by Ana Stone
“I want you,” he said.
“I want you, too, but…”
“But?”
Roxy eased away from him, one of the hardest things she’d ever done. “But I can’t. You’re a Renegade and I’m a cop.”
“I told you. We own the police chief, Roxy.”
“You what?”
“We own him. Always have. Harmony is peaceful and safe because of the Renegades. We don’t let drugs or gangs touch Harmony. Art knows that. He’s Stella’s cousin, you know. I’ve known him all my life.”
“What I saw tonight wasn’t in Harmony. And by the way you still haven’t explained what exactly that was.” She moved to take a seat in the arm chair adjacent to the sofa.
Zeke blew out his breath, ran his hands back through his hair and took a seat on the sofa. “Raptors hit one of our houses near Beaufort, stole from us. What you saw was us getting back what they took.”
“What did they take?”
He didn’t answer. He just stared at her.
“What did they take, Zeke?”
“Guns.”
“Guns? What kind of guns?”
“The kind you don’t want to know about officer.”
“So the Renegades run guns? What else, Zeke? Drugs, prostitutes, extortion? Just how many criminal enterprises are the Renegades engaged in?”
“More than you want to know.” He suddenly stood. “You know, you’re right, Roxy. This – whatever the hell this is – it’s a mistake.”
As much as she hated admitting it, his words hurt. What had she expected? That he would fight for her? Try to convince her that whatever was going on between them was something they should pursue and see where it took them?
“Then I guess I should go.” She stood and headed for the door. Just as she pulled it open he came up behind her, slammed it closed, grabbed her and whirled her around to face him.
He held her face in one hand, pressing her back against the door. Lust flared hot and wild inside her at the feel of his body against hers. When his lips claimed hers it wasn’t a kiss of love or devotion. It was one of anger, need and lust. Hot and demanding.
It awakened answering needs inside her and she matched the ferocity of his kiss, tangling her hands in his hair and battling to dominate the embrace.
They were both breathing hard when the kiss ended. Zeke stepped back from her. “Don’t believe everything you see or think you know, Roxy. Life isn’t always black and white. Sometimes what you think you know isn’t the truth.”
“What does that mean, Zeke?”
“It means sometimes you have to trust, Roxy.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can do that.”
He reached by her and opened the door. “Let me know if you change your mind. Good night, Roxy.”
She stared at him for a moment then nodded. “Bye, Zeke.”
She stepped outside and the door closed behind her. Roxy made it to the car before the tears came. She started up her car to pull out of his driveway and into her own. By the time she was inside her house, she was sobbing.
Why? She’d just walked away from a man who ran with a group of criminals. A man who made a deliberate choice to break the law. A man who was no better than the father she’d run away from all those years ago.
So why, then, did she feel she had just turned her back on the man she loved?
Chapter Nine
Zeke knew something was up when he pulled into the lot of Renegade Custom Rides and saw the line of bikes parked in front of the club house. As he was hanging his helmet on the handlebars of his bike, Rice, his cousin and Eli’s son, walked out of the clubhouse.
“Was about to go lookin’ for you bro. Need you in Church.”
Zeke nodded. He hadn’t heard anything about a meeting, but then he’d had his phone off so who knew if the Club had tried to reach him. He and Reese had butted heads the moment Reese was released from jail. Reese was spitting mad that Zeke had backed him into a corner and forced him to relinquish his share of Renegade Motors.
Zeke didn’t really care if Reese was pissed. He knew he’d done the right thing. Eli and Stella ran a legit business and that business supported their family, Rice’s and several others. At least nothing Reese did from this point forward could screw with that.
He went inside and found everyone around the long table in the private room they used for Church or official meetings.
“’Bout time,” Reese barked from the head of the table.
Zeke didn’t bother acknowledging the reprimand. Reese knew damn well that Zeke was only sitting in out of loyalty to Eli. Zeke had made it clear that he didn’t approve of the direction the club was taking. The only other member of the club not supporting Reese was Eli.
