Devil May Care (Four Horsemen MC Book 4)

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Devil May Care (Four Horsemen MC Book 4) Page 9

by Rayne, Cynthia


  “Now you’re gettin’ it,” Shepherd said with a sage nod.

  Captain frowned, still in the fucking dark. “The Lannisters? Who the fuck are they? Another club?”

  “House of Lannister?” Coyote said. He spoke slowly, hands clenched. “Casterly Rock? King’s Landing? Am I ringin’ any fucking bells?”

  “That’s a negative,” he said.

  “I’m going to organize a vid night at my place, and bring y’all up to speed. A little Lord of the Rings, some Game of Thrones, Harry Potter, all the greats.”

  Captain shook his head. “Enough talkin’, let’s ride.”

  Coyote gunned his bike and lit out of the parking lot. Captain and Shepherd followed him.

  After a bit of a hike, they arrived in Canyon City, the Raptors territory. They drove up behind their old strip club, the Pussycat Palace. The parking lot was deserted and they pulled up beside a rusty old Dumpster in the back. Several ripped up beer cartons littered the ground and the stench of piss assaulted Captain’s nostrils.

  Captain and his brothers dismounted. While the intention wasn’t to start some shit, he wasn’t a fool. They’d come armed. Captain had even added an extra piece, a Glock he’d tucked into the front pocket of his cut. Eventually, the Raptors arrived on their Harleys. Three of them. The president, Manson, and two of his men. Junior, and Rusty.

  Captain remembered the name Junior. He was a big guy with red hair and a beard. Junior ran the Palace until it closed down and he’d once tried to rape Daisy, while she’d been working undercover as a stripper and searching for Rose. According to Cowboy, Daisy had knocked his big ass out and then ran for it.

  The other biker, Rusty, was a smaller man with light brown hair and a fuck load of metal piercings – his nose, his ears, his lower lip, both eyebrows, and who knows what else he’d poked a hole through. Probably his dick. Yeah, he seemed like the kind of guy who’d put a ring through it.

  Manson looked like he was in his late thirties. He wore a black T-shirt and a ratty pair of jeans. Captain noticed he’d had HELTER and SKELTER tattooed on either forearm. Seriously, Charles fuckin’ Manson?

  “I’ll get right to the point,” Captain said. The sooner they got this over with, the better. “We got wind the feds are on their way. They’re digging into your porn and prostitution business.” All of them simply stared back at him, not shocked in the slightest, or maybe they were too stupid to be concerned.

  Probably that last one.

  “You mean the place you boys robbed?” Manson drawled.

  Shep grinned. “Yeah, that’s the one. We shut it down, too, as I recall.”

  Coyote stood on the other side of Shep. While he didn’t appear intimidating, he didn’t look like he’d piss himself any second either. So, it worked.

  “Let me guess, one of those drugged up cunts went and blabbed to the FBI?” Junior asked. “And now, they’re gunnin’ for us.

  Captain didn’t confirm the info. He didn’t need these ass hats out scouring the countryside for the women they’d abused. “Don’t know. Don’t care. Just givin’ you a heads up.”

  “I’m touched.” Manson mocked, placing a hand over his heart.

  “We don’t want any more heat on our backs. So, cool it until the feds leave and then we’ll figure this thing out.”

  “Are you under the impression I fucking work for you?” Manson asked, stepping towards him.

  Shep automatically went for his gun, pulling it out real slow. “Keep your distance from the Prez.”

  Coyote didn’t pull yet, but his hand hovered over his piece.

  Captain didn’t draw either. Instead, he took a deep breath, hoping to keep this meeting peaceful. The last thing he needed was a gun fight. “Only giving you friendly advice. We’ll settle the score after the feds back off.”

  “Oh, you can count on it,” Manson said. “You cost us a few hundred grand.”

  Captain couldn’t help the toothy grin spreading across his face. “Good.” He hoped he bankrupted the bastards. “If things are a bit tight, moneywise, you could always pull out of this territory. Regroup, maybe. I hear Arkansas is nice this time of year.”

  “Fuck you,” Junior growled. “And before I forget, tell the stripper, I’m gonna even the score with her, too.”

