Chapter Fifteen
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
TWO DAYS LATER, Pulse could still taste her. Her flavor had seeped beneath his taste buds and embedded itself in his brain. Not that he’d ever complain. She was the most addictive damn treat.
However, it did make concentrating at work difficult, and by the time he left his shift at eleven o’clock, he was more than ready to go.
The idea of calling Talia tempted him, as did showing up at her place unannounced, but it was late, and she worked early. Plus, the next time he got her naked, he wanted to take his time and not worry about how tired she’d be the next day.
After he’d helped her get dressed, they sat on the couch and chatted about what he’d learned, which wasn’t much. Birdy had confirmed his fears that the Del Rios family had inserted someone into the DEA. They were out for deadly revenge and coming after Pulse.
Unfortunately, Birdy didn’t have much more than that. They seemed to be playing the long game, biding their time before making overt moves. Well, aside from running Talia off the road. It seemed they didn’t want to kill Pulse but destroy his club and everything he cared about before ending his life. He’d asked Birdy to continue digging and get back to him as soon as he had something new to report.
He stowed his things in his saddle bags, then climbed on his bike for the half-hour trip to his apartment. He lived closer to the clubhouse than the city.
Like typical for a Friday night, the highway leading out of Tampa was quiet. Everyone traveled into the city for the restaurants, bars, and clubs. He was one of the few fleeing the crowds. He navigated the deserted highway with practiced ease, preferring to be on his bike to almost anywhere in the world.
Had Talia ever ridden a motorcycle? It’d be the sweetest torture to have her riding at his back—something to make a mental note about and revisit soon.
A flicker of light against the night sky caught his attention. He glanced at his side mirror, where a lit-up police car appeared about two hundred feet behind him. Not two seconds later, the whoop of sirens blared over the highway noise.
“Shit,” he whispered, glancing down at his speedometer. It read sixty-seven miles per hour in a sixty-five zone. No way in hell were they on his ass for two ticks above the speed limit. It wasn’t a registration or license problem either. He’d renewed the registration two weeks before and had never had his license suspended or a lapse in insurance. Sure, he’d been lost in thoughts about Talia, but he hadn’t missed a stop sign or blown any lights getting on the highway.
That left two options—general harassment against the MC by the local PD, which happened more than he liked to admit, or they were after him personally, thanks to a crooked DEA agent.
Neither scenario boded well for him.
“Hey, Siri,” he said to his helmet’s Bluetooth. “Call Talia.”
It rang four times in his ears before her groggy voice came across the line. “Hello? Pulse? Do you know what time it is?”
The cruiser closed in on him. Two additional sets of lights in the distance flew toward him as well.
I’m fucked.
“Tal, this isn’t a social call,” he shouted over the wind rushing by. “I’ve got cops on my ass for no goddamn reason.”
“Shit, Pulse.” All traces of sleep vanished from her voice. “Pull over right now and do exactly as they tell you. They’ll be looking for any reason, no matter how small, to bring you in.”
He glanced in the mirror. He risked being run off the road if he didn’t pull over now. “Pretty sure they’re bringing me in no matter what I do. There are at least three cruisers on me now.”
“Fuck,” she spat amidst the sounds of rustling clothing. “I’ll meet you at the station. If you get a chance, record the interaction.”
“I’ll try.”
“Pulse… be safe.”
The line went dead. He signaled right and began to slow his speed. He fucking hated this shit. What made it so much worse was how he used to be law enforcement. To see the system abused in such a way enraged him.
As soon as he came to a stop, he killed the engine and dropped the kickstand.
The cop car screeched to a halt behind him. Two seconds later, a deep voice boomed. “Off the bike. Hands in the fucking air.”
He raised his arms in a position of surrender—so much for having time to record the interaction.
The squeal of tires announced the arrival of the second and third cruisers.
Pulse had lived through some scary shit in his life. Hell, he’d spent four years pretending to be a high-level cartel member. At any point, if he’d blown his cover, he’d have been killed in a nasty way. He knew fear. He understood the taste of it on his tongue and the sickness in his gut—the way it took over all the senses and made breathing a challenge.
He felt that now along with profound helplessness, and nothing pissed him off more than being helpless.
There was nothing to do but obey, so he swung his leg off his bike and turned to face the officers.
“I said hands in the fucking air,” the cop shouted despite Pulse’s hands being up by his head.
He couldn’t make out who the officer was. Their headlights shined a blinding path from their cruisers. Others joined him, all positioned behind their open car doors with guns at the ready.
Fucking ridiculous.
“Turn around. Drop to your knees. Keep your hands up!”
There wasn’t anything he wanted to do less than give his back to these untrustworthy assholes, but what choices did he have?
“Is your body cam on?” he shouted.
“I said, turn the fuck around!”
He did, slowly, so as not to give them the impression he planned to run or reach for a weapon. Then he sank to his knees, hands in the air. The road bit into his kneecaps beneath his jeans. Man, he’d had much more fun the last time he’d been on his knees between Talia’s gorgeous legs.
“I gave you a lawful order. Turn around now!”
What? He’d already turned.
“We have given you a lawful order. If you continue to resist, you will be tased.”
Fucking hell. So that’s how they were going to play this? No way in hell did any of these cops have their body cams on—maybe the audio, but not the video. In court, they’d plead technical malfunction, then play this bullshit audio to make him look like a disobedient maniac.
