DAX: Southside Skulls Motorcycle Club (Southside Skulls MC Romance Book 1)

by Jessie Cooke

  Dad got up and kissed her on the cheek. “What’s going on?” she whispered.

  “Have a seat, Brady,” Captain Banks said, before her father had a chance to answer. Angel looked at her dad and then her brother. Her dad’s face was neutral, but Kyle looked pissed. Beyond him she could see Micah. When she made eye contact with him he smiled, but his eyes looked as unhappy as Kyle’s did.

  “I’m sorry, Captain Banks, but what is this all about?”

  “I have a proposition for you.”

  Angel raised an eyebrow. The captain gave orders, assignments, ultimatums…but a proposition? Not likely. “Okay…”

  He glanced at her dad and then Micah and then he said, “You know of course that we have organized a task force to combat the trouble that’s been brewing in town thanks to the Southside Skulls?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She knew. Everyone knew. The motorcycle club had been around as long as the rural town had, but in the past, they’d been pretty benign. The town, called Hanover, wasn’t large by any means, but it wasn’t tiny either. At last census they had about forty thousand citizens. But thanks to the rural setting right on the state line between Connecticut and Massachusetts, the county of Bartholomew was huge and spread out over nearly two thousand square miles. For the most part the MC did whatever they did way out on some farm in the middle of nowhere and the county sheriff dealt with the occasional fallout. But then a couple of years ago, another club originally from Massachusetts, the Sinners, began to move in on “their” territory and suddenly they had two outlaw MC clubs in the area and more crime than both the police department and the sheriff could deal with. Angel’s department made more arrests than the D.A. wanted to let on that they had, but thanks to the intimidation factor and threats of retaliation, most of their witnesses suddenly developed amnesia, and then they were hard-pressed to get anything to stick.

  Bodies had recently started turning up in dry canal beds and orchards, and that was when the citizens and town council began to get really scared. So far the bodies had all been bad guys…but there was always the chance an innocent would get caught in the crossfire. A town hall meeting had been called and they used it as a forum to demand to know what the chief of police and district attorney planned on doing about it. There was blame on both sides as well as some sinister insinuations that some of the “higher-ups” might be on the club’s payroll. There was no evidence of that, but everyone was running scared.

  When the blame game finally ended and the smoke cleared, a task force had been the temporary solution. The citizens and city council agreed to give them a chance—six months to be exact—before they took any further action such as calling in the State Police or the FBI. Micah, her father, and her oldest brother Kyle were all a part of that task force. Her youngest brother, David, the other cop, was also a computer whiz. He worked in the computer crimes division of the department. He had mentioned the last time she saw him that he was involved in doing backgrounds and in-depth research on each one of the members of the Southside Skulls MC.

  “For the past two weeks the task force has been monitoring the Skulls’ movements, but as you might be able to guess, it’s hard to get close enough to really know what’s going on from a surveillance van.” Captain Banks said.

  “Sure, yes.”

  “What we need is something concrete that we can use to take these guys down once and for all. If we don’t get it soon, we’ll have FBI and ATF descending on us and taking over everything in this town.” Angel nodded. She knew from listening to Micah how badly detectives resented being taken off a case because the FBI had taken over. If they had to be brought in on this, it would cause not only the captain but the whole department to lose face in the community. “Our idea was to put someone on the inside. Officer Kyle Brady volunteered for that post since he already knows how to ride.” Her older brother had been riding motorcycles since he was five years old. He’d just bought his first Harley a year or so ago. “But, he’s been on the streets here too long. He’s too familiar to some of the younger members of the Skulls.”

  “He’s arrested more than his fair share of them,” their dad clarified, and looked proud of it. Kyle was ten years older than Angel. He’d been a cop since he was twenty years old and he’d just turned thirty-six.

