by Nicole Snow
“Well? What is it?” I was in the infirmary getting frustrated as hell. It was the second time I'd asked Stinger the question, and he was dancing around his issue like a bashful teen.
I was looking forward to an evening at home catching up on sleep after a long shift at the hospital and hearing Linda's sad story. But that wouldn't do when my burner phone rang and Stinger needed to see me.
He shot me a severe look. Far too serious for the strong jaw that normally carried his huge smile. “Think I need an STD test, nurse. Need to make sure our fucking whores haven't passed on anything lately.”
I raised an eyebrow. “They were both clean when I checked them last week. A little longer ago than that, actually, thanks to all the crap flying around here. Why? Is there something you want me to know about?”
Stinger covered his mouth, clearing his throat. “Uh, it's my left nut. My testicle. Sorry. Thing's been sore and itching like hell this past week, ever since we returned from our biz with the Rams. Thought it was jock itch at first or just some discomfort from riding. But it's not going away...”
“All right. I can check on that for you. I'm a professional, Stinger. There's nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Right, right. You're right about the bullshit going down too. With everything coming down lately, Blaze is knocking heads to make sure we're all focused, staying in perfect shape. He wants you to grill Alice again next week...”
“Here.” I pushed a small plastic bottle into his hand. “Fill that up next time you're in the bathroom and bring it to me.”
He nodded. “We're working on Tank's thing too. It's all Blaze is thinking about when there isn't some other distraction with Throttle out East or checking up on the Rams. We're lucky he was here with us to pay those fucks a visit. We might've never gotten her out safely without his help.”
My eyebrow quirked again. “Is that what this is all about, VP? Our forgetful guest? Are you thinking about letting Marianne and Sangria have a rest while you go after her instead?”
Stinger's face tightened. “Fuck no. Shit, Emma, can't a dude worry about his sac? I'm not like Blaze and Tank. I'm not the settling type. She's club business. I'm just looking after her.”
I suppressed a snort. How many times had I heard that in this clubhouse? Well, really only once since Blaze and Saffron were the lone couple who'd truly found their happily ever after. Maverick and June were only around to catch tiny hints of their passion.
But when Tank came home, we were going to find our happy ending. I wouldn't have it any other way.
“Right,” I said, holding in the sarcasm. “I'll have your test results out quick. Also need an updated history of any sexual contacts.”
He laughed. “Baby, I'll get you everything you need. I love talking dirty.”
I grabbed the clipboard behind me and shoved it to his chest. Stinger looked surprised, spinning it around until it was upright.
“What's this?” He asked.
“Write down anything you feel I should know about. I know we're winging it here, Stinger, but I'm still keeping proper medical records like any other clinic. There's only one man I want to hear dirty talk from, and he isn't you.”
His big toothy grin melted. Just then, a heavy fist pounded on the door.
Blaze didn't wait for an answer before he popped the door. “You guys done in here, or what?”
“Yeah, Prez. I was just leaving.” Stinger shoved the plastic bottle into his pocket and pinched the clipboard under his arm, scuttling out the door. Probably hoping Blaze wouldn't notice and give him any shit.
For a second, I thought the President was going to razz him rough. But he let Stinger go without a comment, turning to me instead, his face deadly serious.
“I came down hard on your ass because I needed to, Em. You understand that? Had to protect my club. This MC has always had a zero tolerance policy for rats. Main reason we're still around and not swept up in some fucking RICO sting.”
I nodded. He'd been a real bastard during the interrogation, but I really did understand. I wasn't going to let my ego get in the way.
“Good. Listen, all the brothers got church tomorrow, and we're gonna make a decision about something that's got a good chance of getting Tank home.”
“Really?” My breath hitched and I leaned forward. Totally desperate and giddy, yeah, but I didn't care.
“Don't get too excited. It all hinges on whether or not the Feds will take a fucking deal. And even then, they might not let him come home right away. It'll be a reduced sentence. The man's facing murder. That's heavy shit, something the club lawyers and bribes can't wave away like magic. And remember, this is only on the table if every brother in this club agrees to give up our collateral, which is gonna raise some uncomfortable fucking questions by itself.”
