27. Zoe
27
ZOE
“Hold on tight.”
They’re the final words Ozzie utters before we take off on the long journey to Pulsboro, Texas. We leave shortly after his phone call with his friend Cash and hit the roads that take us out of Pomona, crossing into neighboring states.
I sit on the back of his bike, braced up against him, ready for what may come.
The wind roars past me, warm and dry even for the time of year, whipping against us the faster we go. The desert stretches for what feels like forever in every direction, an expanse of gold– and rust–colored earth broken only by jagged canyons.
It’s an eye-opening experience unlike anything I’ve ever expected. On the open road it’s nothing but yourself and the bike cruising for miles, wandering the vivid landscape with exhilaration rushing your blood flow. An adventure in and of itself; it’s like coming alive in a whole new way.
Let alone embarking on what could be the greatest mission of my life.
Ozzie didn’t want me to come. After he hung up with Cash, he rushed to put on his jeans and snatch his keys. I was by his side in an instant, doing the same. He didn’t want me to get caught up in something that could jeopardize my FBI career even more than it already has.
What he doesn’t realize is that I need this.
I thought my investigation into Boone was what I needed. Finally taking him down and throwing him behind bars. But it’s more complex than simply slapping cuffs on him and hauling him to prison to rot away—it wasn’t just the revenge itself I needed, but the cathartic release of knowing it was on my own terms.
Not the FBI’s. Not Duchovny’s. Not with a long laundry list of rules and protocols that I had to follow.
But my own rules. My own vendetta that I’m squaring alongside a man I never imagined would come into my life.
And yet I trust Ozzie implicitly. I feel a kinship I had tried so damn hard to run from when all I needed to do was open my arms and embrace it.
This time, Boone is mine. He’s ours to take out with no one else giving the marching orders but us.
The road ahead winds and dips, and I tighten my grip around Ozzie’s waist as he leans into the curves, his body relaxed and mine too. I’m completely at home on the back of this machine. What should terrify me—riding hundreds of miles on the back of Oswald Gallagher’s motorcycle—simply feels like the start of another adventure together.
Hours pass, and before I know it, we’re more than halfway there. Ozzie pulls into a gas station off the highway to reup on fuel. While he stands by the tank and pumps gas, I head inside the small convenience store to grab a snack.
My phone rings on my way out. I check the caller ID only to see Mom’s name on the screen.
Hesitating a second, I answer the call with stony silence.
“Zozo baby?” she sniffles. She’s been crying. “Are you there?”
“I can’t talk right now. What do you want?”
“Baby, don’t be like that. Mistakes were made, but nobody’s perfect.”
“Your idea of imperfection might be too tough to swallow.”
“What’s the matter with you? You’re our daughter. You should be looking out for us. Not mouthing off.”
I close my eyes and force a steady breath before I explode. “I told you I can’t talk. Save the guilt trips for another time.”
“The light’s been cut off, Zozo. The electric company said we’re too behind.”
“I gave you money for that! Every single month.”
“Don’t you go raising your voice! Your father and I have had enough of your back talk.”
“I’ve had enough of you using me like an ATM!” I scream over her, startling two people who happen to be walking out of the store. But I don’t give a fuck. I keep going. “You want me in your life in any feasible way? You know what to do. Get clean. Take control of your lives. Then call me.”
“Zoe, please?—”
I hang up before she ever gets a chance to utter another sentence. The tension from the unexpected phone call wears off by the second. I stare at the gas station scenery for a moment ’til my gaze settles on pump number one.
Ozzie’s finishing up with the gas nozzle. He’s looking at the screen, watching the numbers climb. The setting sun casts deep shadows across his features, highlighting the angles of his jaw and the curve of his mouth. His tattoos look even more vibrant in the lighting, so many colors pitted against each other, a human canvas of vivid artwork.
Everything about him makes my heart race. I find myself smiling even as I wander over with my bag of skittles and bottle of soda.
Ozzie quirks a brow at me, snatching the soda out of my grasp to chug some himself. He returns it to me and asks, “What’s that look for?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head, still smiling. “Just… thinking about our destination.”
