Nitro: MC Biker Romance (Dark Pharaohs Motorcycle Club Romance Book 4)

by Ivy Black

  “Money is the root of all evil.”

  “Money makes the world go ’round,” Grease counters with a laugh.

  “So what is it you want?”

  “I want fifty grand,” Grease says boldly.

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “The way I see it, you guys are making five times from reselling the shipments you’re jacking,” Grease replies. “I know you boys can afford it.”

  “Why the dramatic price increase?”

  “I’m taking a big chance for you cowboys, Zane. I get caught, they’ll kill me,” Grease says. “I need money to get out. I’m sick of their bullshit, and I’m done with the MC so I need money to start fresh somewhere.”

  “They’re not going to kill you,” the blond says. “I’ll see to that.”

  “Oh, you’re gonna protect me?”

  “No. I’m going to ensure your club and that club they deal with—the Warriors—wipe each other out,” he says. “Once they’re all dead, you don’t have to worry because we’ll be moving into the area. So let’s talk about a new price.”

  Grease shakes his head. “Fifty grand. Firm,” he says. “You don’t want to pay it, you find somebody else to feed you the intel you need.”

  The blond man is frowning and tense. He’s not the type who likes to be squeezed, and I have the idea that when Grease’s usefulness to him ends, he’s going to catch a hot slug in the head. But I know that look on his face—he’s going to play along. For now.

  “Fine,” the blond says. “Fifty. But your intel had better be good.”

  “Ain’t it always?”

  Grease turns and walks back to his bike. Blake packs up his gear quickly, and I slide my binoculars into my pack, my mind spinning. Having confirmation that Grease is our rat has me trembling with rage, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from rushing out there and putting a couple rounds in his head right now.

  “I can’t believe it,” Blake says. “I never would have thought he’d stab us in the back like that.”

  “Yeah. Me either.”

  “So what are we gonna do about this shitshow?”

  I shake my head. “Not sure yet. We need to get this all to Prophet before we do anything,” I say. “We’ll come up with a game plan after that.”

  “This is fucked up,” Blake sneers.

  “It’s fucked up in fifty different ways.”

  “You hear what that dude said about us and the Warriors wiping each other out?”

  I nod. “Yeah. They’re the ones who killed Tarantula’s men.”

  “Unreal,” Blake says, shaking his head. “This is all just unreal.”

  “Come on. Let’s get back to the car,” I say. “The longer we stay out here brooding on it, the more likely I am to go put a couple rounds in that sack of shit’s head.”

  We make the trek back toward the car, my mind whirling and my pulse racing. I take a deep breath and hold it for a ten count, trying to use all the tools my shrink has taught me to stave off an explosion of rage. The Pharaohs are my brothers, and I took an oath to defend them. So did Grease. That he’s willfully breaking his oath and doesn’t seem to give a damn about any of us, that he’s standing aside while his militia buddy tries to ignite a war that’ll cost the lives of some good men, enrages me more than anything else ever has in my entire life.

  As we emerge from the trees and step to the car, I make a silent vow to myself—that son of a bitch is going to pay a price. And if I have anything to say about it, he’s going to pay the ultimate price. Scum that turns traitor on his brothers doesn’t deserve to live.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Hadley

  “So you were right,” I say.

  “Unfortunately,” he replies. “I’m not sure how I’m going to tell Prophet.”

  “By opening your mouth and speaking?”

  He laughs softly. “I thought it would be that easy too. But now that I have to tell him, it’s more—complicated. They’ve got history, those two. Prophet ain’t gonna take it well. I’m kind of wishin’ I was going to be outside the blast radius.”

  After what he and Blake had discovered, Milo came home to get cleaned up before he went to talk to Prophet. He’s nervous and agitated about it, and I suppose I can’t blame him. Especially if Prophet and Grease have history. For the most part, Prophet is an easygoing guy. But when he blows up, it is a scary thing to see. And he’s not going to take this well. The Pharaohs are all about loyalty. Family. So finding out that one of his brothers has been stabbing them in the back all along is not going to go over well.