  Captain made a mental note to tell Daisy and Cowboy what he’d said. If Junior came after his old lady, Cowboy would take care of it. If the ex-Marine didn’t handle him herself. That was one shit list, Captain never wanted to be on. She could hold her own in a fight.

  “And if we decide we’d rather go after you bastards?” Rusty asked. “Have it out and fuck the consequences?”

  They might be kamikaze enough to try a full on assault. But Captain had already anticipated that sort of crazy. He turned to Yo. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you, Coyote?”

  “Nah,” Coyote said, with a shake of his head. “We got some very incriminating digital files we could turn over to the FBI.”

  “You’re bluffing,” Manson said. “It would prove you stole from us.”

  “Yeah, but what carries more of a sentence. Theft? Or human trafficking, kidnapping, prostitution, and rape?” Coyote said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Let me think…”

  “I’ll do the math for you,” Shep said. “None of you would ever make it into MENSA. It’s the second one.”

  “Like we give a fuck. We’ve all done time,” Manson boasted.

  Cool as fuck, Coyote said, “Well, then we’ll go another route. I’m bettin’ there’s a thing or two, you don’t want everyone to know. For example, you walkin’ out of a room with welts on your back.”

  Captain watched as the blood drained from Manson’s face. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about,” he growled. Oh, this had to be some good shit. He turned his attention back to Coyote.

  “Took me a minute or two to figure out what the fuck happened. As fetishes go, male submission is a bit rare, but everyone has their own freak flag, y’know? You like women to smack you around. It’s all good. I mean Fifty Shades of Grey is popular. Why not the flip side?”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Manson growled. His brothers started to snicker behind him.

  Coyote continued on. “I bet you didn’t have to force one of the girls to whip you, huh? They probably lined up to beat your ass.” He cocked his head to the side. “Did you call her Mistress? Or ma’am?”

  “I said shut your fuckin’ mouth!” Manson bellowed.

  “I will. For now,” Coyote said. “But if you don’t do what Cap says, I’ll release those files and then some. You’ll spend twenty-five to life in max security.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And don’t worry. Maybe you can find a big dude in jail to smack you around.”

  Captain had to smother a laugh. Coyote might have been bellyaching about it, but he’d come through for them in the end. He was proud of the kid.

  “You think you’re so fuckin’ good, don’t you? The high and mighty Four Horsemen, vigilantes for hire, better than the rest of us. Well, the feds don’t give a shit about your Boy Scout good deeds. They think we’re the same.”

  “I think he’s tryin’ to hurt our feelings, Cap,” Shep said.

  “We’re nothing like you cockroaches,” Captain said. “We don’t hurt innocent women and we sure as fuck don’t make money off of them. You should be ashamed to call yourselves men.”

  “They’re nothing but junkies and whores,” Manson said, as he stepped closer. Again, the brothers palmed their weapons. “And if I were you? I’d watch how you speak to me. We got very powerful friends.”

  Captain shook his head. He’d thought he could shame them, but they were evidently too far gone to give a damn. These assholes needed to get the fuck out of Texas. Although, if he had his way, he’d boot their asses off the planet. They gave bikers a bad name.

  “Like who?” Shep asked. “Your drug dealers?”

  “The Dixie Mafia,” Manson said smugly. “They’ve been bankrolling us for years, p
ayin’ for protection runs. You don’t want to tangle with those boys.”

  They wouldn’t be so big and bad if they knew the offer Beauregard had made to Eddie. Captain just hoped he wouldn’t be forced to take it.

  “You’re their errand boys.” He knew the Mafia wouldn’t protect the piss ants, that’s why he’d gone forward with the raid. “They could give a flying fuck about you. And, trust me, sooner or later, we’ll have this out,” Captain promised.

  “Count on it,” Manson promised as he hopped on his bike. “For now, we’ll keep a low profile, but as soon as they pull out, you’d better watch your asses.”

  With that, he roared off, his brothers right behind him.

  The Horsemen headed back for Hell.

