Chapter Two
Garrett
The Blackhawk Disciples clubhouse is in Locust Point, close to the rail yards. It’s an industrial area, but there are homes and businesses, and a park and elementary school, nearby.
It’s not what most people think of as a typical biker hang out. The actual building is small and doesn’t have anywhere for people to live on site. All the brothers have their own houses or apartments throughout the city. There are a couple of bedrooms for people to crash in, or use for other recreational activities. It is a gathering place for members, and where Church meetings are held.
There’s a bar attached to the clubhouse, owned and run by one of the brothers. They’re happy for members of the local community to hang out there. There is also a sizable piece of land with a warehouse unit next door, where the brothers park their bikes to keep things out of sight.
Nero makes a concerted effort to keep the eyes of everyone in the area away from the truth. They work to be part of the community, holding events they invite locals to. They run food drives, donate to charity. Generally anything to make people turn a blind eye.
There is no rowdy partying. No women walking around half naked offering blowjobs to anyone who casts an eye their way. And no groups of men on bikes hanging around outside. Nero cultivates relationships with the Homeowners Association and local law enforcement.
He even has the local pastor at the church eating out of the palm of his hand. He’s that good.
The parking lot outside the bar is full. I would have parked there if I could, as I don’t intend to hang around. Nero will have my balls if I leave my bike in front of the clubhouse. I pull up to the gate surrounding the warehouse and put in the code. The lights are automatic when the door opens, and I navigate to an empty slot.
The last thing I want is to walk in here tonight. It’s nearly eleven thirty. I told Nero I’d be here by ten, but got caught up at the shop. Nina was willing to stick it out longer than we both originally planned. I got in a fair bit of shading before we gave in and called it a night. The others had already left to go to the bar an hour before I finished up.
I could have made it here for ten, but chose to clean up the shop, cash out, and take the books and money upstairs. Phoenix hates the business side of the shop, only wanting to tattoo. That is fine with me. We agreed he’d be a silent partner with minimal involvement.
It’s quiet tonight. Most of the brothers are at the bar. There are two guys in the room. One looks up at the sound of the door opening.
Off the street leads straight into a large common room, a set of stairs to the far right leads to the first floor. Up there are a couple of bedrooms, and a large room where Nero holds Church, the meetings where the officers discuss club business.
I’ve never been to those meetings. Although I’m a member of the club, I’m not active. I am more like Phoenix is at the shop, a silent partner, with a very specific skill set Nero utilizes.
I lift my chin at Zephyr, who is watching a football game, a remote control resting on one meaty thigh, and a beer in his hand. He wears a bandanna around his thinning gray hair and has a long, scruffy beard.
One of his legs is a prosthetic after an IED attack in Afghanistan when he was serving in the military. He doesn’t let it stop him from riding his bike and being part of the club. He is right there doing what needs to be done. I’ve seen him take the leg off and beat the shit out of a guy once. For the most part, he is quiet, unassuming.
Until he isn’t.
“You’re late.”
“Had a client,” I say to the other man, who is sitting at one of the dining tables with papers spread out on the surface.
He hasn’t looked up, focused on something on his phone. I pull out a chair and sit down. I take no interest in the papers as I wait for him to finish what he’s doing.
Nero is younger than the majority of the other officers. He has a full head of dark brown hair that he keeps short at the back and sides, but longer on top. He is always clean shaven, always immaculately turned out. Even his boots shine, which is odd for a biker. Tall and lean, but dangerous, and smart as fuck.
He’d been voted in as VP in his early thirties, then took over as President when the previous one, Crash ironically, was killed in an accident with three cars and a long-haul truck. His picture hangs on the wall of ‘Fallen Brothers’, together with the parts of his motorcycle that weren’t incinerated or crushed in the accident, all stored in a glass case.
It’s fucking morbid if you ask me, but I never voice that opinion.
We are far enough away, the TV loud enough, that our conversation will be private from Zephyr.
“How’s Phoenix?”
“Good.”
Nero finally sets his phone down and looks at me. Phoenix is his younger half-brother. They have the same dad. Nero’s mom, Darla, was his wife. Phoenix’s mom, Kate, his side piece.
Darla never accepted Phoenix, hated him even, because of who his mom is. Their dad didn’t disown Phoenix. He stepped up and took responsibility for him.
None of the ugly mess their dad caused is Phoenix’s fault, but Darla caused all manner of trouble for them when Phoenix was a kid. She put his mom in the hospital once. Fortunately, Nero didn’t let his mom’s bullshit affect how he felt about his little brother. Especially after their dad died in an accidental shooting when Phoenix was ten.
