Izzy gives him an impatient groan, and I look around the office. I can’t see Zeke anywhere, and there are no other officers in the bullpen. Not good. Or maybe they are all out on patrol?
The deputy finally hangs up the phone. He doesn’t even stand up.
“How can I help you?” Deputy Tinker asks in a bored tone.
“Well, for starters, young man, stand up. There’s a lady in the room.”
“Who? Izzy from the diner?” Tinker asks incredulously.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, Ms. Finemore is a lady and a tax-paying citizen who helps pay your wages. So… stand up!”
Izzy smiles at me, then fixes the deputy with an icy stare. Slowly, he gets himself upright on his feet, which only serves to make me even angrier.
“How can I help you, sir?” he asks.
“A friend of mine was brought in here, and I want to see him.”
“Sorry, no visitors.”
“Has he been charged?”
“That’s none of your business.”
The front door of the Sheriff’s Office opens and in walks Devon ‘Rush’ Rushard, the highest-paid lawyer in the county and my oldest friend.
“Ah, Ernest! Good to see you!” Devon reaches into his waistcoat pocket and pulls out a card, handing it to the deputy. “Devon Rushard, counsel for one Zeke Russo.”
The deputy looks at him with a shocked expression.
“Well, come on, Deputy Tinker. My time is money!”
The deputy stumbles away. Devon watches him like a hawk, his eyes never leaving him as he opens a door at the back of the building and talks to someone we can’t see.
“You sure about this, Ernest?”
“Yes, Rush. Do you remember Zeke? His daddy was always a bastard to him.”
Rush was there on more than one occasion when Zeke would stumble in, and one time I remember him laying hands on Michael Russo for it. There’s no love lost between the two men. Rush even goes to a church in the next county, he detests him so much. When Rush was younger, he courted Eleanora Walsh, who later became Eleanora Russo. I don’t know that he ever got over her.
Rush turns to Izzy. “Devon Rushard.” He holds out his hand to her.
Izzy grasps it. “Isabella Finemore.” She straightens her uniform as soon as he lets her hand go.
He’s every inch the successful lawyer—fawn-colored suit, matching vest with light blue fancy work, white shirt, and light blue tie. Rush even has a pocket watch hanging off his vest. I stopped being impressed with Rush’s wardrobe years ago. It’s all for show. At home, he wanders around in t-shirts and shorts. This is his public facade.
The deputy comes back, standing a little straighter and seems more confident. “The prisoner doesn’t know you.”
“I’m his attorney. So, you best get me in a room with him, or I’m going to sue you and everyone else in this building,” retorts Rush with a smile that I know doesn’t reach his eyes.
The deputy looks over his shoulder, his new-found confidence waning.
“Now,” demands Rush.
The deputy holds up both hands and scuttles back to the closed door.
“I don’t like this, Ernest. Not one bit,” he turns to me and smiles. “But I dislike the sheriff and the preacher more, so thank you.”
With that, he opens the bullpen gate and walks on through to that closed door. I take one look at Izzy, and we both hurry after him. The sheriff opens the door wide and glares at us.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” demands Sheriff Sharp.
“I’m fairly sure Deputy Tinker here told you I’m Zeke Russo’s counsel. Where is he?”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” replies the sheriff with a smirk.
I feel my stomach hit my shoes, and my legs feel like they are going to go out from under me as I remember the man on the phone and his warning.
“Doc, are you okay?” asks Izzy as she pulls a chair over for me to sit on.
“Ernest?” asks Rush with concern.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I say, waving a hand at them. “It’s just that people are coming, and they aren’t going to be happy if Zeke isn’t here to greet them.”
The sheriff makes a scoffing noise, and his deputy just looks confused.
“What do you mean, Ernest?” asks Rush.
“It’s why I got you involved, Rush. The man said Zeke is one of his, and if the sheriff does anything to him, he’s going to rip this town apart. He sounded serious, the kind of man who doesn’t make threats but promises. I figured if anyone could get Zeke out, unharmed, it would be you.”