“Last chance, asshole,” a cop shouted. “Get on the fucking ground.”
This would be the perfect time for Spec or anyone from his club to appear. But they wouldn’t because he’d been keeping secrets from the men who had his back—secrets that would turn his people against him in his greatest hour of need.
On his knees in the dark, illuminated only by the shine of police cruisers, as the cops continued to shout about his disobedience, he tried to prepare himself for what came next.
The sharp barb embedded itself in his upper arm. They knew where to aim the taser. His leather cut would have prevented the darts from entering his skin.
The electricity hit like a viper’s strike, sinking into his flesh with a sudden, merciless jolt. His muscles seized, locking in place as every nerve caught in a net of raw, crackling energy. The fire-hot rush of pain reached every corner of his body, penetrating his bones and holding him hostage.
He screamed through clenched teeth as time-warped, stretching each heartbeat to an eternity. Every second became a landslide of paralyzed weakness. There were no thoughts, no reasoning, just a primal, animal sense of survival trapped under the weight of pure voltage. His world narrowed to a buzzing cage of static and fear, an unrelenting throb that refused to let go. He pitched forward. The ground rushed toward his face at a furious velocity. Without control of his extremities, he could do nothing to stop his face from colliding with the rough road.
And then, as quickly as it began, it released. Muscles slackened, and limbs sagged as heavy as lead on the side of the highway. Feet pounded the pavement as the cops rushed to him. He tried to push onto all fours, but the electricity left a profound fatigue and weakness.
The first boot to his ribs sent a shockwave of agony screaming through his side. He’d have fought if he could, but another kick had him retching.
“Still fucking resisting,” one of the cops shouted.
“Get him cuffed,” another yelled. “We’ll drag him to my cruiser.”
They yanked his arms behind his back without an ounce of care. He winced at the burn in his shoulders. His cheek scraped against the ground with a painful tearing sensation as they hauled him around. Cuffs were slapped on him next, so tight they bit into his wrists. If Spec got word of this, he’d lose his fucking mind and go on the warpath with his bloodthirst for vengeance.
But how would Pulse explain any of it?
“You have the right to remain silent, motherfucker…”
He zoned out during the Miranda warning he knew by heart. It meant nothing to these cops beyond a formality. A check in the box so he couldn’t claim they never mirandized him. Not that it mattered. None of this would ever see a courtroom. Most likely, they’d hand him over to the DEA, and he’d fall off the face of the earth from there.
The cops hauled him to his feet by his aching shoulders. Thankfully, he could get his feet under him and remain standing without support.
“Not so tough without your little bike buddies, are you?” Officer Newton, a cop he’d dealt with before, sneered. “Nothing more than a buncha fucking thugs. We’re gonna take you down one by one.”
Newton was older than Pulse, at least he looked it, but probably not by more than a decade. Years on the job driving around in a patrol car, meeting at the local cop bar, and most likely chowing down on donuts each morning had him on the heftier side. If it wasn’t for the gun and five other officers, Pulse could have outrun him with ease. Instead, he was ushered to the car and guided into it. Newton smacked Pulse’s head on the door frame as he tossed him into the back seat.
“Now’s when the real fun begins, asshole,” Newton said as he filled the door frame with his ruddy face. Running the fifty feet from his squad car to where he’d tased Pulse took a lot out of the man.
“You seem a little winded. Might wanna hit the gym once in a while, Officer Newt. You know, to work on that cardiovascular endurance. Wouldn’t want people escaping their unlawful arrests, would you?”
“ You didn’t escape.”
Touché .
“What’d you do to piss off the feds?” Newton asked. “You’ll be our guest tonight, but tomorrow, we got a suit from DC coming to claim you. You’ll be their problem then, and there’ll be one less biker polluting our town.”
Pulse mashed his teeth together. Talia warned him to cooperate. She was the only reason he didn’t blast this asshole the way he craved.
To think he and Newton had once been on the same side made him sick, though they’d never really been on the same side. Newton was a dirty piece of shit who didn’t deserve to wear the uniform. Pulse had never gone against his oath to serve and protect. Well, not until the day he told them all to fuck off and walked away.
Newton chuckled. “Keep your secrets. Don’t matter to me none.” He slammed the door and then shuffled around to the driver’s side. “Think I’ll take myself out to a nice steak dinner tomorrow night,” he said as he stuffed himself into his seat. “Oh, shit, sorry. That was kinda cruel, huh? Seeing as how you won’t be eatin’ one of those anytime soon.” He laughed again as he started the squad car.
Pulse turned away, staring out the window at the short, slender cop strolling their way—Newton’s partner. She pulled the door open and dropped into her seat. “Nice work, partner,” she said as she held out a fist to Newton, who grinned and bumped it with his own.
What a load of horseshit.
Pulse shut his eyes. After a few attempts to further insult him, they got the message that he couldn’t be baited and finished the drive in silence. Thank God. His face stung, and his left ribs ached like a son of a bitch. All he wanted was a stiff drink and a soft bed.
Maybe one with Talia in it. Yeah, he could get behind that. Her soft, warm, and sated while they lay entangled, sharing a whisky between them.
Damn, that’d be nice.
Too bad for him he’d be sleeping on a prison cot tonight and possibly in a pine box after that.