I cut her off because there’s no way in fuck I’m going to let her talk about Priss like that. Priss isn’t cheap, and she’s far from a slut. The woman barely dates thanks to me. When she does, she doesn’t get more than a goodnight peck on the cheek. I’ve made sure of it. What I’m curious about is how Charlee knows about Priss to begin with.
“You checking up on me Charlee?” I don’t bother to address the shit she spouted about Priss. It won’t do anything but confirm Charlee’s suspicions and I can’t be fucked getting in an all-out fight with the bitch tonight. I’m tired, hungry, I need a beer, and a bed to crash in for the night. A fight is the last thing I need.
“It’s in my best interests to know what you’re up to when you’re not here. I’ve been told the motorcycle gang you’re involved with makes for interesting viewing. I can only assume the teenage girl you’ve been seen around town with is the sister?”
Yeah, she’s having me tailed. Complete with fucking photos, which no doubt she’s intending to use to benefit her somehow. If I thought that giving her my entire trust fund would get the bitch to sign those papers I would. But I know better. Charlee values her reputation, or the reputation she thinks she has more than the quick injection of cash she’ll most definitely spend faster than water runs from a tap. Shaking my head I ask,
“What’s it going to take Charlee? You don’t want the fucking money, and you don’t want me, so what will it take to get you to give me my life back?”
Turning to the sink she rinses her glass placing it in the dish drainer. When she’s done she turns to face me again, and I can see a ghost of a smile on her lips.
“See, that’s just it my dear husband I don’t want anything from you other than the use of your name. I don’t give a shit who you fuck while you ride around on your bikes in the middle of nowhere. What I do care about is that you keep up appearances while you’re here. That means for all intents and purposes you’re my husband and you’re faithful. If you keep pushing for a divorce, not only will I go to the press with that little expose, I’ll also consider making an exception when it comes to leaving Chicago so that I can visit my long-lost husband in his new hometown. I haven’t got the chance to assure myself you’ve settled in yet, and I would love to meet your latest plaything. So the choice is yours.” With a cruel smile she crosses her bony arms over her chest.
I won’t bite. Giving her the satisfaction of seeing me angry wasn’t going to happen. I ask keeping my tone even,
“And what? You’ll roll into town in the BMW daddy bought you and throw a fucking temper tantrum? Because if that’s what your grand plan is you’ll be fucking disappointed Charlee. I could give two fucks whether you show up in Blackwater, or not.” There’s no use withholding specifics like which town I’m living in anymore she obviously knows. I just want this done. “Consider yourself on fucking notice. Before I leave tomorrow I’ll have the divorce papers filed then we’re done. Use the Adams name, or don’t. I don’t fucking care because you won’t be my problem anymore.”
An evil smirk crosses her face. I can only imagine what her head is concocting. What she intends to manipulate me with this time. I don’t have to wait long to find out.
“I don’t think you’ll do that Hunter, you’ve got too much to lose. It would be a shame if anyone in that little gang you pretend to belong to found out your little secret now wouldn’t it? It wouldn’t be hard to share the valuable information I’ve come across while making sure my husband wasn’t cheating on me. From what I’ve heard, motorcycle gangs don’t appreciate rats. Apparently that’s frowned upon isn’t it?”
Jesus Christ. Whoever this bitch is using to get her information is fucking good I’ll give him that. I don’t correct her use of the term ‘gang’, she knows full well it’s a fucking club not a gang. Years ago that threat might have made me uneasy. Not because of any fear for my life if any of the brothers found out, because I could easily slip away like a thief in the night, relocate, use an alias, and they’d never find me. No. Her threats impact would have come from me needing to leave Priss. I hadn’t had the chance to assuage my curiosity yet, and had no intention of leaving until I did. Things have changed now though, and while most of my brothers don’t know about my real job someone, or should I say someone’s do.
CHAPTER TWO
Hunter
Turn The Page - Metallica
Damon Ford is the FBI agent in charge of the task force responsible for the sting involving the Satan’s Sons and my handler. He’s the only person within the bureau I’ve had any direct, or indirect contact with, and he’s also the man who’s about to have his ass handed to him. It’s ironic really when you think about it. The FBI prides themselves on being all seeing, all hearing, all knowing. When it came to Devil’s Spawn MC they had no fucking clue what they were up against, especially Damon.
Damon sent a text to my FBI issued burner phone today, eighteen months into the op we’ve been working instructing me to meet him at a spot about twenty miles out of town. I spotted him sitting on a bench underneath some overhanging branches, taking a seat beside him I stretch out my legs crossing them at the ankles and ask,
“What’s this about D? You don’t call me away ever, so it better be damn important if you’re getting me out here in the middle of the day when anyone can show up.”
Damon isn’t a small guy. He isn’t close to my height or weight, but he’s just as intimidating if not more so. Cracking his knuckles he leans back releasing a deep frustrated breath.
“We’ve run into a snag Hunter. I had no idea about what I’m about to tell you until today. Apparently the higher ups didn’t see fit to inform us lowly employees that they have multiple operations involving the same MC happening with in the bureau at the same time. I figure they were playing the odds. Working out who was gonna find the most, and then they’d decide how to proceed.”
