pulled a side-by-side, double-barrel shotgun out of a long holster mounted on his bike. Gator and Monster both held 9mm handguns, one a Walther P99, the other a Beretta 92FS.
“We didn’t steal nothing if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Shea,” said Monster. “You got no reason to be here.”
“Let us leave and you won’t see us again.”
Mackey glared at her. “It ain’t enough you bitches set up your own club in our territory. Now you think you can trespass on our property?”
“Drop the gun, Shea-Shea,” said Monster.
“Don’t do it.” Labrys’ voice trembled. “Shoot them. Shoot them now!”
Shea weighed her options. They were outnumbered and outgunned. At best she could take out one, maybe two of them. But it was going to take more than firepower to get out of this alive.
“Toss the gun and we’ll let you two go.” One-Shot raised his shotgun, gazing down at her through the sights. “But we keep your girlfriend’s cut and her bike.”
“Over my dead body!” said Labrys.
“Happy to oblige.” Gator pulled back the hammer on his revolver.
“Wait! Stop!” Shea took her finger off the trigger and tilted up the gun in surrender. “Just let us go. No harm, no foul.”
“Put it on the ground.” One-Shot lowered the shotgun. “Her cut, too.”
“You can have her cut and my gun, just let her keep her bike.” Shea laid the Glock on the ground.
“What are you doing, Shea?” Labrys’ voice squeaked like a mouse. “They’ll kill us.”
“No they won’t. Just take off your cut.”
Labrys glared as she pulled off her cut and dropped it next to Shea’s gun. “You and I are going to have a serious talk when we get out of this,” Labrys whispered.
“There,” said Shea. “Now let us go.”
Gator approached her. “Sorry. Can’t do that.” He punched her in the gut.
Shea doubled over in pain. She opened her eyes in time to dodge the next blow, aimed at her head, and dove for her Glock.
Gator kicked the gun away before she could reach it. She drove her fist into his crotch, dropping him to his knees. “Take that, you asshole.”
One-Shot pointed the shotgun. Shea pulled Gator to his feet, using him as a shield. The shotgun blast to Gator’s chest sent the two of them tumbling backward. Shea scooped up Gator’s Walther and nailed One-Shot in the shoulder. He fell to one knee, yelling and gripping his bloody shoulder, dropping the shotgun in the process. Gator was making gurgling sounds, his chest a gaping hole of gore.
Shea grabbed the shotgun. Monster and Mackey were kicking Labrys in the back as she lay on the ground.
“Fucking skank!” Mackey gave Labrys another kick.
“Stop or I’ll blow your fucking heads off!” Shea aimed the Walther at Mackey’s head, with the shotgun tucked against her other shoulder, pointing at Monster’s abundant belly. “And drop your guns.”
Behind her One-Shot was moaning. Gator was dead silent.
“What the hell’d you do?” Mackey hunched down, looking like he would charge her.
“I’ll do the same to you if y’all don’t fucking do what I say.”
The two men glared at Shea, but let their weapons fall to the ground.
“Shea-Shea,” said Monster, breathing heavily. “You ain’t gonna shoot me. We’re family.”
“You wanna bet your life on that, old man?” Her finger slipped onto the shotgun’s second trigger.
“I’m gonna skin you alive, ya goddamn dyke.” Mackey spit on the ground.
“That’s right, Mackey. Gimme another reason to put one th
rough your thick skull. Now help my friend up.”
Monster grabbed Labrys by her arm and lifted her to her feet. She was a mess. Face swollen and covered in blood and dirt. Her body drooped like a rag doll.
“You all right, Deb?” Shea asked.
Deb coughed. “It’s Labrys, goddammit.”
A grim smile forced itself across Shea’s face. “Can you walk?”
Labrys pulled away from Monster, stood a little straighter, and wiped her face. “I think so.” She took a few uneasy steps.
“Can you ride?”
With a few grunts, she pulled on her cut and picked up Shea’s Glock, her hand shaking as she pointed it at Monster. “I can ride. If someone picks up my bike.”
“Monster,” said Shea, “you and Mackey pick up her bike.”
Mackey scoffed. “Like hell I will.”
Shea fired a shot that just missed Mackey’s ear. He ducked, eyes wide open. “Fuck me!”