  “It’s been suggested that rather than have someone go in as a club member, it might be more productive to have someone go in as a club girl.” She heard Micah sigh and her brother shifted in his chair. Are they suggesting what I think? She felt a little thrill of adrenaline surge through her while at the same time a tickle of fear snaked its way down her spine. “We are offering this post to you, Officer Brady. However, we’re offering it to you with the stipulation that if you don’t feel ready for something like this, or are uncomfortable with any aspect of it, you can turn it down without any fear of reprisal.”

  “I’ll do it!”

  “Angel!” Micah finally spoke up. “Listen to me for a second. They want you to do this because you’re young and pretty and you’ll fit in with what these guys are looking for. If you go in there as a club girl, they’re going to expect you to act like one. These guys use these girls for their own personal entertainment and so far, no one at this table has come up with an answer to the question of how you’ll get around that.”

  “She’s smart,” her dad said. “She can figure it out.”

  “She’s green, Dad. I can’t believe you’re behind this.” Angel’s brother, who sometimes got his brother and father roles mixed up, threw his opinion in the mix.

  “I’m behind it because I trust your sister. She’s a good cop with five years on the streets. She’s not a rookie, she’s not naïve, and she’s as smart as a whip. If she wants to do this, I think she’s as capable, if not more so, than anyone else,” her dad said. Kyle put his face in his hands. The man that she didn’t know, and who so far hadn’t spoken said:

  “My name is Lee Zandt, Officer Brady. I’m with the Sheriff’s Department and part of this task force. I have to be honest here and tell you that what Detective Ivanov and Officer Brady are suggesting is true. We’ve had these guys on our radar for years. We see girls in the ER constantly, club girls, with injuries consistent with assault. Unfortunately, none of them will talk or press charges, but this won’t be an easy or a safe assignment for you.”

  She nodded as Micah said her name. “Angel…”

  “Wait, Micah, please—let me talk. First off, if I were a man, none of you would bat an eyelash at their pulling me off the streets to do this. Five years in uniform is plenty long enough to do undercover work. As a matter of fact, I just took the test for my gold shield a few days ago. If I can pass the detective’s exam, I’m as capable of doing this as any of you.” She turned to look at her captain and said, “I want to do this, sir—when do I start?”

  3

  Angel stepped out of her blue Jeep Cherokee in front of an old, brick building almost two weeks after she’d walked into the captain’s office. That two weeks had been filled with education about the local MCs…everything she needed to know, she was told. The background information came from her brother David and she got a lot of the inside information from Kyle and Micah. It was a lot to process in such a short time, but she was determined to do this and do a good job. She looked up at the big, neon green sign out front that said “Spirits” in two-foot letters. This was the bar where she was told the Skulls hung out when they weren’t partying at their clubhouse. The clubhouse was way out in the country and from what they knew, heavily guarded. If she was going to get in there, she would have to meet one of the members at the bar who wanted to invite her in.

  Angel adjusted her short black skirt and pulled the right sleeve of the loose black t-shirt back up on her shoulder to cover her bra strap. She felt naked and not because of the clothes. She was missing her utility belt, and her holster, and her gun. In essence, a cop without a gun in a den of criminals was naked. But she couldn’t think about that right now. Right no
w she had to be a lady and she had to make one of those criminals want her badly enough to share his secrets.

  Her long, blonde hair was curled in tight ringlets and hanging down to the middle of her back, and her make-up was thicker than she’d worn it since the first time that she tried to do it herself at thirteen. She slung her purse over her shoulder; it was another thing that felt odd. She never carried a purse. She’d learned from her father and brothers how to carry her wallet in her pocket and leave all that other shit at home. She was toddling like a newborn baby deer in the four-inch-heeled boots she was wearing. They were leather and came up over her knees and laced all the way up the front. They were hot and they would get her noticed…even if she didn’t face-plant right onto the floor in the middle of the bar because she couldn’t walk in them.