Conflicting operations could blow this shit out of the water before we can even get a case put together.
“What the fuck are you talking on about? What did you find out?”
Shaking his head I can see Damon is just as pissed as I am, if not more so. Replying with clenched teeth he spits out,
“Getting you inside Devil’s Spawn in order to take out Satan’s Sons doesn’t seem like it’s a new idea. Two hours ago I got a call from the DA in Denver telling me he’s concerned about the overlapping cases with the MC’s. Apparently the FBI has four other agents already inside Devil’s Spawn MC under deep cover. They’ve been there for over twenty fucking years.”
Suddenly everything clicks slowing right the fuck down, and it all finally makes perfect sense. There are only six guys in the MC that have been members for over twenty years; Priest, Pipe, Reaper, Phil, Vic, and Jones. Having the president, vice president, sergeant at arms, and road captain acting as undercover FBI agents is akin to printing your own currency if I’m right in my assumptions. The influence those positions hold is like having a majority vote in our, the FBI’s, favour.
Shaking my head at the implications of Damon’s statement I question him some more.
“So what does that mean for us? Do we continue? Do we pack it in? What?” Unless our operations can work in cooperation there’s no point in me staying on.
“Look Hunter, word from above is we continue as planned. The Intel these four guys have is only going to work to solidify our RICO case. They fucking pegged you within a month of prospecting, or so I’ve been told by their handler. As to why they haven’t approached you about it, I don’t know. Clearly they’re not a threat otherwise I would have expected them to make a move, or at least make themselves known long before now.” Fuck me. This has just turned into a clusterfuck of epic proportions. “I’ve got no doubt they’ll make contact soon so hang tight. Do what you’ve been doing. Go about your business like this was any normal day. This shit doesn’t mean anything other than you’ll have other people in your corner. From the little I’ve been told not even their families know their status, so yo
u won’t be jumping out of any closets any time soon. Keep your shit tight, and watch your six Hunter.” Damon wasn’t wrong in his assumption that they’d make contact soon, nor was I with my guess who the agents’ identities were.
Priest, Pipe, Reaper, and Jones are all, or was in Jones’ case, deep undercover operatives. They were all recruited as seniors in high school due to their dads’ involvement with Devil’s Spawn MC, all their dads’ being position holding members of the MC at the time. The FBI saw it as a challenge to get four potential MC prospects on the payroll before they delved into a world that they’d never come out of without criminal records, or possibly dead. They ended up being useful assets over the two decades that followed, so the FBI left them where they were.
It’s hard to guess which side of the line their loyalty lays on these days. After being firmly entrenched in the lifestyle, fabricating lies to cover their positions, and creating families that live the life now too, they’d be hard pressed to choose a side if it came down to it. If anything, Jones and his wife dying in a car accident only strengthened the three remaining agents’ dedication to the MC. Watching the way the brothers and their families rallied around a grieving Priss and Tilly, I knew what my choice would be if it was ever forced. I’d choose her… Every time.
Bringing me back to the now Charlee says,
“So what’s it going to be Hunter? Do you agree to give up on this ridiculous idea of a divorce, or do I need to book a ticket to Boulder?”
It is make or break time, and I’m not breaking today.
“Bring it bitch. Do you need me to book the ticket for you, or do you think you can manage?” I call her bluff. Why? Because I’m fucking stupid, that’s why. The truth is this day’s been coming for years now. I knew my hand would end up being forced somehow, I just didn’t think it would be Charlee doing it. Obviously I hadn’t given her enough credit for the bitch she truly is.
Something else I knew was Charlee would bide her time before showing up in Blackwater. She’d want to do it when I was least expecting it, and she did. Her timing couldn’t have been worse if I handpicked it myself. I just had to hope that when my house of cards came crumbling down that I got everyone clear before its total collapse.
CHAPTER THREE
Priscilla
Priscilla’s Rules to live by 101
“Remember that some women marry death-row
Pen pals, so your life choices might not be that bad after all.”
Ever since I was a little girl I wanted to get out of Blackwater, Colorado. There was no rhyme or reason to it, I just wanted more than my home town had to offer me. I wanted to experience things. Travel. Be free from small town mentality, everyone knowing your business sometimes before you did. Circumstances change though, and now I find myself staring down the barrel of being a twenty-five-year-old woman permanently bound to a small town in Colorado, working a shit job with very few prospects, and attempting to raise my seventeen-year-old sister into adulthood without major incident or injury.
I’m not bitter about it. Shit happens, and I won’t have anyone else raising my sister or providing for her if I’m still alive, and able bodied enough to do it. This goes past family obligation, it’s firmly planted in the ‘morally imperative’ category. There’s no way I could live with myself if I didn’t give it my best shot, so that’s what I’ve tried to do.
