by Krane, Kasey
Bishop
Dead Legion MC #1
Kasey Krane
Copyright © 2020 by Kasey Krane
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book was previously released as Lain. A lot of edits and changes have been made to the manuscript.
Created with Vellum
Contents
1. Bishop
2. Jules
3. Bishop
4. Jules
5. Bishop
6. Jules
7. Bishop
8. Bishop
9. Jules
10. Bishop
11. Bishop
12. Jules
13. Bishop
14. Jules
15. Bishop
16. Jules
17. Bishop
18. Bishop
19. Jules
20. Bishop
21. Jules
22. Jules
23. Bishop
24. Jules
25. Bishop
26. Jules
27. Jules
28. Jules
29. Bishop
30. Bishop
31. Jules
32. Bishop
33. Jules
34. Jules
35. Bishop
36. Bishop
37. Bishop
38. Jules
39. Bishop
40. Jules
41. Jules
42. Bishop
Sneak Peak at Judge
About Kasey Krane
1
Bishop
“What the fuck, Ghost!” I yelled, feeling anger welling up inside of me, wiping out my self-control. I stared at my leader, breathing heavily. This had to be one of Ghost’s worst ideas, and really, that was saying somethin’. Ever since Ghost had taken over the Dead Legion MC as President, he’d been pushing the club farther and farther into the gray zone of legality.
But this…unlike Ghost’s other awful ideas, this one was completely legal.
It was also completely stupid.
“You don’t have to worry about it at all, ‘cause you’re not gonna have anything to do with it. I just told you ‘cause you’re the VP, and I figured you ought to know before I told everyone else. But she’s gonna come, take a bunch of pictures of me, interview me, follow me around for a bit so she knows what it’s like to be a real outlaw gang member, and then she’s going to go back home to her New York City apartment and her stupid ‘How do I know he loves me?’ articles. She wouldn’t know which end of the gun to hold, and she sure as hell isn’t going to figure out anything that I,” Ghost stabbed himself in the chest for emphasis, his ice-cold blue eyes flashing with anger, “don’t tell her. She’s gonna be gone by time the gun deal goes down with the Sangre gang - she won’t even know it’s happening. She writes for Blush Magazine for God’s sake. The only thing she knows about is how to match your lipstick to your dress.”
Ghost was breathing heavily by the end of his rant; We were eye to eye. I had the almost overwhelming desire to drive my fist into Ghost’s nose. Maybe getting his ass kicked would cause him to wake up and smell the coffee.
“How the hell did this even get started?” I asked him. He looked away and shrugged his shoulders. “Please don’t tell me you fucking invited her here.” I grabbed his shoulder and forced him to face me.
“I invited her because her editor reached out,” Ghost sighed. “He’s an old friend.” I balled my fist in anger. He quickly spotted it and held his hands up. “Calm the fuck down, Bishop,” he said. “He reached out because of the fundraiser we a putting on. Show the good side of motorcycle clubs,” he said with a cocky smile. All I could do was let out a long sigh.
No matter how spoiled, how dumbass, how ignorant this journalist was, she was still a journalist, and you just didn’t invite one of those to come hang out with an outlaw MC the week before a major, oh-so-very-illegal gun deal went down. Ghost might as well stand out on the street corner with a sign that said, “Arrest me, I’m breaking the law!”; although, to be fair, even if he did do that, he still wouldn’t get arrested. Those were benefits to having the local cops in our back pocket.
“So, you don’t actually know this journalist. You just know her editor?”
“Right, but like I said, it is no big deal. We will just keep her involved with the fundraiser and away from the stuff she isn’t supposed to know about.”
I knew from long experience that Ghost wasn’t going to back down. No matter how stupid the idea, once he got it into his head that this was the way it was going to be, there was no changing his mind. Limestone boulders were more flexible than he was when he’d decided on something.
“Fine,” I spat out and backed away. The tension in the room instantly dissipated. “As long as you’re her designated babysitter, do whatever the hell you want. You always do.”
I turned to walk away - a round of Jack Daniels sounded about right at that moment - but Ghost stopped me. “I want you to check up on the ride with Knight- make sure that everything is ready to go. We’ve only got 10 days ’til the fundraiser and we can’t drop the ball on this. Not with a journalist here. Make sure he has the beer sponsorship with Budweiser wrapped up - last I heard, they were a little squeamish about the size of their logo on our banners. Don’t let Knight fuck this up.”
“If this goes sideways, it won’t be on Knight’s head,” I said without looking back and walked out of the chapel slamming the door behind me.
Yeah, a Jack and Coke sounded about right.
2
Jules
“What the fuck, Evan!” I yelled, staring down at my boss, my hands planted on his desk. “You can’t — I can’t —” I collapsed into a chair and stared across the desk at my magazine editor. Surely this was some kind of joke. New Mexico in July…I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.
