Chapter 46
FORTY-SIX
PHOENIX
HARMONY HARBOR BIKER GANG LEADER ARRESTED AFTER MASSIVE WEAPONS AND DRUG CACHE DISCOVERED IN SALVAGE YARD BLAZE
“When our crews gained entry to begin suppression operations, they immediately observed what appeared to be contraband in plain sight within multiple storage containers,” Chief Payne said at a press conference Monday morning. “At that point we secured the scene and contacted law enforcement.”
A subsequent search of the 4.2-acre property, conducted under an emergency warrant issued by Cumberland County Superior Court Judge Diane Whitfield, yielded what authorities are calling one of the largest illegal seizures in recent Maine history.
According to a joint statement released by the Maine State Police and the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives, investigators recovered:
· Approximately 47 unregistered firearms, including six assault-style rifles classified as prohibited under Maine state law
· An estimated 14 kilograms of methamphetamine with an approximate street value of $1.4 million
· Approximately 3 kilograms of fentanyl
· Over 200 counterfeit prescription opioid pills
· Materials consistent with illegal firearms modification, including silencer components and devices designed to convert semi-automatic weapons to fully automatic operation
· Detailed records suggesting an interstate distribution network operating across four New England states
Keenan, who has prior convictions for aggravated assault (2009) and possession with intent to distribute (2014), was taken into custody at the scene without incident.
Fourteen additional members and associates of the Sinners MC were arrested in a coordinated sweep conducted over the following 36 hours at residences across Hancock and Cumberland counties.
At an arraignment hearing held Tuesday at Cumberland County Superior Court, Judge Whitfield declined to set bail for Keenan, citing the severity of the charges and deeming the defendant a significant flight risk.
“The scope of the criminal enterprise uncovered at this property represents a clear and ongoing danger to the citizens of this community,” Judge Whitfield stated from the bench. “The court finds that no conditions of release would reasonably ensure the safety of the public.”
Keenan faces a total of 23 federal and state charges, including possession of unregistered firearms, trafficking in controlled substances, conspiracy to distribute fentanyl, unlawful possession of automatic weapons components, and operating a continuing criminal enterprise.
Legal experts consulted by the Press Herald estimate that a conviction on even a fraction of the charges could result in a sentence of twenty years to life in federal prison.
Assistant U.S. Attorney Margaret Chen, who is leading the federal prosecution, described the case as “one of the most significant disruptions of organized criminal activity in rural Maine in the past decade.”
“This was not a casual operation,” Chen said. “The evidence recovered points to a sophisticated, long-running enterprise with tentacles reaching well beyond Harmony Harbor. We intend to pursue the full weight of federal law against every individual involved.”
Defense attorney Paul Marchetti, representing Keenan, declined to comment on specific charges but stated that his client “maintains his innocence and looks forward to his day in court.”
The investigation remains ongoing. Authorities have asked anyone with information regarding the Sinners MC’s operations to contact the Maine State Police tip line.
Itoss the newspaper onto the seat beside me with a sigh.
Twenty years to life. Good. I hope Aaron Keenan rots in a cell for the rest of his life.
The article doesn’t mention any of us. And I’m still marveling at how Dom managed to pull a combination rescue and comeuppance with only a few hours of planning.
Just the small matter of setting a fire, triggering an explosion, and ensuring that the arriving emergency services stumbled on enough illegal weapons to arm a small country.
Along with an amount of drugs that probably means Aaron is safer in jail. Because whatever cartel he’s been trafficking for is almost certainly going to expect to be compensated for the loss.
And I also saw no mention of anyone underage being arrested at the salvage yard, so I really hope that means the cops are treating Kyle like the victim he is.
Harmony Harbor shrinks in the rearview mirror, and the hollow ache in my chest expands to fill the space.
Our replacement plane is already fueled up and waiting.
The airfield is twenty minutes away. The replacement plane has been ready since yesterday. Stephanie called this morning, immediately after wrangling an early discharge from the hospital, to ensure that we would all be on it.
Everything is wrapped up in a pretty bow.
Except for the fact that there should be five of us in this car, not only three.
“This is bullshit,” I say for probably the dozenth time.