  She was almost up to the door when she heard Kyle’s voice. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. There was a listening device inside the tiny little stud she had in her ear and a microphone inside the ring that she’d gotten pierced into her nose. Angel didn’t even know such things existed. It was new technology that she assumed cost a fortune. It would also only last for eighteen hours without being recharged so if she stayed around longer than that, she’d be on her own, without a gun. She reminded herself once more not to think about that.

  “Please be safe, Angel.”

  “You got it, Bubba.” She pulled on the skirt again, self-conscious about how short it was, and pushed open the door of the bar. As she stepped inside her imagination had everyone in the place stopping what they were doing and looking at her. A few guys with leather kuttes and big, gruesome, smiling skull patches on the backs of them were gathered around the pool table. There was another guy with the same kutte on out on the dance floor groping a girl that looked to be young enough to be his daughter. Three men sat belly up to the bar. One of them wore a jean vest with a big, round patch on the back that said “Prospect.” The other two wore leather kuttes and t-shirts. A few women sat at one table over in one corner and one sat on the lap of another biker off in the far corner. Angel rationally knew that most of them had barely glanced at her, but she still felt like she was on display somehow. Micah told her that it would be like that. He said that you always felt exposed on your first undercover assignment, like you were naked and wearing a sign around your neck that said “Cop.”

  Angel cautiously made her way to an empty stool at the bar. The guy behind it had a yellow and red faux-hawk and several piercings in his face. He also had on a jean vest and his bare arms were colored with tattoos from shoulder to wrist. He gave her an odd look and said, “You lost?” Great, I’m already sticking out.

  “Nope, just thirsty.”

  He grinned. “Well then, I guess you’re in the right place. What can I get you?”

  “A beer—whatever you have on tap is fine.” She watched as he grabbed a mug and started to fill it. From the corner of her eye, she could see the three men at the end of the bar watching her. When the bartender sat the beer down in front of her, she started to hand him a twenty, but her hand was suddenly covered by a huge, rough one. Startled, she looked up, into the dark eyes of a man about her father’s age. He had long gray hair that fell across his shoulders in thin strands and an ugly, puckered scar along one side of his face. He smiled at her and said:

  “I got this, darlin’.” He handed the bartender a twenty while she searched for her voice.

  When she found it she said, “Thanks, but I can buy my own drinks.”

  “I’m sure you can, but I never let a pretty lady pay for her own beer—it just wouldn’t be right.” One of the women from the table in the corner walked by at just about that time. She stopped when she heard him, put her hand on her plump hip, and with a scowl that could have scared off a grizzly bear she said:

  “Damn, Scar! I sat next to you and paid for my own drinks all night last Friday.”

  The old guy ran his eyes down the length of her body and then, looking right into her eyes, he said, “I said a pretty lady. Now beat it, Tank.”

  She flipped him off, but then, surprising Angel, she smiled sweetly at her before walking away. She shook her ample hips as she did and made Angel envious of how she was handling the five- or six-inch heels she was wearing. Scar slid onto the stool next to Angel and she could smell the faint aroma of weed. “So, where were we?”

  Angel cleared her throat. “I was explaining to you that I could buy my own drinks.”

  He laughed softly. It was a deep, rumbly laugh. “Well, I apologize if I overstepped, little lady. We just don’t get too many girls in this hole in the wall that look like you. I got excited and forgot my manners. Do you forgive me?” The bartender sat her beer down in front of her. She picked it up and took a sip and then, looking back at Scar, she said:

  “I’ll try.”

  He laughed again. “I like you…what’s your name?”

  “Angel.”

  “Angel. It suits you. What’s your last name, Angel?”

  “No last name, just Angel.”

  Chuckling again he said, “I reckon that’s not something I can argue with. Folks call me Scar…for the obvious reasons. Where you from, Angel? Heaven?”