“You know how big ‘Sons of Anarchy’ was,” he said, placating. “Even more so with the release of their spin off, The Mayans.” Evan was my boss so of fucking course he’d win this argument, but his smug attitude didn’t help his cause. I gritted my teeth in frustration.
No, I didn’t know how big ‘Sons of Anarchy’ had gotten. I kept seeing it in my streaming service queue, but I never took the time to sit down and watch it. Besides, I was too busy watching the next set of Housewives on Bravo. How the fuck was I supposed to write about a motorcycle gang?
Evan continued on, oblivious as always.
“Our readers want to know if real outlaw motorcycle members are like Jax, or if that’s just Hollywood being Hollywood. Ghost is an old high school friend - he was a little younger than me - and he’s the president of the Dead Legion MC. He’s fucking hot, and our readers will eat him up. The Dead Legion MC are not really an outlaw club - they don’t do anything but have picnics, work on their bikes, and host charity fundraisers. But we want to show off their sex appeal to our readers. ‘Bikers with a heart,’” he said dramatically, forming a title in the air with his hands. He looked at me and grinned. “We can sell them on being good bad boys. Our sales will go through the roof.”
“Can’t they go through the roof in December?” I argued. I knew he was going to say no, but dammit, I couldn’t go down without a fight.
“C’mon, Jules, you know as well as I do that readers are fickle. By December, it could be ‘Sons of Who?’ We can’t risk that.”
“Are they really as tame as you say they are? I mean, everyone knows that motorcycle gangs are scary. How do you know you’re not sending
me into the middle of a drug war or something?”
“Hell no. Ghost is as tame as they come. I mean, he’s got these amazing eyes, and these biceps to die for—” Evan closed his eyes, apparently remembering the biceps in great detail, “—but seriously, the guy wouldn’t hurt a fly. I grew up with him. He was like four years younger but even back then, I knew he’d be a hottie with a naughty body.” He winked at me. “And now you get to go do a photoshoot of that body! So jealous. You’ll hang out for a week, get the inside scoop on a day in the life of a motorcycle gang leader, take some drool-worthy photos, and be back before you know it.”
Fucking hell.
I was sure that if I had to write an article entitled “Top Ten Places on Earth That Make You Believe in Hell,” La Cruces, New Mexico would be right up there, along with the Sahara and Death Valley. Maybe I’d write a quiz while I was there on “How to Know Where You Should Live.” One of the choices could be “I like to sweat my ass off - I’m an idiot!” and that’d give you the answer that you should take up residence next to a saguaro cactus.
“Fine,” I grumbled. It was easier to just give in. Well, at least it sped the process along anyway. “When do I fly out?”
“Tomorrow morning. You’ll fly out of JFK at 9:30 and get to El Paso around noon their time. Someone from Dead Legion will be there to pick you up. I have tickets down in accounting, waiting for you. Don’t worry, you’ll have fun.” He gave me a lascivious wink and I only just managed to stop myself from rolling my eyes.
I stood up, the discussion clearly over. As usual, Evan had won. No surprises there. I walked down to accounting to pick up my tickets. Might as well get the planning shit out of the way.
New Mexico in July.
I didn’t know what I’d done to piss God off, but it must’ve been a hell of a whopper.
* * *
I stared down at the book in front of me. Under and Alone - The True Story of the Undercover Agent Who Infiltrated America’s Most Violent Outlaw Motorcycle Gang. It had been a terrifying read.
What the hell was I thinking getting involved with this motorcycle club?
After I left Evan’s office last week, I came up with the perfect plan: I would write two articles while I was in New Mexico. One for Blush, that would be the fluff piece that Evan wanted, and one for a national news organization like Huffington Post. An article the showed the truth about motorcycle clubs. I hadn’t paid tens of thousands of dollars to Syracuse University so that I could write “How to Pick the Most Flattering Neckline” articles for Blush.
I applied for this job at the magazine over a year ago because…well, they were hiring and none of the big media outlets were. I tried to talk Evan into a few investigative reporting stints when I was first hired on, but he’d never even pretended to humor me. Unless my article had something to do with the hottest hairstyles in Hollywood, he wasn’t interested.
Until now.
Okay, sure, he still didn’t want me to write an expose on the violence in motorcycle clubs, but at least he was sending me into the thick of things. He couldn’t get pissy about what I chose to write about in my off hours, as long as I produced a “Drool over Ghost” article, too.
This was finally my big break - my chance to prove that I was an actual writer. That I was capable of so much more than fluff pieces. If I was being honest with myself, I really didn’t enjoy journalism. What I loved the most about it was the actual writing. The creating of the story. In an ideal world I would create my own stories, however, right now working on these pieces were my only option to take my career where I wanted it to go.
But the Dead Legion…I felt a shiver run down my spine. Based on the research I had done online, they were heartless bastards. I had no idea why Evan thought they were oversized teddy bears, but based on the gun violence and deaths happening in La Cruces, the chances were pretty damn good they weren’t sitting around singing “Kum Ba Yah” to each other.
