***
Miriam was read her rights and placed under arrest before being driven to the nearest police station. She scowled for her mug shot and kept up a tough appearance for the security camera as she was left to wait in the interrogation room; but inside, she was panicking.
Half a million dollars worth of guns and ammunition had been seized from her car trunk, and it was only a matter of time before they found who she was working for. The best she could hope for was a plea bargain, which would involve betraying her fellow Seraphim to the cops to shave at most a decade off her probable sentence. Either way, she was a dead woman.
Miriam turned to look at her reflection in the two-way mirror. Her hair wasn’t Miriam at all; she’d dyed her hair red a long time ago, shortly before adding a nose piercing and the Speeding Seraphim tattoo on her lower back; she was pretty damn hot. Once she went to prison, however, that wouldn’t last. The women’s sections of the state prison system were brutal; if the stories were true, she wouldn’t last longer than a month in there. Miriam hung her head in hopelessness. She could either sell out her fellow bikers in the Speeding Seraphim, or she could consign herself to a quarter of a century in a desert hellhole.
CHAPTER TWO
The jet-black hummer pulled up outside the police station. Out of the vehicle stepped a man and a woman wearing ATF jackets and shades to keep the glaring desert sun at bay. A local police officer came rushing out to meet them.
“I’m Officer Vasquez, we’ve been expecting you.” The officer offered his hand.
“I’m Agent McMahon and this is Agent Philips,” the male agent replied gruffly and ignored the attempted handshake, “why are we here?”
“A few hours ago, we arrested a Caucasian female in her late twenties for going ten miles over the speed limit.” Vasquez replied, leading the agents inside.
“And?” said Agent Philips skeptically.
“She was sporting a Speeding Seraphim tattoo on her lower back, and tried to speed away when an officer went to check the trunk of her car.”
“A biker chick driving a car?” said Agent McMahon as they were led to the back of the station, “that’s got to be at least a fifteen year sentence.”
“Especially given what she was smuggling,” Vasquez answered, doing his best to ignore McMahon’s haughty sarcasm as he led them to the forensic labs.
Half a dozen officers were cataloguing the weapons and boxes of ammunition they had seized from Miriam’s car, and the ATF agents removed their shades in surprise, their disdainful skepticism evaporating instantly.
“A dozen disassembled M16s, a dozen glocks, a pair of sawn-off shotguns, a thousand rounds of ammunition for all three, and a pair of hand grenades.” said Vasquez.
“This is the biggest seizure we’ve had in months.” said Agent Philips.
“Call the team here,” McMahon ordered, “and tell them to bring a firearms forensic kit.”
Agent Philips nodded and went outside to make the call.
“I need to speak with the woman who was transporting all this.”
“Sure,” Officer Vasquez led Agent McMahon to the interview room, “we were letting her stew first before questioning her; thought you might like to do that yourself.”
“What do you know about her?”
“Her name’s Miriam Harper, she lives in the next county, and her driver’s license is actually a motorcycle license. But she’s got no prior convictions, and this is the first time she’s ever been arrested.”
McMahon only half heard the rest of Vasquez’s words; he had stopped in his tracks on hearing her name.
“Is something wrong, agent?”
“That name’s familiar,” McMahon said truthfully, “in fact she’s been under suspicion for a while, but there’s no problem.” His second statement was a lie.
“Well, here she is.” Vasquez led McMahon into the viewing room.
McMahon remained outwardly implacable and austere, but inside he was lurched back into the past. The woman sitting at the table on the other side of the two-way mirror was slim and attractive, with dyed red hair cut short just above the shoulders. She had a woman’s biker jacket on and a pair of skin-tight jeans as well as flat-bottomed heels on. She was hanging her head slightly, possibly contemplating the life sentence she had incurred. In spite of her change in style, she was undoubtedly the same girl he grown up with.
“The team is on their way,” announced Agent Philips, returning from making the call, “they should be here in about an hour.”
“Officer Vasquez, would you mind giving us a minute alone?” McMahon requested. Vasquez nodded and left the room.
“What’s the problem?” Philips asked.
“I know her.” McMahon said grimly. Philips silently mouthed an awkward ‘oh’, not sure what to say in response.
“How long ago and how well did you two know each other?” she eventually asked.
“We grew up in the same town,” replied McMahon, staring at Miriam through the glass like a memory in physical form, “and we were very close indeed, before I left for college. This is the first time I’ve seen her in ten years.”
“You know she’s probably working for the Speeding Seraphim now, right?” Philips asked, sounding concerned.
“Why else would she be driving a car full of illegal weapons?” McMahon answered, missing his partner’s implicit meaning.
“I’m just saying, it can’t be easy seeing an old friend on the other side.” Philips persisted.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” McMahon demanded defensively.