“I understand.” I leaned on the wall. “Anything you can do, Blaze, I'll appreciate. He was protecting me as much as he was the Devils.”
“You don't need to tell me, woman. Now it's our turn to bail his ass out, and I'm gonna do everything I can. Hold tight. Be ready to drop by when your phone rings. I'll send my old lady to pick you up.”
He turned and started to storm away. I chewed my lip, barely yelling after him before he was out the door.
“Hey!” I yelled. Blaze turned, one hand on the door. “Things haven't been so bleak around here since Saffron's mom died and you chased down those rogue Grizzlies. I was just wondering...how're the wedding plans coming?”
“We're still on track,” he growled happily. “Nothing in this world's gonna keep me from making it all official with my girl. Can't imagine getting married without my biggest bro right at my side. You too, Em. Wedding won't be the same if you're not there with his ass in Reno next Spring.”
“I know,” I said gently, looking down at the ground.
“Keep hoping, and keep after him too. I heard how that stubborn bastard tried to turn you away when you visited a couple days ago.” Blaze snorted. “I don't give two shits how many times he goes back and forth. I know a bro when he's head over boots in love with a chick. Whatever the fuck he says, don't listen. Tank loves your ass, Em, and he'll never stop 'til he's done breathing.”
The door slammed loudly, leaving me alone with my tears. Somehow, this situation was worse than worrying about crazy rivals from other clubs storming in and hurting us.
Armed men were scary, but at least I could fight them, and so could the brothers. Freeing Tank was all in the hands of bureaucrats, badges, and suits, strange machinations behind the scenes I barely understood.
I couldn't help him. Not directly.
All I could do was keep on loving him, and I'd do it until my heart melted to mush.
My phone jerked in my pocket while I was wiping down my hands at the hospital. An elderly woman coughed all over me in a fit so bad she'd clawed at my hand, tearing my gloves.
Flu season was coming, and getting sick was the last thing I needed. I followed all the hospital's dull guidelines about disease control to grim perfection.
“Shit!” The phone's vibration took me by surprise. I rinsed my hands off and quickly dried them on the sterile towel before I reached for it.
VOTE WENT MY WAY. ALL YEAS. SAFFRON'S COMING TO PICK UR ASS UP NOW.
Soon as I read Blaze's text, I ran to Linda. She pulled in another girl to cover my shift as soon as she realized it was about Tank. Half an hour later, I was riding in a newer black hatchback with Saffron, a lovely step up from the crappy car she'd had when she met Blaze.
We rolled into the Missoula PD's parking lot. The tension was building, so claustrophobic I swore my ribs were going to crack if my heart thumped any harder.
“You'll be okay, Em.” Saffron saw my hand shaking and reached for it. “So will Tank. I used to worry like a nervous wreck every time Blaze went on some dangerous run. The fear's all gone since that night they tortured me and I almost lost everything. I trust Blaze. He didn't let me die. He won't let Tank rot behind bars either.”
&nb
sp; I nodded, struggling to regain control. Thank God I didn't break down right there. I couldn't stop thinking about all the awful ways this whole thing could go wrong.
Still, I didn't dare tell Saffron about Linda and Red. That story was for my ears only, a bittersweet reminder of everything I'd lose if the boys couldn't cut a deal to bring my man home.
I took the steps into the police station one at a time. Once we were inside, Saffron sat in the waiting room. An officer called my name and led me to a dingy looking meeting room behind a thick door.
Blaze and two bulldog faced men in suits were waiting for me inside.
They introduced themselves as Jones and Smith, both clean cut, pale faced, and nearly identical. The red and green ties were the only obvious difference. Jones was the District Attorney, and Smith said he was with the ATF.
“Miss Galena, if anything happens here today, please understand we'll need your full testimony for the record.” Jones tapped the fancy recorder laid out on the table between us. “Normally we wouldn't involve you this early on, but our guest here insisted.”