  “What do you think he’ll do?” I ask, not sure if I want to hear the answer.

  Milo’s expression darkens and he hesitates to tell me—which tells me all I need to know. Whatever Grease’s punishment is going to be, it won’t be good. Having been with Milo, I’m familiar with the MC and their way of doing things and know they can be a little rough around the edges. Milo never really talks about specifics with me but I’m not naïve and know the club does some things I’d rather know nothing about. Some things I’m better off not knowing.

  “Are you okay?”

  He nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. I wasn’t real close with Grease. He kept us all at an arm’s distance.”

  We’re sitting on the sofa, and I nuzzle closer to him. The whole scene is so domestic and so comfortable. It just feels right. I honestly never thought this was something I would ever feel with Milo again. I thought that ship had sailed long ago. Life certainly has a strange way of throwing you curveballs and bringing things—and people—back into your orbit when you least expect it. Life can knock you on your butt, but sometimes, it’s not a bad thing.

  “This has just been a rough stretch for us. Between the cartel, the random crazy ex-boyfriends, and now this?” he says, sounding miserable. “It’s like somebody put a hex on us or something.”

  I lay my hand against his cheek and plant a gentle kiss on his lips, and he gives me a sad little smile. I can see the toll this is taking on him. The MC is his family. He puts his entire heart and soul into the club, and so I know that having somebody betray that club is hurting his heart more than he’s willing to let on. Milo is the sort of guy who keeps his emotions under wraps. He plays them pretty close to the vest.

  But he’s also the kind of guy who feels things deeply. His emotions are intense. I’ve always thought that was the best thing about him—and the worst. In good times, he’s outgoing and joyful. He loves hard. He feels everything hard. But in the worst of times, the depth and intensity of his emotions can take a dark turn.

  What’s surprising me right now is that he’s so calm—thoughtful and introspective about it. Back in the day, if something like this had happened, he’d be caught up in a fit of rage. Or a bleak sense of despair. But he’s handling it well. He’s handled everything well since I came back into his life. I’ve been waiting for him to slide back into old patterns but he hasn’t. It makes me think these changes in him are actually real and not just something he’s tried to put on to impress me.

  “What should we do for dinner?” he asks.

  “Hmm... I’m not sure. I’m okay with anything—”

  There’s a loud knock at the door, and I look over at Milo to find him looking back at me.

  “You expecting anybody?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Not me. You?”

  I roll my eyes and grin. “Nobody knows I’m here. Except for Robin and she’s not a gossip.”

  “How ominous. Scary,” he says. “Whoever could it be?”

  A chill sweeps through me and then Milo laughs, making me playfully slug him in the chest.

  “You’re such a jerk.”

  He plants a quick kiss on the tip of my nose. “It’s probably just one of the guys. No big deal.”

  I jump to my feet and give him a smile. “I’ll get the door, you figure out what we’re going to eat tonight.”

  He gives me a salaci
ous smile. “I can think—”

  I hold up a finger but laugh. “Hold that thought. You can’t have dessert until you eat dinner.”

  “I can eat dessert first if I want to. It’s one of the perks of being a grown-up.”

  I shake my head. “Naughty boy. Food. Figure it out,” I say and point to his phone. “And maybe if you’re a good boy, we can discuss dessert later.”

  He laughs and turns to his phone as I walk to the front door. I reach out and open the door, and the smile on my face withers instantly.

  “Well, good evenin’, Ms. Larson. Nice to see you again,” Agent Rollins says.

  My heart leaps into my throat, and although I try to control myself, I start trembling wildly. Rollins’ smile is predatory, and the way he looks at me sends a white-hot bolt of fear shooting straight through me that’s nearly paralyzing. I swallow hard, trying to push my fear aside.

  “Wh-what are you doing here?” I ask.