Phoenix never officially joined the club, but he was practically raised here because his mom is a club girl. One of the women who hangs around and offers themselves up when a brother wants sex. Despite birthing a child to a brother, Kate never got the title of Old Lady and after his death, she simply moved on. There is no exclusivity when it comes to club girls. They fuck whoever, whenever.
I keep out of it. Phoenix is one of my closest friends, but he hates talking about his mom, even though he loves her.
“He hasn’t been around in a while.”
“Shops busy,” I shrug, defending Phoenix.
Nero’s eyes narrow, but he drops it. “I have a job for you.”
Figured as much, so don’t comment. He slides a bulky envelope across the table to me. All the information, plus payment, will be inside. Nero trusts me and knows paying me upfront isn’t a risk. I always get the job done.
As a member of the club, working for free should be a given, but Nero recognizes my skills and we made this deal a long time ago. I am part of the club but separate from it. And I look out for Phoenix.
“I want information on everyone he has contact with, doesn’t matter if it’s the mailman. Round the clock, the whole set up.”
I don’t show my irritation. It means I need to postpone or cancel clients for the next few days. Nero won’t tell me why he wants this information, and I won’t ask.
Despite the inconvenience, surveillance only is best case scenario. I’ve pulled back from the more violent jobs. Nero is on board, and hasn’t requested enforcer jobs in months.
Nodding my compliance, I pick up the envelope. “Anything else?”
Nero scrapes a hand over his jaw, looking toward the staircase. “There’s a gathering here at the weekend. Phoenix was gonna come. Darla is upstairs, she’s been here a few days.”
“I’ll keep him away.”
If she’s here, it means she is being a nuisance, and he has no way of knowing what kind of shit she will stir up if she sees Nero’s brother. I’m almost tempted to ask Nero why he doesn’t tell his mom to get lost, but it’s not my place.
“Give me an update on Monday.”
Four days. Damn. I agree and get up. I don’t say goodbye, but Zephyr calls out and I give him a chin dip in response. I tuck the envelope in the saddle bag when I get back to my bike. I’ll check it when I get home, already mentally going through what I need for round-the-clock surveillance for four days.
Back at my building, I park the bike around back, and let myself in through the metal door in the alley, making sure all the locks engage. It’s a safe neighborhood. I’ve never been concerned, but I don’t want people wandering in here.
For a minute, I contemplate going to my apartment and getting into bed, but I need to know what I’m dealing with. After tonight, I need to be alert. I let myself into the second apartment and drop the keys and envelope on a table, then head into the smallest bedroom.
There is a thumbprint keypad on the door. The rack of shelves lined with boxes holds everything I need. I pull one out, then set it down on the desk, taking out the surveillance equipment, including mini cameras, recording equipment, and a couple of tracking devices. One is small, barely the size of a button, and as thin as a piece of paper.
You wouldn’t think it cost me almost three grand, but it is a highly sophisticated piece of tech. I try not to use them too often, but may need it.
Grabbing my laptop and the devices, I head back out and set everything down. Then I pour a glass of orange juice and open the envelope.
The following morning, after a hundred push-ups and sit-ups, I fire off a text to Phoenix as I head to the bathroom for a quick shower. He knows to re-arrange or take on any of my clients who are happy having him fill in for me.
I try to remember who is on my schedule, but my head is in a different space right now. I get a message back as I’m heading out back.
Phoenix:
Done
He knows Nero has me on something and won’t ask any questions.
Caleb Dexter will be out of his apartment by seven thirty to go to work. It’s my opportunity to get into his apartment. Once the electronic surveillance is set there, I can head to the university where he works to watch him.
I leave home, hook my rucksack onto my back, pull on my helmet and start up the bike. As I pull out onto the street, I glance at the front of the shop and my pulse quickens. It won’t be opening for another three hours. Lucky usually is the first one in.
Phoenix won’t explain why I’m not in. At least, not the real reason. None of them will see me for the next few days because once surveillance is all set up, I’ll be monitoring it constantly. I push away thoughts of the shop and my employees’ questions.
The apartment building isn’t far, but I drive past and park the bike away from the block. It’s warm as hell today, even this early. I’ve dressed in shorts and a T-shirt and have a ball cap on.
I take a package out of my rucksack, put it back on my back, and tuck the package under my arm. I’ve printed off labels to make it appear official. Anyone who sees me will remember a delivery guy.
As I approach the door to the building, I slow my pace as a woman approaches. We reach the door at the same time. I check the buzzers as she uses her key.
I’m relying on her having no concern for a delivery guy entering the building. She holds the door for me. I thank her with a quick head nod, then go to the stairs. Getting into the elevator with her gives her an opportunity to remember me.
It’s not my intention to do any damage, but I don’t want to be remembered either.