Zeke took a seat at the other end of the table, beside Eli who occupied the end seat opposite to Reese. As soon as he was seated Reese spoke. “I’m working a deal with that’s going to make us a shit load of cash. Razr and I had a meet with the principals last night.”
“What principals?” Eli asked. “And shouldn’t you be concerned with what’s going to happen at the hearing? Or have you forgotten that some of us including you might go to prison over that fiasco in Selma?”
“I hadn’t forgotten shit. The lawyer will take care of it. No proof those are our guns. Just as many prints from Raptors as Renegades on the shit.”
“No guarantee when they step in front of the judge.”
“I’m telling you we’ll walk. And you’ll get your fucking bail money. I already told you that.”
“It’s not about the money.”
“It’s always about the fucking money. Which is why Razr and I had the meet last night with Sal Martini and the president of Los Bloods.”
Zeke felt his blood pressure rise. Los Bloods was one the largest and most dangerous street gangs in the state. Until the last few years they had not had much of a presence in North Carolina but when they formed a chapter in Charlotte and hooked up with the Mexican Mafia, their numbers and power grew exponentially. They had recently moved into Morehead City. Zeke bit back the urge to tell Reese what an idiot he was for even thinking of getting in bed with Los Bloods and listened.
“Who’s Sal Martini?” Eli asked.
“The guy in charge of that phosphate mine. The owner is open to a business venture that’ll make us a shitload of cash.”
Zeke noticed how everyone at the table aside from Eli, Rice, Six-Pack and himself sat up a little straighter or leaned a little closer to the table at Reese’s words.
“The parent company is willing to renovate one of the chemical processing buildings and put in a meth lab.” Reese said. "The mine produces its own sulfuric acid, and the wet scrubbers keep the smell from escaping. Los Bloods has a cooker who can produce product that’s almost 90% pure. He says he can knock out fifty pounds a week.
“Los Bloods has worked out how to get a steady supply of the rest of what is needed for the meth. And once produced it can be shipped out, hidden in the phosphate, transported by rail or boat with the rest of the mine’s shipments.”
“That’s two hundred pounds a month, bros,” Razr spoke up. “Street value over nine fucking million.”
“For who?” Dice, one of the older members, asked. “And what do they want from us?”
Reese answered. “The owners need someone they can trust to keep an eye on Los Bloods. We’ll handle protection for the mine and arrange for other charters to collect the shipments that go out and deliver to the distributors. We get five hundred k a month.”
Reese fell silent. The men around the table looked at one another for a few moments. Eli was the one who spoke up. “Renegades aren’t in the drug running business. Never have been.”
“Still aren’t.” Reese replied. “We have nothing to do with the production and our club can’t be tapped for distribution. Los Bloods will take care of the lab workers, and will provide Martini with cheap labor for the mine. All we do is provide protection and Martini has agreed to h
ire the club as part of his full time security. Strictly legit.”
“Why?” Eli asked.
“Why what?” Reese countered.
“Why would they need us? What aren’t you telling us?”
Reese looked around at everyone then smiled. “That’s the icing on the cake, bro. Los Bloods will take all the guns we can get our hands on. My contact has a new line on some sweet hardware. His crew is smuggling in military grade weapons through Miami. He can deliver once a week. M-16s, M-40 sniper rifles, M-1014 shotguns, M-4s, MP5s and Glocks. Cost to us is 75k. Los Bloods are willing to pay one-fifty. That’s double our cost. Seventy-five k free and clear on each run. That’s another three hundred k a month. Add it to the deal on the meth and that’s nine hundred k a month, brothers. No more nickel and dime with the handguns, my brothers. We step up to some real money.”
He looked around the table. “Comments?”
Eli spoke first. “I’m against it. We don’t want to get in bed with Los Bloods and selling that quantity of weapons is suicide. Your contact hits the ATF radar and the crosshairs land on the club.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Reese argued. “We’re smarter than that. We work out the details and stick to the plan and we make a shit load of money. Money every one of us need. For the business. For our families. We make damn sure our family is taken care of. Seems to me that’s worth the risk.”