Worse than that is the constant second guessing I do when it comes to this surrogate parenting shit. There have been plenty of times after Tilly’s gone to bed that I’ve sat up on the couch in our living room questioning whether I’m doing a good job with her. Am I providing what she needs? Would she be better off being raised by someone else with more experience? Will she resent me for having to be both parents’ when I should only have to be her sister? None of that seems to have crossed Tilly’s mind though. Whether it’s because she is a sweet girl that can’t bear to hurt me, or she genuinely believes I’m doing a good job I don’t know. I probably never will. But the one time I did bring up my doubts about my abilities she laughed at me saying I’m more than good enough, that she wants for nothing. She ended it with a tight hug making me promise to lighten up on myself. What she can’t possibly understand is that it’s impossible not to worry about her. I’ll forever question being able to guide her to good decisions. And with no one around to reassure me I’m doing right by her, I’ve become my own harshest critic.
The only time that was any different was when Tank was still coming around. It’s been fourteen months since Tank and I have sat in the same room. It’s been at least that long since we have actually had a conversation. And it’s been fourteen months since he came home from wherever he’d gone shutting me out entirely. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen Tank around enough to know that he’s still alive and accounted for, I just haven’t had any direct contact with him. I’m thinking now that I don’t want any either. For at least the next fourteen months, if not the rest of my life. His dismissal of me, his dismissal of our friendship hurt more than I ever thought it would. I suppose seeing as our friendship was built over time I hadn’t stopped to realise how intertwined our lives had become until it was too late. When I did it only served to illustrate that I was stupid having come to rely on him in the first place if it was so easy for him to up and leave me in the lurch.
He still spends time with Tilly which is all I can hope for at the moment, and I’m glad him being finished with me hasn’t extended to her. Tank takes her for dinner, to the library and back when she needed to study, and lately he’s been teaching her to drive. That’s a whole other worry best left untouched at the moment for the sake of my mental health. Unlike before though, Tank drops Tilly off at the curb beside our driveway leaving as soon as he sees she’s safely crossed the threshold of our front door. I won’t lie. I’ll openly admit I watch him through the living room window that faces out on to the street. Getting a glimpse of him is better than nothing these days and that’s all I‘m getting, so I take it.
Tank has secrets. Lots of them. I know it. He knows I know it. Yet he still keeps them so tightly under wraps you would think it’s a breach of national security if he were to share them with anyone. Other than Tilly and I the only other person that has any sort of insight into the inner workings of the ginormous ex-Navy SEAL is Arrow. In saying that, Arrow’s probably privy to less information about Tank than I have been. And that’s not saying much because in all honesty I know little to nothing.
In the beginning I was understanding when it came to his need for privacy. The little he did share about his mom and dad, his brothers, all five of them, (there is indeed a God because they are all top shelf pickings in the hot man auction), and his previous life in Chicago was enough. I didn’t even suspect at the start of our friendship that Tank has demons he’s trying to conceal. As the months turned to years that were passing us by quickly I began asking more and more questions. I got non-answers, you know the evasive ones that lack any actual information, or straight out ignored. To say it frustrating would be an understatement.
More than a few times Tank and I have gone days, occasionally weeks, and once months five of them to be precise, without talking after a huge argument. They were all about the same thing, and all ended the same way with Tank storming out of wherever we were, and me cursing, calling him every name under the sun. During the five month sabbatical we took, which was mainly my doing because I refused to forgive him so easily that time, I thought about what I really knew about the man I’d come to call my best friend. In the end this was all I could come up with.
Tank, born Hunter Adams is thirty-five years old, just. He was born in Chicago Illinois where he grew up in the upper-class suburb of the Gold Coast, or Old Town depending on how elitist you are. His parents’ Daphne and Thomas have been married for forty years. His dad comes from ‘Old Money’, and being a third generation lawyer he’s only added to his family’s fortune over the years. Tank’s Grandpop, Peter, lives with his mom and dad, and has done so since
his wife Loretta passed away almost a decade ago. It’s sad I didn’t get the chance to meet her, because from everything Tank and his brothers have told me she was an amazing woman a lot like my mom. As I said before, Tank has five brothers in total, (smoking hot brothers), and of the five he’s the second oldest, but by far the hottest in my eyes.
The oldest, Brody, followed in his father’s footsteps becoming a lawyer at the family firm. At thirty-seven he’s the only married one out of them, and on the couple of occasions I’ve seen Brody over the past two years his wife Charlotte hasn’t been with him. Sometimes I wonder whether they ever loved each other, or if it was a marriage of convenience. Brody never looks happy. He doesn’t talk about Charlotte. And they don’t have any children, which I know he desperately wants. The man is miserable half the time and he’s too good a man to spend the rest of his life that way.
Jasper the middle brother is only a year younger than Tank, so you’d think he would be all grown up by now. You’d think wrong. If there’s one thing I can say about Jas is that he’s a serial flirt and he doesn’t look to be slowing down any time soon, regardless that he’s hit his thirties now. He started his own IT security company when he was just out of college twelve years ago. ‘InterSec’ has become one of the leading IT security companies worldwide, specialising in early fraud detection. They, specifically Jas, developed a piece of software that manages and reports inconsistencies in the financial sector. Jas will give you the shirt off his back if he thought you needed it. He’s a sweetheart, and I’m glad I have him on my favourites list on my phone because without a doubt he’s been there for me every time I’ve needed an ear or a shoulder.
Saviour: A Devil's Spawn MC Novel (Savior Book 3) Page 3