“It means that we can’t afford for your shared history to compromise –”
“I’ve spent an entire year running this operation with no success!” McMahon snapped angrily, “These gangs hide behind reams of legal bullshit, and all the while the guns they trade all over the state are claiming more lives every week. So I don’t need a reminder on the importance of not compromising our only lead, thank you!”
“Calm the fuck down, Brad,” Philips shot back, keeping her tone level but hard, “I just don’t want it getting too personal.”
“It won’t.” McMahon said through gritted teeth. An awkward pause followed.
“Were you going to question her, or should I?” Philips asked, breaking the silence.
“I’ll talk to her.” said McMahon, heading into the interrogation room.
CHAPTER THREE
Miriam heard the door open and looked up from her despondence to see a well-built man in an ATF uniform enter the room. He was at least six feet tall and crossed the room with a stern, businesslike air about him before sitting down opposite her and giving her a hard stare. He was clean shaven with wavy brown hair and blue eyes, and an almost perfectly square jaw. Miriam completely forgot her predicament as she stared back at him in astonishment.
“Brad?” she asked, scarcely believing it was him.
“That’s Agent McMahon to you, Ms Harper.”
“Don’t you ‘Ms Harper’ me,” Miriam shot back, “you know my name, so use it.”
“Why were you driving a car with a motorcycle license?” Brad asked her.
“I’ve been fine these last ten years, thanks for asking,” Miriam replied with a note of sarcasm in her voice, “how about you, agent?”
“Maybe I should rephrase that,” continued Brad, appearing totally unmoved, “why were you transporting 500k worth of military grade weaponry in your car?”
“The car’s a rental;” Miriam said innocently, “maybe the last person to drive it was a gun runner and left his stash in the trunk by accident.”
“Or maybe you’re the one who runs guns for the Speeding Seraphim.”
“The who?” Miriam asked with an innocent smile.
“A biker gang who smuggle weapons for various gangs all over the state and sometimes across state lines,” Brad replied with accusatively, “of which you are a member. That’s who.”
“And what’s your proof for that?”
“T
he tattoo on your lower back.”
“Oh, you mean this?” Miriam got up and turned around, lifting up her shirt to reveal a tattoo of the Speeding Seraphim insignia; a naked woman with angelic wings spread wide, curled up in a model’s pose with her hands covering her modesty. The words ‘Speeding Seraphim’ were emblazoned on a banner underneath the angel.
“Nice.” said Brad, barely flinching and not sounding at all impressed. Miriam lowered her shirt and sat back down.
“That’s not the only tattoo I’ve got, you know,” Miriam said with a flirty smile, leaning forwards and reaching for her jacket zipper.
“That’s enough.” said Brad sharply. Miriam sat back again, looking disappointed.
“This is the bottom line: you enter a plea bargain where you tell us everything you know about Speeding Seraphim gun running operations in exchange for a significantly reduced sentence, maybe even amnesty.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I’ll personally lock you up in one of the famously hospitable federal prisons and throw away the key.” Brad answered coldly.
“You’d do that to your ex-girlfriend?” Miriam asked incredulously, “what the fuck happened to you, Brad?”
“I became responsible for stopping the flow of arms into this state and got tired of people dying because of the guns your gang of thugs smuggles in.”
“You and you’re fed buddies have killed plenty of us.” Miriam shot back, “the only difference between you and us is that ATF jacket, you fucking hypocrite.”
“So what’s your decision?” Brad demanded impatiently. Miriam sat back in her chair, taking her time before answering.
“I want a lawyer.” She said finally. Brad immediately got up and left the room, leaving Miriam to stew a bit longer.
As soon as the door closed, Miriam buried her head in her hands. She was in an impossible position, facing decades in prison if she refused to betray her fellow bikers to the feds. Worse still, the man spearheading the hunt for her ‘family’ was someone to whom she’d once been so close. They’d grown up in the same town together, shared secrets and moments together, had the most amazing sex, and now he was with the enemy.
The fact that Brad was working to kill or jail the people who’d accepted her as one of their own was almost impossible to bear; he hadn’t even seem moved by their reunion. Then again, Brad had always been good at hiding his true feelings under an implacably austere mask; there might still be some residual feelings deep down, a few latent sparks that she could kindle to salvage something from the train wreck of the past few hours. She hated the idea of being a honey trap whore, as the men in the Speeding Seraphim called such girls, but there were no other options available to her.
Ten minutes later, Brad reentered the room, snapping Miriam out of her crisis of conscience and forcing her to start playing the part of the honey trap.
“Is it time for you to strip search me?” Miriam asked with a dirty smile.
“You’re free to go.” Brad said bluntly.
“Come again?”
“You’re free to go for 24 hours,” Brad clarified, “but you can’t leave this town, we still have questions for you.”
“You questioned me for barely a minute;” Miriam said suspiciously, “what kind of trick are you trying to play?”