“Judah and Dom have lives here, Phoenix.” Mason gently reminds me. He sits close enough to me on the backseat that we can both have Judah’s flannel draped across our laps. “You can’t expect them to drop everything and follow us across the Atlantic on a whim.”
“It isn’t a whim, though.” I twist the hem of the flannel between my fingers, pulling at a loose thread until it unravels an inch. “We all have something. All five of us. You feel it. I know you do.”
The word pack hangs on the tip of my tongue, but I hesitate to say it. Because putting the fully-formed thought out into the world would mean acknowledging what I’m about to leave behind.
From the front passenger seat, Atticus makes a low sound of agreement in his throat. His fingers tap a restless rhythm against his knee. “Whatever happened this week, it wasn’t nothing.”
Mason shifts beside me, and I feel the deep breath he takes expand his ribs against my arm.
“Judah runs a fishing operation that’s been in his family for three generations.
” His tone is the same one he uses when he thinks I’m about to have a meltdown, walking me through impossible schedules—calm, logical, designed to guide me toward a conclusion I don’t want to reach.
”Dom has a full-time job at the bar. They can’t just walk away because we spent a week together that went well. ”
“It went better than well. God, Mason.”
“I know.” His voice softens. “Believe me. I know exactly how much more than well it went.”
His hand finds mine between us on the seat. His fingers are warm, steady, and when they lace through mine I feel the slight tremor he’s been hiding since we pulled away from the house.
This is killing him too.
He left Judah once before. Walking away a second time, even temporarily, even with a potential plan to return—it’s costing him something I can see in the tight set of his mouth and the way he keeps swallowing against whatever is climbing up his throat.
“The future is always uncertain,” he says, thumb tracing a slow circle against my knuckle. He leans closer to kiss me lightly on the forehead. “It took me and Judah ten years to make any progress. A little more time isn’t the end of the world.”
I look at his profile. The sandy hair curling at his temples from the humidity he’s stopped fighting. The glasses sitting slightly crooked because he slept in them again. The claiming bite just barely visible above the unbuttoned front of his shirt, silver-white against his skin.
I grab his face with both hands and kiss him.
Not a gentle peck or something even mindful of our rideshare driver carefully averting his gaze from the rearview mirror.
I kiss Mason like I’m staking a claim, hard and deliberate, practically climbing into his lap as far as my seatbelt will allow.
His surprised intake of breath dissolves into response—his mouth opening under mine, his hand sliding to cup the back of my neck, pulling me closer.
I might not be able to force Dom and Judah to see reason.
But I refuse—absolutely, categorically refuse—to let whatever is happening between me and Mason backslide into professionalism and pretense. Not after everything. Not after the nest and the heat and the way he said my name like it was the only word he knew.
When I pull back, just far enough to see his face, his pupils are blown wide behind those crooked glasses and his cheeks are flushed in a way that has nothing to do with the car’s heating system.
“We should probably discuss a raise,” I murmur against his mouth. “Because I have a number of new duties I’m going to be expecting you to perform.”
A burst of laughter comes from the front seat.
Atticus twists around, one arm draped over the headrest, green eyes bright with genuine amusement despite the shadows underneath them. “Might be kinder to fire him and hire a new assistant. Being your boyfriend is already going to be more than a full-time job.”
“Excuse me, I am a delight to work for.” I draw back from Mason with exaggerated horror, pressing a hand to my chest and lifting my chin with all the dignity of someone whose lips are still swollen from kissing her assistant in the backseat of a Toyota Camry.
“You and Mason can figure out how to split the duties of being my boyfriend so that he can continue to be the reason I get through my day without having a complete mental breakdown.”
Mason’s mouth twitches. “I’m not sure that’s how job-sharing works.”
“It is now. I’m the boss. I make the rules.”
Atticus shakes his head with a laugh, turning back toward the windshield.
But more importantly, he doesn’t argue with my obviously very accurate assessment.
For once, I’m hesitant to get on a plane for a reason that has nothing to do with flight anxiety.
I settle into my seat, Gerald Jr. clutched under my arm, and try to convince myself that the world isn’t ending.
Mason drops into the seat beside me and immediately checks his watch.
Then checks it again.