Rush looks at the sheriff. “You know who he’s talking about, don’t you?”
“His fairy godmother?” replies the sheriff smugly.
“No, you dolt! The Savage Angels! If that boy is hurt, they’re going to come down on you like a ton of bricks, and this town will be in the crossfire!”
I watch the color drain out of the sheriff’s face, and his eyes go wide. Then I look to Rush, who’s all flushed, and I wonder how he even knew that Zeke was in the MC.
“I’m the law in this t-town,” stutters the sheriff.
“I don’t think they’ll care,” I say.
“The bigger question is, where’s Zeke?” asks Izzy.
The sheriff hops from foot to foot and eventually says, “In the cells, the last one on the right. Counselor, I’m sure you know the way.”
“Why’d you lie?” asks Rush.
“He-he had an accident, and we were waiting for a doctor. Guess you’ll do, Doc.”
Rage runs through my veins, and I stand quickly knocking over the chair I was sitting on in the process.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing, he did it himself.” The sheriff steps back and closes his office door, leaving us standing there staring daggers at Deputy Tinker.
Dane
Nothing will make you feel frostier than a group of Harleys parked around you in a circle. All of the men have bandannas over their faces and their cuts say Kings of Death MC. Their Harleys roar around us, and I cast a look to Dirt.
“You know them?”
“No, Prez. No fucking idea who they are. All of them are carrying.”
I nod, it’s not something I missed. I’m pretty sure all of us are feeling underdressed for this meet. As one, the Harleys all stop, like they’ve done this a thousand times to intimidate their prey. I step forward and look at the men surrounding me with a smile, trying to project that I’m not scared, and this is a regular occurrence for us.
I sense movement behind me and turn to see a man get off his bike. He pulls down his bandanna, and I notice his patch says ‘President.’ He’s about six-foot-two with muscle but not bulk like me, maybe thirty or late twenties. It’s his eyes that have me worried—they’re much older and wiser for someone his age. He’s seen some battles, and from the look of him, he’s won.
I walk toward him and stop about a foot away. He looks me up and down, and I know that if he decides to kill us right now, there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
I hold out my hand. “Dane Reynolds, President of the Savage Angels MC.”
He locks eyes with me, and I can see there’s no emotion behind them. He’s sizing me up. I’m about to drop my hand when he clasps it.
“Samuel Smith, Smithy to my friends. President of the Kings of Death MC.”
Smithy drops my hand and looks around me, then takes a few steps and looks in the back of the car.
“Are you looking for someone, Smithy?” I ask as I glance at Dirt who shrugs.
Smith straightens and looks embarrassed. Now I’m confused.
“Ahh, we heard you were flying in from your affiliate club. We got no beef with you or them, and we just wanted to welcome you.”
“Okay… thank you?”
One of Smithy’s guys chuckles, and he gives him a death stare that silences him instantly.
“You rented a Fiesta?”
“No, we rented a Tah
oe, but we ended up with a Fiesta.”
A few of his men chuckle.
“You think you’ll fit?”
I place a hand on my hip and look at the car.
“If I move the seat all the way back and I drive, probably.” Smithy chuckles, and I smile. “Smithy, this is my Sergeant at Arms, Dirt, and that’s Kade and Rebel.”
They all shake hands and exchange pleasantries.
“Rumor has it that you’re going straight?” asks Smithy looking at me.
“Is that the rumor?” I ask.
“Yeah, is it true? You used to run guns through our territory but not in a while, some drugs, too. We turned a blind eye, no sense in starting a war with a club as big as yours.”
I have no idea where this conversation is going. The man seems tough as nails, but I’m getting the impression he wants to discuss something.
“Bloodshed on either side is a waste. It’s one of the reasons we’re pulling out of all illegal activities. It’s not for everyone, but I got sick of burying my men and visiting them in prison.”