Without another word, the two men heaved the bike onto its side stand. Meanwhile, Labrys gathered up their guns.
With the bike upright, Monster started walking toward Shea. “Whoa! Where you think you’re going?”
“Our guys are bleeding to death, Shea.”
“What do we do, Havoc?” Labrys stood beside her bike with an armful of the Thunders’ guns.
Shea put pressure on the Walther’s trigger. “Put their guns in your saddlebag and get outta here.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll catch up.”
Labrys dumped the guns in one of her saddlebags, started the engine, and disappeared up the dirt road.
Shea considered what to do with Monster and Mackey. She had killed people in the past, but always in self-defense. But if she let them go, they would come after her.
Shea aimed the shotgun at Mackey’s bike, a Harley Fat Boy Lo. The tank sported the club’s emblem known as the Johnny Reb, a skull painted against a Confederate battle flag with lightning bolts at each corner.
“Don’t you dare shoot my bike! No, no, no!” Mackey took a couple of steps toward her.
Shea pulled the trigger, ripping open a grapefruit-size hole where the painted skull had been. Gasoline trickled into a puddle on the ground.
Mackey looked terrified and more than a little grief-stricken. “You fucking bitch. Ya coulda blowed us all to hell.”
Shea pointed the Walther at him again. “Hell is where you belong, asshole.”
“Don’t do it, Shea-Shea.” Monster held up his hands, pleading with her. “You a lotta things, but you ain’t no murderer.”
She stared at Mackey, willing herself to pull the trigger. He glared at her, as if daring her to do it. But something in her held her finger. Maybe Monster was right.
She pushed the barrel of the shotgun into the ground, plugging up the end with clay and gravel, then hurled it into the woods. It would take a good cleaning before it would be safe to fire.
“Go help your friends.” She tucked the Walther into her waistband, hopped onto her bike, and raced out of the clearing. A bullet whizzed past her helmet. Another shattered her right side mirror. “Shit!” Someone must have had another gun tucked away somewhere.
She ducked down and twisted the throttle, charging up the trail before they could pull off another shot.
Chapter 21
A mile down the highway, Shea caught up to Labrys, who was chugging along just under the speed limit. Shea waved her to go faster, but Labrys didn’t speed up.
Come on, let’s go! Shea thought, feeling like she had a target on her back. Maybe something was wrong with Labrys’ bike. Or maybe she was just spooked. She was a college professor, after all. Not a street thug.
When they reached the tiny town of Granite, Labrys pulled into a two-pump gas station with an office the size of a single-wide. Shea stopped next to her.
“You all right?” Shea asked.
Labrys lifted her tinted visor. Her chest shook with her sobbing. Her right eye was dark purple and swollen shut. Her nose was crooked and still bleeding.
“It’s all right, Deb. We’re safe.”
Labrys glanced in a side mirror. “Oh shit, I look horrible.” Her voice had a shaky nasal quality.
Shea chuckled in spite of her concern. “That’s what you’re worried about? How you look? You just faced down four Thundermen. And survived.”
Labrys cried harder. Shea’s heart sank.
“I’m sorry. You might oughta go to the hospital. I’ll ride with you.”
“I don’t want anyone seeing me like this.” Labrys took a deep breath and let it out. “You kill them?”
Shame warmed Shea’s face. “I wanted to. But I couldn’t do it.”
“It’s okay. If it hadn’t been for you, who knows what they would have done to me.”
“Yeah, well, don’t get all sentimental on me. I been meaning to kick their asses for a while now.”
Labrys started to laugh, but it turned into a choking fit. “Fuck, that hurts.”
“How’s your back?”
“My helmet and the armor in my jacket protected me from the worst of their kicks.”
Shea nodded. She’s tougher than I thought. “You still should get checked out. Make sure you ain’t got a concussion or internal bleeding.”
“I just want to go home, take a Percocet, and climb into bed.” Labrys began to sob again. “I never thought it would be like this…never this violent.”
“I tried to warn you. These guys don’t play. They’re outlaws.”
“So I noticed.” Labrys gingerly touched her bloodied nose and winced. “Ugh, I think they broke my nose.” Labrys’ good eye narrowed. “What happened to your mirror?”