Damn right, the little nod Blaze gave them said.
“Mister Sturm –“ Smith started before Blaze cut him off.
“It's Blaze to everybody. You can put whatever name you'd like on the official records. I'm making this deal on behalf of my brother and the whole club. I'm not just speaking for myself here. I'm a rep, same as you two Feds are for your alphabet soup agencies.”
Smith smiled uneasily. “Understood. Well then, Blaze, would you like to elaborate on your preliminary offer?”
“How about the body of Mickey James, biggest asshole weapon's smuggler on the West Coast?”
Both their expressions tightened. I knew a man's poker face when I saw one, and right now I was looking at two on these Feds.
“You're confident James is dead?” Jones asked.
“Certain. We buried the motherfucker ourselves.” Blaze laughed as the men's eyes got an uneasy glimmer. “It's not what you're thinking. We didn't kill him. Found him with some new friends of ours, and they were persuaded to let us haul his body away.”
“Hm. James would've been a whole lot more valuable to us alive. A verified death would close his file, sure, but not many others. Homeland Security will probably take the body with mixed feelings at best.” Jones looked to his partner. “What do you think, Smith? I'd like to recommend an early parole for John Richmond under these circumstances. Five years. Maybe three if James' body leads to tying up any loose ends.”
Blaze slammed his fists on the table. “That's fucking bullshit! I ought to drop off Mickey's bones after they've been gnawed up by worms. They'd be in better shape than my bro after three years in your shitty prison.”
My heart clenched when they said three years. Jesus, and that was just a tiny improvement over five. Half a fucking decade.
It might as well have been an eternity. I looked at Blaze, feeling like I had a bomb sitting next to me, a very dangerous one in a place swarming with cops and agents.
By some miracle, I was keeping my cool better than him. I wondered if he was about to go ballastic and get us all arrested.
“We'll take custody of the remains with full immunity for your club, of course.” Smith was trying to be reassuring. “Normally, the ATF is obligated to bring in other departments when there's any violent crime. This time, we're willing to cut you a deal with no further investigation into the Prairie Devils Motorcycle Club at this time, plus –“
Smith trailed off when he saw Blaze flexing his arms, shaking his fists. Jones' eyes were on the Satan's Scythe patch on his cut, a constant reminder to anybody who understood the club's symbols that this wasn't a game.
“All right.” Blaze said, a little more calmly. “Let's talk about a counter-offer.”
Jones looked up. “What do you have in mind?”
“I'll do your damned investigation for you,” Blaze said, lifting a finger and wagging it in their faces. “Only if you let Tank out next week. We'll post full bail. Give him two weeks to work with me. I need him. He's my...safety expert, and a damned good detective too. If we can't turn up anything juicier about Mickey's trade, then he'll go right back to jail and wait out his three years. No bullshit.”
The two men looked skeptical.
“That's highly unorthodox, Blaze. Not only are you asking us to look away from an investigation that may promote more criminal activity, but we'd have to trust your man will surrender himself if you don't provide suitable evidence.”
“Tank won't fight it. He'll do anything for this club, and damned near anything for the girl here next to me.” Blaze narrowed his eyes. “It's me you've got to worry about. I'd rather see myself end up behind bars before a bro who was doing what's right, cracking skulls in self-defense. You know, everything your fucked up system ought to prevent from happening in the first place. I'll tell you this: I got better control over my club than you ATF assholes have over your own fucking agency. Emma's cousin wouldn't have pissed on everybody and gotten his ass killed if you'd kept the reins.”
Smith cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. Inside, I was smiling, shaking my head. I wondered how any woman ever ended up with these weak, clinical professionals when there were badasses in the world like Tank and Blaze.
“You boys want to find out what Mickey's been up to or not? Obviously, you've been jerking your dicks in that direction for years with nothing to show for it. Your methods don't work. Mine will. Just give me a chance to flex and let my brother out.”