  She rolled her eyes and took another drink of her beer. “Originally,” she finally said with a grin. “But I live in Boston now.” Over the past two weeks a lot of preparations were made for her new identity. One of them was a driver’s license that gave her name as Angela “Angel” Davis. The address was a studio apartment in Boston down near the harbor. Someone from the department actually drove the hundred-plus miles every other day or so to make it look “lived in,” just in case. The department was going all out for this investigation, and Angel prayed every morning that she’d be able to handle it and make everyone concerned happy and proud.

  “What are you doing way out here?”

  She shrugged. “Just passing through,” she told him. “You live around here?”

  “Here and there,” he said. Angel sipped her beer again and the jukebox switched from country music to Journey, belting out a love song from the eighties. “I love this song! Dance with me, darlin’?”

  “No, thank you. I don’t dance.”

  “Aw, come on, baby girl…” Just then she felt something like a shadow pass over her. She looked up into a pair of the bluest eyes that she’d ever seen. The man attached to them was about six foot four and it almost hurt her neck to look up at him. His blond hair was long to his shoulders and parted away from his face on both sides. His face had light brown stubble across the chin and jawline and his lips…God, those lips…. they were dark pink, plump, and they looked pillowy soft.

  “Scar, let the lady alone. You act like an untrained dog sometimes.” Scar wasn’t a small man himself, but somehow the other man’s presence alone seemed to dwarf him. Without a word to the man or Angel, Scar got up and went back to his own stool. Angel turned her attention back to the big guy. His shoulders seemed at least four feet wide from one end to the other. His biceps bulged out from underneath a white t-shirt and a colorful tribal band was wrapped around one of them. His forearms were huge too and thick veins ran through them like cords of rope. He was smiling down at her and she felt her whole body begin to shake. She wasn’t sure if it was from nerves, the fact that she already knew who the man was, or both. “Hey there, beautiful.”

  “The name is Angel.”

  He laughed. “Of course it is.”

  “It really is. I mean, well, my parents named me Angela,” she lied. “But everyone calls me Angel.”

  He barely bent his long legs and sat down on the stool next to her. “Well then, I’m glad to meet you, Angel.” There was something about him that frightened and drew her in at the same time. He was gorgeous, in a scary, dangerous sort of way. His easy smile both set her slightly at ease and completely on fire. She had seen photos of him, but not a single one of them had done him justice. Her eyes went to the patch on the front of his black leather kutte.
It was a black circle and in the center of it was embroidered a light blue, cursive “P.” He held out a gigantic hand and she hesitated before taking it. Somehow she sensed that once she touched it, it was going to leave her craving more. His hand was warm and rough, and shamelessly she wondered what those hands would feel like as they touched and massaged her body. “Dax,” he said. She pulled her hand away from his, albeit reluctantly, and said:

  “Nice to meet you, Dax.” He slid onto the stool next to hers and the bartender placed a beer and a shot in front of him. He picked up the shot and downed it, chased it with a drink of beer, and then looked at her and said:

  “I swear I’ve never said this to a woman in my life…but what’s a girl like you doing in a dive like this?”

  Angel smiled. “I was just driving, trying to clear my head. I came up on it so I thought I’d stop in and have a drink.” She looked around her at the old license plates nailed up onto the walls and the beat-up wooden tables and scarred vinyl chairs and said, “It’s not so bad.” She wondered what had gone wrong with her outfit. She thought she looked a lot like the other women in the bar. What was it that was giving her away? Maybe she’d just already begun that process of looking like a cop. Every cop that she’d ever known in her life, especially the old veterans like her dad, looked like a cop. Maybe she did too.

  Dax let his eyes glide slowly from the roots of her hair all the way to the tips of her high-heeled shoes. She suppressed a shudder, thankfully…but she couldn’t be sure that her face wasn’t as red as it was hot. “Well, I for one can’t say as I’m sorry that you did. Where are you from, darlin’?”

  “Boston.”

  He nodded. “Yep. One of those fancy bars in Boston with men in suits buying your drinks…that’s the kind of place I see you in.”

  With a cocky look she said, “Why is it that all men think women need them to buy their drinks?”