“Not to me.” Eli announced.
Reese shrugged. “We put it to a vote. All in favor?”
He looked to the man seated at his right, Dan Sailor, known as Chopper. Chopper was his man at arms, his right hand. Around the same age as Reese, Chopper had been part of the club as long as Zeke had been alive.
He’d been in and out of prison several times, was prone to use his fists before his brain but was a loyal to Reese as a junkyard dog who’d been unchained. Reese had helped Chopper out when Chopper’s wife fell ill with cancer a decade prior. He’d help Chopper keep his wife on meds as the disease ate her alive. When she died, Chopper’s kids pretty much turned their back on him. Reese and the club were all the family he had left.
It was, therefore, no surprise when Chopper immediately voted with Reese. “Yes.”
Next came Rice, Eli’s son. In his mid-thirties, Rice was a quiet man, good mechanic and not one to start trouble. He lived with his wife and two girls on a small farm outside of town, raised cattle and worked on bikes. He was a man of simple tastes and his family was all that mattered to him.
“No.” He looked squarely at Reese as he voted.
Zeke noted the slight narrowing of Reese’s eyes. The next member, Marlboro, one of the younger club members, and devotee of Reese immediately voted yes.
Eli voted against.
The vote went back to the head of the table, to the man seated at Reese’s left, the VP of the club, Ronny Aster, or Razr. “Yeah,” he voted.
Zeke would have been surprised if Razr had voted against Reese. He was the man Reese trusted the most, and in Zeke’s opinion one of the most dangerous to the club. Razr had no conscience that Zeke could see. He’d steal, kill, blow up, burn down or destroy anything and anyone at Reese’s command. He was a natural born killer. He liked it. Zeke had known that the moment Razr showed up, the year before Zeke enlisted.
That left Rick Wingate, or Six-Pack, Harley and Zeke’s votes. Zeke hoped his vote would sway Six Pack and Harley. “No,” he voted.
He looked to Six-Pack, seated beside him. If he called anyone friend it was Six-Pack. Ex-Marine and childhood friend, Six-Pack was a man of honor. He wasn’t into criminal activities. He and his wife, Amy, had a small home and had been trying for years to have a child. He worked at the garage, minded his own business and was one of the best Zeke had ever seen in custom paint jobs.
“No,” Six-Pack cast his vote.
Zeke looked around him at Harley. Harley met his gaze and held it for a moment then smiled. “Hell yeah.”
Zeke shook his head and looked away.
Reese grinned and banged the gavel. “Six for and four against. We do it.”
Chatter broke out and for a few moments Zeke just sat there. Then he looked over at his Uncle Eli. It was clear that Eli was upset. He’d never wanted the club to become part of the 1 percenters – men who had killed and would kill. Men who thought nothing about breaking the law.
It wasn’t the kind of club Eli and Zeke’s father had wanted. But it was what it had become.
And it was something Zeke could not support. He stood. “This is a mistake.”
Everyone fell silent. Zeke looked at Reese, knowing he would be met with an angry stare. “It’s been voted.” Reese said.
“Yeah. But I’m not part of it. I’ll work the garage, but I’m not having any part of this.”
Reese stood. “You’ll do what the fuck I tell you to do or I’ll strip your patch.”
“Then do it.” With that, Zeke walked out.
Chapter Ten
Roxy had been on the job for nearly three weeks and felt pretty useless. Like the Chief had told her on her first day, not much happened in Harmony and that was just the way people wanted it. She understood that. No one wanted trouble. But being a Deputy was almost mind-numbingly boring. The other Deputy, Bill Courtney had seniority which meant she was stuck with the shit jobs.