Jones stretched in his chair, taking a minute to breathe, rubbing his face. He looked tired. Finally, he leaned forward again, hands folded.
“The DA's office is willing to entertain this on a controlled basis. First, you'll report in on your progress and let us know the location of John Richmond at all times.”
Smith looked at the other man sourly. Then he nodded, slow and certain. “We'll give it a chance. I'll have to call in a few favors back home, but my guys should choke it down. Lord knows the case has been cold for years. Understand your club is going to tread as gently as possible. No violence. No smuggling. And absolutely no tampering with a Federal investigation on your part.”
Blaze locked eyes with the man for several long seconds before he extended his hand. “You've got yourselves a deal. Now, let Emma tell you her side of this shit again so we can get Tank home.”
All eyes were on me. I couldn't look at anybody except Blaze. The small bright stars in his eyes told me he heard my thanks loud and clear without even saying it.
He'd just given me back my giant, muscular, heavily tattooed world. Or at least a chance at keeping Tank, making him understand I wasn't going to walk away from this no matter what.
If I wasn't sitting next to two government drones who were about to grill me for the thousandth time, I would've threw my arms around Blaze and gushed out my gratitude like a stupid schoolgirl.
It took two days to process him. Linda gave me the entire day off for Tank's release on Friday.
The brothers were all planning a big bash with girls, loud rock, and tons of free flowing whiskey. One explosive party before they hit the road the next day, trying to turn up whatever they could find to secure Tank's freedom. I wasn't sure how I was going to survive the countdown to Tank's homecoming – if it could be called that.
Really, release day was either a welcome home or a send off to prison.
I could tell Blaze was on edge when he called me to the clubhouse on Thursday. When I got there, he was waiting in his office with Stinger and the pale dark haired girl. Alice looked up at me with the same confused, vacant eyes she always had.
“Need you to try to get something useful out of her, Em,” Blaze said. “The Rams are riding our asses. They can smell the shit that's about to come down with Tank and the Feds. The assholes spotted our prospects when I sent them out to move Mickey's corpse to a safer place. The fucks have been laying off the meth and booze long enough to do more spying than I gave
'em credit for. Bigger balls too since they're giving us shit about the girl.”
“Fuck the Rams,” Stinger snarled, an unusual break in his normally chill demeanor. “If those bastards want her brought back to their ratty little clubhouse, they'll have to come here and take her.”
“Christ, Sting.” Blaze turned to him and shook his head. “Get some fucking pussy that's used to taking dick and stop worrying. Like I said in church, she's not goin' anywhere. She's too valuable.”
He looked back to me. “I still need to know who the fuck she is and what she was doing living like a dog in their storage room. Help me figure it out, Em.”
My adrenaline surged. I didn't understand what the hell he wanted me to do. I wasn't a psychologist, much less an interrogator. I'd examined the girl three times, always checking for brain damage or something that would explain the amnesia.
It wasn't her body that was keeping her mouth shut. It was her mind.
Still, I couldn't just sweep his concerns aside. He'd given me so much with this deal, and Tank's future freedom depended on turning up something about the dead man the law could sink its teeth into.
“I'll do my best,” I said, forcing confidence into my voice.
“Good,. I'll leave you three to deal with this. Roller and the prospects are coming home this evening from a run. I gotta go.” Blaze turned smartly and dashed out the door, leaving it to slam shut behind him.
Now, it was just me, Stinger, and Alice. The girl sat there like a zombie the whole time. I'd never seen anyone so disinterested in herself while a bunch of strangers squawked about her fate right in front of her.
“Go easy,” Stinger said sternly. “She's still plenty shook up from living the way she did. Those motherfuckers had her holed up like a monkey.”
I studied her carefully. Stinger had his reasons for wanting to keep this gentle, but my brain screamed at me to do the complete opposite.
True, I was no psychologist. But there was something more than the vacant, depressed dull sheen in this girl's eyes every time she looked at me, something she wanted to say. I wasn't buying her total amnesia.