“That wife of yours have anything to do with it?”
“No. I was already guiding us in that direction before I met Kat. She just helped speed a few things up.”
Smithy smiles. “We thought she might be with you,” he admits sheepishly.
Now it makes sense. Bloody Kat has more fans than I care to think about.
I grin. “You’re a fan?”
“Yeah, we all are. It’s the main reason we came out.”
All the tension eases out of me. “Well, shit, I’d have brought her if I’d known.”
“For real?” asks the young guy who laughed earlier.
“That’s my cousin, Saxon.”
“Yeah, man, but this isn’t a vacation. One of ours got arrested in Black Ridge, and we’re on our way to get him out.”
“The sheriff there is a prick. Known for being a hard-ass. He doesn’t like our kind or any kind that’s not white and clean.”
“We were warned.” I look over my shoulder at Kade, his fists are clenched at his sides, and the veins in his neck look like they’re about to explode.
“Want an escort? A show of force?”
“Yes,” states Kade.
Smithy raises his eyebrows at me. “Yes,” I repeat.
“It’ll cost you.”
“What do you want?” I ask with an edge to my voice.
“A sit-down. A conversation. That’s all.”
It’s never ‘that’s all,’ but going into this town with a dozen Harleys will hopefully scare this sheriff.
“I can do that.”
“I’ll call for some more of my men to meet us in town.”
“Can they be trusted to keep their cool?” I ask.
“Do your men do as you tell them to?” I nod. “Same here, and if they don’t…” Smithy smiles, and I get the feeling none of his men would ever step out of line for fear of what hides behind it.
Zeke
The metallic taste of blood is in my mouth. Someone is shaking me and slowly, the darkness recedes. I sit up, fists raised, ready to defend myself again.
“Zeke! It’s me, Doc!” yells the old man.
One of my eyes is swollen shut, and it takes a moment for the good one to focus on him. Izzy drops down in front of me.
“Jesus,” she whispers, concern written all over her pretty face.
“You should see the other guy,” I joke.
“They implied you did this to yourself,” says a very well-dressed man. “I’m going to have his fucking job for this.”
“Izzy, move out of the way so that I can get a look at him. Zeke, this is Devon Rushard, he’s your attorney,” states Doc.
“Didn’t know I had one,” I mutter.
Doc starts prodding me, and I flinch when he gets to my ribs and suck in air which makes it worse.
“Oh fuck,” I say quietly.
“You’ve either got broken or cracked ribs.” Doc looks at my attorney. “Help me get him up, Rush.”
They place a hand under each armpit and help me to my feet. The pain in my side worsens, and I clutch at it as a groan escapes me.
“I’m so sorry, son,” whispers Rush.
“Pretty sure you didn’t do this to me,” I reply with a grin.
We hear footsteps coming toward us, and I straighten, wincing at the pain but ready to fight them off. A deputy I haven’t seen appears in my cell doorway.
“The sheriff says he’s free to go, and next time, watch where you step. These floors can be slippery.”
Izzy steps forward, placing both hands on her hips. “Are you trying to tell me he looks the way he does from falling over?”
“The sheriff said he slipped on his own piss, hit his head on the sink, and then fell back onto the edge of the cot and knocked himself out.”
“I’m calling bullshit!”
The deputy looks at me and nods. “Yeah, well, he’s free to go.”
“My cut, where’s my cut?”
“You’re what?” asks the deputy.
“My fucking jacket. Where is it?” I demand.
“I’m sure all of your things will be waiting for you at the front desk,” replies the deputy as he walks away.
“Motherfuckers,” Izzy looks at me. “Can you walk?”
“I’ll bloody well run if that’s what it takes to get out of here. Don’t you worry.”
“Good. Don’t give them the satisfaction of seeing your pain.” Izzy grips both sides of my face. “You’re a fucking badass biker, now act like it!”