The only newspaper in La Cruces – La Cruces News - was mostly hidden behind a paywall, so the only articles I could find online were the main headlines for the week. The little I did find never seemed to directly implicate the Dead Legion in any of the shootings, but it was also obvious that the rash of gun violence in the area wasn’t a coincidence.
At least, it seemed obvious to me.
I was waffling between telling Evan the truth and getting myself out of an assignment that looked increasingly dangerous and keeping it to myself so I could finally have the break of my career. Hell, I was no Agent Queen who was going to spend years infiltrating an unsuspecting MC, but maybe I could get some inside scoop while I was there - something that would make the Huffington Post sit up and take notice.
For the last year, I’d been begging Evan for a chance just like this. I couldn’t wimp out now. Ghost promised to take care of me and Evan took this promise seriously. So, I should too. Right?
I shoved some more tank tops and short shorts into my suitcase. If I was going to get a straight answer out of a gang member, sex appeal could only help. On a whim, I shoved my passport into my bag too. I’d never been to Mexico; La Cruces was right next to the border. It was always good to keep my options open.
After a moment’s hesitation, I pulled out a sundress and strappy heels and laid them on the chair next to my bed. I may be a little heavier than the runway models they featured every month at Blush, but hell, coat hangers had more curves than runway models. Long ago I decided that my best bet was to emphasize my curves, not downplay them. Maybe if I gave the gang members a little somethin’-somethin’ to drool over, they’d tell me shit they didn’t mean to say.
It was worth a shot.
New Mexico in July…the shit I put up with for my career. I felt hot just thinking about it, so I turned my AC down a couple more degrees to compensate. Maybe if I kept my house at a nice frigid 65 degrees overnight, I could forget I was flying into hell tomorrow.
3
Bishop
“Now you’re just fucking with me,” I snarled. “You promised —” Ghost tried to break in so I just shouted louder. “You promised that she’d be your responsibility. You promised I wouldn’t even have to think about this New York bitch. You promised you’d take care of her. And now you want me to do it??”
I really wasn’t sure I could resist the temptation to plant my fist into Ghost’s face this time. There I was, nice Sunday evening, enjoying a Jack and Coke with this hot new chick who’d just moved to La Cruces, and just as she’d ran her hand up my thigh, Ghost yanked me away, back to the chapel, to tell me the fuck-awful news that Blush was now my responsibility. I felt like doing some pouting of my own. Or fighting.
More fighting, really.
“The Sangre moved the date up, and you know,” Ghost snarled over my attempt to break in, “that they don’t take kindly to being told no. I don’t know what the fuck their deal is or why they want the guns a week early, but whatever. I don’t ask questions. Questions,” he said with a dangerous emphasis, “get you killed.”
I knew Ghost didn’t mean it - fuck, what kind of president has his vice-president killed? - but Ghost liked to throw his weight around. It was better to just let that threat go.
“So, since the deal got moved up a week, that means I need to spend this week playing catch-up. A lot of pieces of the puzzle have to fit together before I can make this delivery next Monday. Between making this deal go down right and the charity ride, I can’t play patty-cake with the journalist. You’re the only one I trust. Just make sure she doesn’t ask too many questions, or any of the wrong questions. Oh, and pick her up from the airport tomorrow. El Paso. Her flight comes in at noon.”
“Shit. Really? El Paso? You know I hate El Paso. No one knows how to drive in El Paso. Bunch of dickheads there. Plus, TSA won’t let me in if I have a gun strapped to my hip. I feel fucking naked without my gun.”
“You’ll have to leave your gun behind for the day. You can survive one day without it on your hip.”
“If
you fucking say so,” I grumbled. How was it that Ghost always won these arguments? This was exactly how the Dead Legion started running guns and even drugs to begin with - Ghost ran roughshod over the rest of the group, me included. It was just easier to give in. Someday, Ghost was going to get us into a shithole I wouldn’t be able to get us out of, and hell if I knew what I was going to do then. The MC was everything to me - I had no other life. Wherever Ghost led, I had to go.
I turned to leave the chapel when Ghost tossed out, “Oh, and I know you’ve got your eye on that hot new chick that just rolled into town, but I need you to go straighten out some fuck-up with the trucks. Knight was in here earlier, panties in a twist over something or another.”
I didn’t bother answering because I wasn’t sure I was capable of saying anything that didn’t involve the words “fuck” and “you.” I stormed out of the clubhouse, past the waiting cute blonde at my table, and out to the truck yard. There, at least, I was in control. As VP, I was in charge of the legit part of our business - long-haul truck driving. Ghost could get us into whatever illegal shit that caught his eye that day, but I would make sure that in the end, the Dead Legion were still delivering cargo all over the southwest and northern Mexico.