  ***

  When they reached home, Shep and Coyote veered off towards Inferno Firearms, and Captain headed for Perdition. He wanted to check on Eddie. Oh, fuck it all, it was an excuse. He wanted to see her. Make that needed to see her. When he’d woken up this morning, she’d already gotten up and left him a note by the coffee pot.

  But as he turned a corner, one of Hell’s policemen pulled him over and hauled his behind into the station. And before he knew it, he’d been placed in an interrogation room.

  Here we go again.

  After an hour of cooling his heels, an agent walked into the room. He was a tall man, a couple of inches over six feet with short sandy blond hair. He had a thin build with sharp blue eyes. He wore a pair of loose-fitting khakis, and an FBI-issued navy blue shirt. Captain put his age around thirty, give or take.

  “I’m Special Agent Chris Warner, with the Dallas FBI. Sorry, the locals got a bit overzealous, but you know how it goes. You aren’t under arrest, but I want to ask you a few questions. Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, sitting down across from Captain with a bottle of brewed tea and a thick manila file.

  The nice guy routine was a ploy. He’d seen it all before. Playing good cop to coax Captain into snitching, or possibly the agent hoped he’d leave behind his DNA on a beverage container.

  Either way, he wouldn’t be cooperating. “No, thanks.”

  Warner shrugged. “Suit yourself.” The agent opened the file, before he twisted the cap off his beverage. “Let’s get started. State your name for the record.”

  He hesitated a moment. While he might not be under arrest, Captain knew the agent was itchin’ to find an excuse to put him away. But if he called a lawyer right away, he’d look guilty as fuck and he wouldn’t get a chance to see what kind of evidence they had against the Raptors or the Horsemen. For now, he decided to play along, and see where this conversation was headed.

  “Colin Cooper.”

  “And your address?”

  “I’m in apartment 1A at Brimstone Arms on Dante Ave.” Since the divorce, he’d downsized his life. He’d sold the house and moved into a two bedroom apartment, so he had a room for Lex as well as himself. As president, he didn’t have time for home repair and lawn maintenance, anyway. Fitting sleeping and eating into his schedule was difficult enough.

  “Thanks for verifying your identity.” The agent stared at a page, not meeting his eyes. “And your alias is Captain, right?”

  He rolled his eyes. “It’s a road name. Not an alias,” he corrected. Like he went around using fake IDs and robbin’ banks. “But, that’s what I go by.”

  The agent flipped a page. “And where were you born?”

  “Corpus Christi, Texas. Actually right outside of it, in a town called Rockport.”

  He’d grown up on Aransas Bay in a sleepy seaside town. The most exciting thing in Rockport was the hummingbird festival every fall. The little birds stopped in the town to refuel on their migration down south for the winter. It mostly consisted of bird watching and stuffing your face with carnival food. Not a bad way to spend a weekend. Hmm, maybe he’d take Eddie there for the festival. Could be a good getaway.

  “According to your employment records, you worked on fishing boats as a teenager, right?”

  “Yes, for the Aransas Bay Company,” he said. He kept his answers short and to the point, not giving any more information than he’d been asked for.

  He used to work on daytime cruises. Rich oil men paid big bucks to go on fishing excursions in the ocean. They tipped really well, and he hadn’t minded the work. Basically, he navigated the boat, baited some hooks, and snuck a beer now and then. It had been an easy gig. He spent his days working on his tan and watching people fish.

  That’s how he’d earned the name, Captain. Goat had given it to him when he first joined the club. Goat and Sailor appreciated a fellow seafarer in the mix.

  “Why the change to career criminal?” Warner asked. “Seems to me you could have made a good living on the water.”

  He snorted. “Now, I’m hardly a career criminal. I’ve only done eighteen months for assault once.”

  The agent wasn’t playing. “We both know you run a criminal organization.”

  He managed to keep his temper in check. Law enforcement usually lumped all motorcycle clubs into the outlaw category. The way he saw it, there were all dickheads who preyed on people, like the Raptors, and then there were clubs like the Horsemen who contributed something to society…namely? Taking out the trash.