  Rollins looks at me with an ominous gleam in his eye. “Don’t worry, I’m not here for you, Hadley. Though, I am surprised to find you here.”

  Rollins’ eyes shift and he’s suddenly looking over my shoulder. The way his expression darkens tells me Milo is stepping into the entryway behind me, and I silently let out a breath of relief. It makes me feel ridiculous though. Weak. I hate feeling like I need Milo to protect me. I know that’s just my pride screwing with me, but I like to think of myself as an independent woman and this kind of makes me feel like anything but that.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Milo growls. “I told you to stay away from her.”

  “I assure you that I didn’t even know she was here, Nitro,” Rollins replies. “I’m actually here because I wanted to speak with you.”

  “I got nothin’ to say to you, so you’d best just get the fuck on out of here.”

  “I really think you want to hear what I have to say.”

  “Believe me when I say there is nothin’ you could say that I’d want to hear.”

  Milo moves to close the door, but Rollins puts his hand on the door, keeping him from shutting it. I see Milo’s entire body tense.

  “You want to take your hand off my door right now,” he says, his voice low and menacing. “You got no call to be here. You’re trespassin’—”

  “Your entire club’s going down, Nitro. I’ve already got everything I need to throw every single one of you in prison for a very long time.”

  ‘You ain’t got shit.”

  “Hear me out. Give me five minutes of your time,” Rollins says. “And if you don’t like what you’re hearing, I’ll leave.”

  Milo glances over his shoulder at me, and I can see the glint of concern in his eye. It tells me he’s going to let Rollins in, so I quickly retreat, putting as much physical distance between us as I can. I drop down into a seat at the dining room table and quickly scoop up the papers Milo has scattered about. I stack them up and close down the laptop, laying them facedown on top.

  Milo takes the seat next to me, and Rollins sits down across from us. Under the table, Milo puts a hand on my thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze, as if silently telling me that everything is all right and to stay calm. As Rollins cuts a glance at me, his eyes still glittering salaciously, I feel another shudder pass through me.

  But Milo’s hand on my leg is a reassuring weight. He lends me a sense of courage that had dwindled to almost nothing inside of me.

  “Say what you have to say,” Milo tells him.

  “Aren’t you going to offer me a beer or something?” Rollins says, a smarmy smile on his face.

  “You ain’t gonna be here long enough to drink it so no.”

  Rollins frowns. “Your sense of hospitality could use a little work,” he says. “I’m from the South and proper hospitality is as important as—”

  “You’ve got four minutes left before I throw you out of my house.”

  Rollins sighs. “Such a shame that things like manners and hospitality have gone by the wayside these days.”

  “Okay, if you have nothing to say then it’s time you go,” Milo tells him.

  “Fine, fine,” Rollins says. “As I said, I’ve got what I need to dismantle your club. Drug and gun charges all around.”

  Milo smirks but I don’t see what’s funny about that. Federal charges are no laughing matter and can lead to years in prison. I give him a look and see a mischievous twinkle in his eye I’m sure is meant to put me at ease but doesn’t do anything of the sort. He gives my leg another squeeze, but I’m still nervous.

  “Got all you need, huh?” Milo says.

  Rollins nods. “I do.”

  “Then what are you doin’ here?”

  “I wanted to give you a chance to get out ahead of all this,” Rollins says. “I wanted to give you a chance to cut a deal and save yourself some time in the pen.”

  Milo chuckles and shakes his head, seemingly amused by it all. I look from him to Rollins and back again. He’d been so sure that Rollins had nothing on him or the club. Milo told me there was nothing to worry about. But looking at the smug look on Rollins’ face makes me wonder how true that is.

  “And why would you come to me with such a generous offer?” Milo asks.

  “Because of all the members of your club I’ve spoken with, you seem to be the most levelheaded and intelligent,” Rollins replies then gestures to me. “And it seems that you have something worth keeping yourself out of prison for.”

  Milo nods. “I see. So you’re talking about giving me immunity in exchange for my testimony, huh?”