The apartment is on the second floor. I pause to pull on thin gloves, then head out into the corridor, looking up from under the brim of my cap.
There are no cameras. I wasn’t expecting there to be. The building is older. It has a camera in the lobby area and right outside the entrance, but that’s all. At the apartment I’m looking for, I knock and wait. When there is no response, I take out my electronic lock picker. It’s noisy, but it’s fast.
Slipping inside, I close the door and stand still, waiting, listening.
The apartment is empty, but I clear the rooms quickly. No pets, not even a goldfish. Once it’s clear, I take the time to glance around in more detail.
The place is average, single guy decor. There are piles of books in one corner and paperwork on the dining table. The dishes he used for his breakfast are in the sink with a couple of mugs on the drainer. His bed isn’t made, and the closet door is open, but everything inside is folded or hung.
I have no fucking clue why Nero wants a college professor watched. I set my bag down and get to work, putting up cameras in the entry way, living room and kitchen and a final one in the bedroom.
If this guy gets up to any weird shit in the bedroom, I’d rather only listen than watch, but that isn’t very thorough.
Singling out a well-worn pair of sneakers, I carefully peel up the sole on the inside of one and place the tracker inside. He won’t be able to feel it and it’s durable enough to withstand the weight of a person walking on it.
This should cover his ‘private life’. The other tracker will go on something work related. He doesn’t drive, having had his license revoked for a DUI a couple of years ago. That alone tells me this guy is an asshole.
Finding nothing of note on a more thorough search, I go to the laptop in the spare bedroom. He must have a separate work laptop he takes with him. I’ll have to figure a way to get into that.
He doesn’t seem concerned about the personal one. The idiot doesn’t have a password. I’m not about to complain. I upload a program that will watch his activity and allow me to read his files. Then disguise it in a folder buried so deep, you would have to know it is there to find it.
Testing the camera feeds in an app on my phone, I make sure everything is working and double check nothing is out of place. I put the decoy package in my bag and head to the front door.
I listen for a few minutes, making sure the hallway is empty, then step out and close the door.
As I head toward the stairwell, the elevator door opens, and a woman walks out, right into my path. She’s carrying a large box so doesn’t see me. I am moving too quickly to get out of the way.
We crash together. She bounces backward and hits the wall, dropping the box as I reach out to the other wall to steady myself. Something inside the box smashes.
“Oh shit,” the woman gasps. “Dammit. This is just great,” she mutters, looking down at the box at her feet. “It better not have been the coffee pot.”
I curse inwardly. So much for getting out of here without running into anyone. Her mumbling is kind of amusing, but I need to leave.
Looking from the box to the woman, I pause as she lifts her eyes to mine.
Jesus. I’m momentarily stunned. She may be tired, a little irritated and resigned as her shoulders slump, but it doesn’t take away from the fact she is fucking gorgeous.
I’m not the kind of guy to get stopped in his tracks by a woman, but damn. I can’t stop staring.
Her blonde hair cascades over her shoulders in soft waves, catching the light shimmering in through the window at the end of the hall. Her eyes are dark cobalt blue, vivid and striking. Despite a tired and pinched appearance, they’re stunning. Her lips are full and sensuous, with a rosy hue that makes my eyes linger there, wondering what they might taste like.
She’s wearing a cropped hoody and skin-tight pants, showing off the curve of her hips and a slender waist. My head goes to all kinds of places it shouldn’t. I have to get the hell out of here without drawing any attention, and this woman almost knocked me on my ass.
I help her with the box, picking it up off the floor, my eyes running the length of her long legs. Whatever is inside the box rattles around. It’s definitely in pieces.
“Oh, thank God.”
I frown, wondering what she is thankful for, then realize she is focused on the box.
“It’s not the one with the coffee machine inside. Oh shit, sorry. Are you alright, did I hurt you?”
She finally focuses on me. Her lips part as she stops talking, then her cheeks flush, and she glances down at herself. She whispers, ‘holy crap’ under her breath.
Not sure if she is embarrassed about how she looks, or if I’ve had the same effect on her she had on me. Either way, her blush is fucking adorable.
“No, not hurt. Something in here is though.”
“You know what, I don’t even care anymore,” she sighs, gathering her wits.
“Need a hand?” I ask, then silently kick myself. What the fuck? I need to go.
“No, it’s okay. This was the last of them.”
I nearly ask what she means by that, but instead I grab my bag from where it landed when I tried to stop myself falling.
“Enjoy your coffee,” I head for the stairs.
I don’t hear her moving and although I tell myself not to, I glance back before I slip through the door. She’s watching me. I can’t help but wink and grin when the corners of her lips rise in a small smile. Then I’m gone.
Fucking idiot. I have more important things to worry about right now.
But shit, she made a crappy day a little better.