  “The club used to be into some bad shit. That’s been documented, but now we’re small business owners and motorcycle fanatics.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you guys are real pillars of the community,” he said, flipping a page in the file folder. “What’s your beef with the Raptors?”

  Shit.

  It was time to call the law firm. “You know, this has been fun and all, but it’s time to call my lawyer.”

  “Why?” he asked. “You aren’t under arrest. We’re just havin’ a friendly conversation. Unless you got something to hide?”

  He gave Warner a shit-eating grin. “Just being cautious.”

  “Fine. Make the phone call.” He tossed the folder aside and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know, I’ve had the chance to look at the Raptor’s rap sheets. They seem like bad guys. Sure, the brothers in your club have some assault convictions and such, but nothing like these assholes. They’ve got drug, assault, stalking, and rape charges. Even a couple suspected murders. You know want to know what I think?”

  “Not really,” Captain said, slumping in his chair.

  “I think you busted their prostitution ring. You freed the girls and sent them home with all the cash they could carry. Then, you fucked up their equipment, and shut them down. The way I see it? You were doin’ a public service.”

  He met the agent’s gaze and didn’t take the bait. “Is this the part where we make friends?” Captain knew just about every police tactic in the book.

  Warner ignored him. “But the problem is, we don’t have any evidence of what kind of shit they were into. Their cameras were smashed, the feeds taken. We’d love to prosecute these bastards, but we need evidence to get a conviction. If you guys were involved, you could send it to us, let us take a look.”

  That was some bullshit right there. No jury would believe another set of bikers, who also happened to be convicted felons. Particularly, when they’d been withholding evidence they could have tampered with. Warner probably wanted to convict the Horsemen for theft and then the Raptors for prostitution. Win. Win.

  “What an interesting theory,” he said with wide eyes. “I don’t feel like answerin’ anymore questions and I’ve gotta make a phone call now.”

  “Suit yourself,” he said, walking to the door. “But if you don’t work with me, I can’t help you.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you’re real anxious to help me out.”

  “Oh, I’m a giver.” The agent leaned against the door frame. “By the way, I heard you have a big biker convention here in the next few days. It’d be a shame to put a damper on the fun. We’d have to set up some checkpoints, just to make sure you boys were drivin’ safe.”

  Oh fuck.

  The agent continued
on. “Then we’d have to check out at everyone’s identification, see if anyone has any outstanding warrants.”

  As threats go, it was a good one.

  For the moment, Captain followed rule one and shut his fucking mouth.

  Chapter Nine

  “You’re Captain, correct? President of the Four Horsemen?”

  Captain glanced up to see a woman in a black and white pinstriped suit walk into the interview room. She had a folder in her grasp, a scowl on her pretty face, and carried a slim leather briefcase. She had an exaggerated hourglass figure that reminded him of Elizabeth. But this woman had larger breasts, and a sleeker look. She had milky skin and poker-straight, short black hair, which fell to her chin. On her snub nose, she wore a pair of black-framed glasses.

  “Yeah, I’m Captain,” he said.

  She nodded stiffly and click-clacked over to him on her high heels. “I’m Jane Hunter, your new lawyer. I just got in.” Sitting down with a sigh, she opened her briefcase. “Dallas is a long way from Hell.”

  He knew it would be a bit of a haul. The FBI agent had left him alone for the past three hours while she traveled here, but he knew the video camera on the wall still flashed red. He was still being filmed, so he’d simply sat at the table and read a newspaper he’d found in the wastebasket. He didn’t call anyone from the club and sure as shit didn’t say anything incriminating.

  “What happened to my old lawyer?” he asked.

  Jeff Reynolds had managed to keep his ass out of jail, but most of the club had gone inside. Of course, they’d been guilty as fuck and the evidence had been overwhelming. For the first time, he’d been grateful for his prospect status and the fact he didn’t know that much about the club’s dealings. Reynolds had worked that angle and the grand jury had been lenient. They hadn’t charged him with a damn thing.

  “He retired and a senior partner assigned the case to me, since I have a lot of experience with federal courts. I’m an excellent defense attorney and I’ve never lost a case.” She’d said it matter-of-factly, it hadn’t been a boast.

 

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