He gives me a curious glance, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he screws the cap back onto the tank, swings a leg over the bike, and jerks his chin toward the empty road ahead. “You ready, Special Agent?”
I climb on behind him, wrapping my arms around his middle. “More than ever.”
“You know better than to bring in outsiders!” growls Mason Cutler. “And not just any insider—a fucking federal agent? What the hell were you thinking, Oz?”
Ozzie doesn’t back down. He squares his shoulders, his voice edged with steel. “I was thinking we need every advantage we can get. Zoe’s spent years tracking Boone. She deserves to be a part of this fight.”
Silver Kingman, the MC’s acting president, exhales from where he leans against the desk in the office. His arms are crossed, his checkered short sleeve shirt revealing hints of as much muscle and tattoos as any of the guys in the club half his age. He strokes the light silverish stubble on his jawline, his approach more measured than someone like Mason, who’s explosive and aggressive.
“I don’t doubt Agent Strauss has got skills,” Silver admits. “But we’ve got bigger problems than debating who belongs in this room. Boone and Wheels are loose. Which means our priority is making sure our security is airtight. That was the focus of this meeting, not debating the merit of some federal agent.”
Mason lets out a scoff, clearly unswayed. “I don’t give a shit about her credentials, Silver. We’re an MC, not the damn FBI. Doesn’t matter what she knows—she’s not one of us .”
“I didn’t say she was.”
“Then what the hell is she doing here? In our fucking club? In our fucking office during our meeting?”
I’ve had enough. I take a step forward among the room of stone-cold, masculine, tatted-up alpha males. “Maybe I’m not one of you. But I know more about Asa Boone than anyone in this club. I know how he thinks. How he operates. His entire criminal empire from top to bottom. More than you, Mason. More than all of you combined. So if you want to win this fight, you need me.”
Mason bristles, turning his glare on me. “Oh yeah? And what exactly does that mean to us? We don’t play by your rules, Federal Agent. Your badges and laws don’t mean a damn thing here.”
“Watch your tone, Mace,” Ozzie snaps, stepping closer. “Show some respect.”
The tension is razor-sharp, both men standing rigid, and for a second, I think this might come to blows. But then one of the men, Blake Cash, lifts his hands, stepping between them. “Alright, enough. We’re wasting time.”
Logan Cutler, who happens to be Mason’s brother, and who has been quiet up until now, nods in agreement. “Cash is right. We can’t afford to be choosy right now.”
The room shifts as Logan steps forward, stopping just at my side. He glances at Silver before turning back to the rest of them. “I’m going to be out of the picture as of tonight. Teysha’s due any minute and I need to make sure she has a safe delivery. That comes before everything.”
“Which means we’re down a guy,” Cash says.
The words settle over the room, a point even Mason doesn’t argue.
Silver rubs his jaw, giving the situation some thought. Though I don’t know these men beyond what Ozzie’s told me about them, my impression of Silver is that he’s fair. Considerate enough to think it over, even if ultimately he doesn’t agree.
“I get you prioritizing Teysha and the baby, Ghost,” he says. “The last thing you need is to be focusing on this fight with Boone, Wheels, and the Road Rebels and have something happen to them. Get the hell out of sight and go have a quiet, safe delivery with your wife.”
“And Zoe?” Ozzie prompts.
“I still don’t know about bringing her into this. We need more time to deliberate.”
“Let me prove myself,” I say, boldly meeting the gaze of every man in the room. “I’m an expert marksman. I’ve trained in multiple styles of combat and weapons my entire career. I’m not just some FBI desk clerk—I was an active field agent handling some of the most dangerous cases for the bureau. I know how to fight, and I know how to fucking win.”
Ozzie grins from my side, ever the joker. “ And she shot a fucking bazooka once. Top that.”
Silver almost grins but fights it off. “Alright, you work with Ozzie in the armory, ensuring we’re ready for anything that might come our way.”
“This is bullshit.” Mace storms toward the door, throwing it open with enough force that it bangs against the wall as he marches out.
The room is quiet for a second before Cash mutters, “Well, that went well.”
Ozzie nudges me with his elbow. “Welcome to the club, Special Agent.”