Izzy stalks out of the cell, leaving me with Doc and Rush.
“I like her,” says Rush.
“Me, too,” replies Doc.
“Me, three.” I push off the wall and grit my teeth as pain seers through me. “Let’s do this.”
Dane
Smithy follows us into Black Ridge where we find another dozen Harleys parked out front of the Sheriff’s Office. I peel myself out of the car and enjoy the feeling of freedom.
It’s early morning, and a deputy is outside the building, shotgun in hand, hat on wearing mirrored sunglasses. I grin at him and whatever he sees makes him take a step back and straighten up. I walk toward him, my men right behind me.
“Good morning, officer. I’m here to post bail for a man you arrested yesterday.”
“W-we have no one in our cells.”
I glance at Kade, who takes two steps away, phone pressed to his ear.
The door to the Sheriff’s Office opens, and an older, heavyset man comes out—the sheriff.
“Move along!” he yells at us.
Laughter fills the air from the Kings of Death MC.
“You must be the sheriff? I’m Dane Reynolds. I’m here about one of my men that you arrested.”
“I’m Sheriff Sharp, and we haven’t arrested anyone. Your man was brought in for questioning and let go late yesterday.”
I step into his personal space, and his deputy cocks the shotgun, causing me to grin. “Did you get my message, Sheriff?”
The man swallows and sweat forms on his upper lip. “Y-you need to move along.”
I raise my hand, pointing in the air. All of the Kings of Death begin revving their engines, and I lean in closer to the sheriff ensuring he’s the only one who hears me over the noise.
“He better be in one piece… perfect.” I step back from him and dust imaginary dust off his shoulder as fear flickers in his beady little eyes. “I’ll be seeing you, Sheriff.”
Kade steps up next to me. “You’ll be seeing all of us. Hope you sleep well tonight, you never know when it’s going to be your last.”
I raise my hand in the air again and make a circle in the air, all the Harleys peel away, and we four get back into the fucking Fiesta and drive away.
Rebel says, “He looked like he was going to shit himself. What the fuck did you say?”
“Just a warning. Where the fuck are we going?”
“He’s at the doctor’s house.
Doc said to park out the back. He wouldn’t let me talk to Zeke. Said he’s okay but…”
“But you think he’s hurt?” I ask.
“Yeah, Dane, I think he’s hurt.
Kade is bouncing his legs up and down in the passenger seat. Dirt let him have it without saying a word. The tension is rolling off him, and I can feel the other two are on heightened alert. You hurt us, we hurt you back, tenfold. It’s always been this way. We live by a code, but this is the sheriff of a small town. The law is something we steer clear of, and I’m not sure how I’m going to keep Kade from killing the man in broad daylight.
I pull into the backyard of a two-story house. The engine hasn’t even stopped and Kade is out the door and headed inside. As he gets to the back door, it opens, and an older man in jeans and a white short-sleeved shirt begins talking to him. He has his hand on Kade’s chest and even from this distance, I can see Kade’s head is down, and he appears to be studying it.
As we get closer, Kade is nodding and tries to go around the man.
“Son, I need you to know, he’s all right. Just banged up a bit. The man sitting with him, he’s my friend, Devon Rushard, Rush to his friends. He’s also a lawyer but don’t hold that against him.”
The old man drops his hand and moves out of the way to let Kade pass, then closes the gap and eyes me. I smile at him, and he frowns, then looks at Dirt, then Rebel.
“Hello, sir, my name is Dane Reynolds, we spoke on the phone?”
He holds out his hand, and I grasp it, noticing there’s still power in his grip. “Doctor Ernest Green. Doc for short.”
“Thank you, Doc, for looking out for Zeke.”
“Seems like I’ve done that his whole life.”
Not knowing why he’d say that, I nod and point at the others. “Dirt and Rebel.”
Savage Lies: Savage Angels MC #7 Page 6