Every day was the same. Go for an early morning run, do an hour of yoga then shower and get ready for work. Stop at the diner for breakfast, say hello to the people she was starting to know, go to the station, spend a few minutes listening to Mellie, Melanie Price, the dispatcher and clerk talk about inconsequential matters, go over the night reports then drive to the school and monitor the morning arrival of the students.
The elementary, middle and high schools for Harmony were located all in one central location, easy for parents who had children at several grade levels to drop them off and pick them up. She sat at the corner of Mills and Stanton, a visible police presence, until the school bells rang, and then she made a pass through the town and returned to the station.
So far, her most interesting call was a dispute by two town residents on whether a tree one of them had planted ten years ago was crossing property lines.
Her shift could not end soon enough. The Chief was a nice guy, as was Deputy Courtney, but she didn’t have much in common with them and no history, so there wasn’t a lot of conversation. After seeing the Chief at Renegades the night of the incident in Selma, he hadn’t had much to say to her at all. In fact, she felt like he avoided her as much as possible.
That was okay. She wasn’t sure what she’d say to him if the subject arose. Despite her feelings for Zeke, she was opposed to what the Renegades did and she sure would not lend support to a law enforcement officer being on the payroll of a criminal organization.
Harmony had not turned out to be so harmonious for her after all. She was at the point of rethinking her decision to stay. The problem was she had nowhere to go. And as always, when her thoughts turned to such questions, Zeke came immediately to mind.
She wished she could put him out of her mind. Maybe if she had a diversion it would be easier. Most days at work she followed the routine and watched the clock.
Quitting time meant heading for the gym on the edge of town. She liked the place. It was old but clean and the people who frequented it were there for one reason, to work out. She put in an hour a day doing weights, and then did a five mile run around town.
The nights that she worked for Randy at the tattoo parlor, she showered at the gym and grabbed something to eat from the Diner or the Wagon Wheel. Nights when she didn’t work, she went home.
Those were the worst. She couldn’t stop herself from looking out the kitchen window to see if there were lights on at Zeke’s. Couldn’t stop listening for the sound of his truck or bike. Couldn’t stop the rush of anger the night she saw him entering his house with a woman.
She needed a diversion and she needed it fast. More than once she’d been tempted to walk over and kno
ck on his door. She probably would have if she hadn’t seen that woman. And hadn’t seen the two of them leave the next morning.
And then there were the dreams. Dreams of Zeke. And in each dream she promised to find him.
What the hell was wrong with her?
She got up from her desk to go get a cup of coffee. Just as she did a man walked in.
Roxy stopped dead in her tracks. Tall and lean, he wore a dark jacket over jeans and cowboy boots, with a white button down shirt, the collar open. The bulge at the waist of his jacket on the right side was a dead giveaway that he was armed. It was the worn black Stetson that seemed the oddest part of his outfit to her, but she had to admit it gave him a kind of rakish appeal.
He removed the hat as he approached. His hair was dark brown with a bit of a sun kissed look, like he spent a lot of time outdoors. It was longer than regulation so if he was a cop he was not a uniformed officer. His eyes were a clear hazel and he was, by any definition, easy on the eyes.
Sex in jeans was the description that came to mind. He was the kind of man she’d eagerly jump into bed with. Big enough that she felt feminine but not dwarfed by him, and with a look in his eyes that said he’d give her one hell of a ride.
Those lusty thoughts transformed into something dark when he looked into her eyes. Not that the lust vanished, but now it was flavored with something she couldn’t identify but something that sent a wave of anxiety rippling through her.
What the hell? Part of her wanted to jump his bones and the other part wanted to run like hell. It made no sense at all.
“Excuse me, officer, my name is Weston Franklin. I’m looking for Chief Art Phillips.” He opened his jacket and withdrew identification.
Roxy took one look at it and knew that Harmony was about to lose its standing as a quiet town. The NCS, National Clandestine Service of the Central Intelligence Agency did not send operatives into places like Harmony unless there were people there involved in something very nasty and very big.
Her mind went immediately to Zeke. Could the Renegades be getting their guns from someone tied up with a terrorist cell?