Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 52357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Tripp stands at the head of the table. Doesn’t even wait for me to sit.
“We’ve got a problem.”
“Define problem,” I say, sliding into my seat.
His eyes flick to me—sharp, unreadable. Then he tosses a file onto the center of the table.
“Toon, do not go off half-cocked on this shit.” His warning only amplifies my feelings of something being seriously fucked.
I don’t agree. Instead I open the folder.
Inside are pictures. Reports. A copy of the plea deal Michael Brenner was offered after the accident that killed Clutch. The words are there, same ones that were repeated in court today.
But something’s different.
There’s a second file underneath it—photos that aren’t from the DA. Instead the folder is non-descript with the word confidential on the outside. Surveillance shots. Grainy stills. A picture of our pack riding that day.
“Who sent this?” I ask wanting to know how good the information is.
“Jacoby,” Karma mutters referencing his cousins, Jacoby Brother’s Investigations. They are three brothers in Idaho who are private investigators and bounty hunters. If they sent the folder, it’s serious, and everything in it has been checked.
Thoroughly.
“Link called,” Karma explains. “Has a contact with the DEA. They have an undercover in the Vulcans MC. DEA agent doesn’t want to tie himself up in the Hellions in case the people over his paygrade are watching. He knows Link is my cousin and I’m in the club. Used the connection to relay the message.”
I give a huff. “Since when do we trust a fed? And who the fuck are the Vulcans?”
“Feds usually can’t be trusted.” Tank mutters, “Vulcans though are stirring up shit. Low running MC out of Georgia that we turned away transporting for. This fed, well, I think he’s sharing out of respect for the lifestyle. However, he can’t be tied in due to the nature of his job and the oath he took. Since this one sent us something major and this shit means war. He said they’re going to turn a blind eye to the war as long as we keep their man and his cover secure. They want someone connected to Vulcans but more involved than the club fucks. We have a green light to wipe them out, but gotta keep some fuck that goes by Porky alive and his cover intact. More than anything, Link and Ven vetted the information personally and all of it matches what they found. This is legit. And it means war.”
I look to Tripp. “You good with all that?”
He nods, “you look in that folder you will be on board too. I just need to know you aren’t gonna flip and try some lone wolf shit. We need to play this shit right.”
I don’t commit to anything because one thing I am is a man of my word and if I tell Tripp I won’t go off half-cocked then I won’t be able to but if there is a threat to Dia or our baby, then all bets are off and I’ll take out anyone in my way. I look in the folder. There are pictures. One zoomed in on Clutch turning off the highway in the dark. The digital date imprinted in the photo is the night he died.
A beat, that’s all it takes for me to snap inside. As my thoughts run wild.
Then Tripp speaks. “The drunk driver wasn’t an accident.”
Silence slams through the space.
I stare at him. “Say that again.”
“Brenner was paid to get on that road,” Tripp says, voice like stone. “He’s a hang-around for the Vulcans—Like Tank said, they’re out of South Georgia. Low-level runner. They’ve been giving Ravage MC problems, but Cruz hasn’t pushed them out all the way yet. He’s got some heat and shit going on in his club. The Vulcans offered Brenner ten grand to drive drunk and hit the club coming back from that poker run.”
My blood runs ice cold.
“Jesus Christ,” BW mutters.
“He was late,” Tripp continues. “He missed the group, as a whole. But Clutch took that early turn-off, headed home to Dia, and Brenner caught him alone. He thought catching one was better than none.”
My throat dries. “You’re saying Clutch was collateral damage?”
“He was bait,” Tank says, flat. “The Vulcans decided to change tactics when Brenner fucked up. Figured this was a way to send a message. We turned down a weapons run for them three months before it happened. They said we owed them. They had no marker so Tripp told them to go to hell. End one of us to force us to pay attention or keep turning them down and it will become all of us.”
“And this was their payback.”
Tripp nods once. “They made it look like a random DUI.”
I push back from the table, my chair scraping across the floor. My body shakes with rage.
“Dia just gave her impact statement,” I say, voice low. “She’s on public record now.”