  “That’s not where I would have started,” he replies. “I mean, I feel that you should pay for your crimes. But if that’s the only way I can secure your testimony, I can certainly run that up the flagpole.”

  “Wow,” Milo says as he turns to me and laughs. “For somebody who already has everything he needs to dismantle my club, you sure want my testimony pretty bad.”

  Rollins smirks. “One thing I’ve learned about our criminal justice system is that one can never have too much evidence.”

  “So let me get this straight. You’re willing to let me walk. And all I have to do is turn rat on my brothers. That about right?”

  Rollins shrugs. “You don’t have to make it sound so dramatic. It’s a simple business transaction, Nitro. You get something for providing a service. It’s the foundation of our fantastic system of capitalism.”

  “Sounds like a very good deal,” Milo says.

  I know him well enough to know that although his expression is serious, he’s just yanking Rollins’ chain. I can tell just by the sound of his voice. But I don’t know that he should be. If what Rollins is saying is true, and he actually does have evidence he’s going to use against them, cutting a deal that keeps Milo out of prison is the smart way to go. I learned that much from Brent.

  It’s as if he’s reading my mind because when he looks at me, he winks and shakes his head subtly. I bite back what I was about to say. He’s subtly telling me that this is his show, and he’s going to handle it his way so all I can do is sit back and let him run it his way.

  “What do you say, Nitro? You’re not going to get a better deal,” Rollins says. “When your boys go down—and they’re going to—you can keep yourself out of the disaster zone.”

  Milo laughs. “This is cute. Adorable, actually,” he says and turns to me. “This here is what’s known as a Hail Mary, Hadley.”

  “And how do you figure that?” Rollins asks.

  “If he actually had evidence, I’d be in cuffs already,” he says, still not bothering to look at Rollins. “He found nothing at the clubhouse when he raided it so any supposed evidence he has is either fraudulent or it’s illegally gotten.”

  “You’re wrong about this, Nitro,” Rollins interjects. “I’m giving you one chance to get ahead of this and—”

  “So what he’s doing is hoping to rope me into a confession and into testifying against the MC
because he can’t make his case any other way. And he thinks I’m stupid enough to fall for it,” he states, finally turning to look at Rollins. “That about the size of it, Rollins?”

  Milo and Rollins stare at each other in silence for a long moment, seeming to be engaged in a game of chicken. I have to admit, Milo’s argument is compelling. It’s a leap of law and logic I can see Brent making—one I would have gotten to had I not been so caught up in my own thoughts and fears in the moment.

  I turn to Rollins and see that his face is tight, his expression dark. He’s doing his best to remain calm and keep his wits about him, but I can see that his jaw is clenched and his eyes are narrowed. He’s trying to play it cool, but I can see he’s fighting to keep himself from blowing.

  Rollins manages to pull himself back from the brink and just shake his head, laughing lightly to himself. He finally looks up at Milo and frowns.

  “I want you to remember this moment, Nitro. This very moment,” he says. “This is the moment when you could have saved yourself from prison. When you could have ensured that you would be around to spend your time with Hadley.”

  “I’m touched you’d be so concerned about my feelings—and Had’s,” Milo grumbles. “Really, I’m touched.”

  “Arrogant to the last,” Rollins says. “But that’s all right. When the indictments start coming down and your club is arrested en masse, just know I’ll be there to watch it all—and I’ll be laughing the whole time.”

  “I have to admit, I admire your commitment to this line of bullshit,” Milo says. “It’s admirable. Stupid as hell but admirable.”

  “Nitro—”

  “We’re done here,” Milo says.

  “I think you should—”

  “I said we’re done. I gave you the five minutes you asked for,” he growled. “You spoke, I listened, now get the fuck out of my house.”

  Rollins sighs and leans forward, looking as if he’s about to speak again when Milo shoots to his feet, slamming his fist down on the table, his face twisted with a dark rage.

  “I said we’re done. Get the fuck out of my house,” Milo hisses.