“Bastards shot it. One of ’em must’ve had a backup gun.”
“You think the guys who got shot are dead?”
“One-Shot probably survived. I only winged him. Not so sure about Gator. One-Shot nailed him with a chest full of buckshot.”
“They’re going to come after us, aren’t they?”
Shea glanced back the way they came, half expecting the entire club to come roaring over the hill, guns blazing. “We should keep a low profile for a while. Might wanna put those Sisterhood cuts away till things cool down.”
“And the guns in my saddlebag?”
“There’s a cattle guard five miles outside of Ironwood. We’ll stop there and get rid of our unwanted cargo.”
“I’m sorry for dropping my bike. I feel like an idiot.”
Shea avoided Labrys’ gaze as old feelings threatened to surface. “Coulda happened to anyone. I was an idiot to get you involved. I’m sorry.”
Labrys reached out and lifted Shea’s chin to face her. Their eyes met. Shea’s body trembled. She told herself it was the adrenaline burning out of her system.
“You saved my life, Shea,” Labrys whispered. “Thank you.”
Shea turned away and ran a hand through her hair. “Don’t get all girly on me. Fuck.” Shea felt a tightness behind her eyes. “Let’s get moving. I gotta pick up Annie.”
“Of course.”
Labrys slowly rolled back onto the highway. Shea followed her, checking her remaining mirror every minute or so for signs of the Thunder.
Now that the adrenaline had worn off, her belly hurt from the punch she took. Lifting Labrys’ bike didn’t do her back or shoulders any good either. None of that mattered if she could get Rios to raid the stash house and lock up the Thundermen for good.
She’d been tempted to call Rios when they stopped back in Granite, but Shea didn’t want to linger too long until they had some miles between themselves and the Thunder. Unfortunately, the longer she waited, the more likely it became that the club would remove the drugs and guns from the stash house. She prayed that Monster and Mackey were too busy saving their fallen comrades to worry about the cops raiding their drug stash.
When they stopped at the cattle guard on the outskirts of Ironwood, Shea opened Labrys’ saddlebag and replaced the stolen Walther in her h
olster with her Glock. Then she gathered up the Thundermen’s guns, wiped each one with her T-shirt, and slipped them between the bars of the cattle guard.
“Won’t someone find them here?” asked Labrys.
“Probably not for a while. And even if they do, they’ll likely get traced back to the Thunder, not us. Speaking of which, I gotta make a call.” Shea pulled out her phone and dialed a number on her speed dial list.
“Detective Rios speaking.”
“It’s Shea Stevens. I found your hex dealer.”
“Who?”
“The Confederate Thunder. Just like I told you.”
“I’ll need some proof.”
“And you’ll find it. There’s a dirt road off Jefferson Highway three miles northeast of the Confederate Thunder clubhouse. Leads to a one-room cabin where they keep shit they don’t want the cops to find. They still got the hex they stole from the Jaguars.”
“You’re sure?”
“I was there thirty minutes ago. Big, red plastic bins underneath cases of ammo. They also got an arsenal of weapons that probably ain’t legal. If you raid the place, you can shut this whole thing down and look like a fucking hero.”
“I’m hoping you didn’t just break in there. Otherwise, anything we find there could get tossed.”
Aw shit. Time to cover my ass. “Break in? Don’t be ridiculous. I was there with a few members of the Thunder.” Technically true. “But it should be unguarded now.” Assuming Monster and Mackey took their comrades to get treated for their wounds.
“Uh-huh,” replied Rios, clearly unconvinced. “I’ll see if I can get a judge to sign off on a warrant.”
“You do that. And then put their asses in jail. I’m tired of dealing with their bullshit.”
Shea hung up and looked over at Labrys. “Follow me over to Orphan’s. After what you’ve been through, you shouldn’t be alone. And Orphan could use the company.”
Labrys sat for a moment. Then said, “Yeah, all right.”
—
It was dark by the time Rios, Johnson, and Winslow bounced along in Rios’ car down the dirt road leading to the Confederate Thunder’s stash house. The scraping of branches along the side of her car left Rios worried she was going to need a new paint job. A K9 unit squad car followed behind them.
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