“There is no trick,” Brad assured her, “I’m allowing you to enjoy another 24 hours of freedom at the local motel so you can consider my offer.”
“What kind of cop sets a major suspect free?” Miriam interrogated, fishing for the ruse.
“The kind with federal authority and discretion.” replied Brad, losing his patience, “Now go get your things before I go back on my decision and make you sleep in a cell.”
Miriam decided not to question her luck any further, and quietly left the room.
CHAPTER FOUR
Brad and his ATF partner took Miriam to a motel and set her up in one of the rooms before checking into their own. Before they’d left, Brad had pulled out a combat knife and severed the telephone cord, just in case Miriam tried to call the rest of the Seraphim to warn them. Not that it mattered; she’d missed the drop-off time, so they already knew something had happened and would assume that the shipment had been seized. Her problem now was to escape from the ATF’s clutches and get back to the Seraphim before she was forced rat them out or go to prison.
Feeling bored and restless, Miriam stepped into the corridor. At the far end of the hall, Brad was talking with a fellow ATF agent, a woman. It looked more like an argument from her position, albeit a hushed one. Miriam couldn’t draw conclusions from what she was seeing, but she guessed it had something to do with the decision to let her go. She still felt suspicious about being released with so much evidence with which to bury her, but they were being dispelled by the tense conversation happening at the end of the corridor. Could Brad have let their shared history get the better of him? Whether or not he had would influence her chances of escape.
Miriam plucked up her courage and walked towards the pair. The woman agent noticed her approach and greeted her with a disapproving glare. She reached into her jacket, deliberately showing off the sidearm at her hip, and pulled out a set of car keys.
“You should hold on to these.” She said, handing them to Brad, “good night.” With that, she returned to her own room and Brad turned to reenter his.
“Brad, wait!” Miriam followed him into his room.
“What do you want?” snapped Brad impatiently.
“I just want to talk.” Miriam shut the door behind her, not totally sure where to take this.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” replied Brad, taking off his jacket and hanging it up.
“That’s it?” Miriam said angrily, “I don’t see you for a whole decade, and your response to me is “there’s nothing to talk about”?”
“We said our goodbyes and went our separate ways.”
“No. you went your separate way, and left me in that crappy old town!” Miriam pressed her verbal attack.
“Only for us to be joyously reunited in an interrogation room,” Brad shot back sarcastically, “with you a member of a gang of white trash criminals on bikes.”
That response elicited a slap across the face from Miriam.
“Don’t you fucking moralize to me,” she snapped angrily, “soon after you left, my mother was diagnosed with cancer. We couldn’t afford the medication to treat it, so she took her own life rather than be a burden on me.”
Miriam paused to let her words sink in. Brad’s furious expression melted into shock.
“Miriam, I’m so sorry…” he said softly.
“For what?” demanded Miriam, going back on the offensive, “for my loss or for leaving me alone in the world? After mom killed herself, the ‘gang of white trash criminals’ took me in and gave me odd jobs to do at their garage. They accepted me and made me a member. Because of you, they’re the only family I’ve had for the past ten years.”
Miriam paused for breath. She was supposed to be trying to seduce Brad into dropping his guard, but all the memories and baggage that had been building up since Brad had left were boiling up to the surface. She didn’t want to overdo it, or allow herself to succumb to her own emotional blackmail. Brad seemed frozen to the spot, unsure of whether to lunge at Miriam in anger or kiss her. Ultimately, he chose to do both.
He wrapped his hand around Miriam’s throat and pinned her to the door, kissing her full on the lips. Miriam felt a rush of alarm tempered by intense arousal and she returned Brad’s aggressive kiss, reaching for the zipper of her jacket.
“Stop it.” ordered Brad, abruptly breaking off the kiss and bringing himself back under control again.
Miriam looked him in the eyes and slowly unzipped her jacket. In the fork of her cleavage, there was a tattoo of a heart broken in two.
“I got this after you left,” Miriam explained, “it’s cheesy, I know, but that’s how I felt.”
“Going to college was the chance o
f a lifetime, Miriam,” Brad murmured, averting his gaze, “I’m sorry you feel I abandoned you, but I couldn’t turn that opportunity down.”
“I’ve almost forgiven you,” Miriam lied, “but there is a way for you to make it up to me.”
Brad didn’t need to ask what it was. He held Miriam’s head in both hands and kissed her aggressively. Miriam reciprocated the kiss, unzipping her jacket all the way and tugging it off, discarding it on the ground. Brad undid the clasp of his gun holster and discarded his weapon on the ground as Miriam gripped his shoulders and jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his body and hugging him close as they kissed. Brad carried her to the bed and dropped her onto her back before tugging of his shirt.
Devil's Angels Boxed Set: Bikers and Alpha Bad Boy Erotic Romance Page 58