50. Butch
CHAPTER FIFTY
BUTCH
W hen the dust settles, Atlas calls the feds to come onto the scene. With the investigation underway, it was going to be a while before we could head home. The amount of dead bodies to tag and the remaining witnesses to interview will keep our federal agent associates busy.
There was no way to obscure the mine collapse, not with the debris field shooting down the lawn toward the back of the estate. Odds were high, O’Conall was dead. Though the prick may be alive, trapped in the rubble. Either way, we didn’t want a search and rescue operation happening.
Chase worked his magic, scrubbing the outdoor surveillance camera footage of the last few hours. Our footprints and whatever blood we left behind in the snow were concealed by the fragments of rocks and other trash blown out from the cave collapsing.
When the federal agents ask if someone went inside the tunnel, we all deny it, claiming the vibrations from the shootout made the ancient mine give out. The feds sent a chopper over the summit to check on the other side of the tunnel. Reports came back, showing the tunnel was completely caved in with debris spilled around the plateau .
My heart did a little Irish jig on O’Conall’s grave.
Enjoy hell, fuckwad.
Looking back on the moment Candy fired my Glock at the support beam, I can’t help shaking my head with a chuckle. We barely made it inside the estate when the mine shaft collapsed. Dust and debris rocketed out of the tunnel’s entrance, hitting the stone estate and shattering some windows.
Candy crowed gleefully, watching the whole thing unfold while waving her middle fingers in the air toward the O’Conall’s demise. “Dig your way out of that, asshole.”
My brothers look at Candy with a mixture of awe and wariness, realizing we have a cut-throat MC woman in our crew, one who seeks vengeance in the most elaborate of ways. Safe to say no one on the crew will try to mess with her.
While Atlas and Gauge handle the paperwork and questions from the agents, the rest of the crew hangs outside the estate in the front yard. None of us wants to stay around the aftermath of the bloodbath inside the mansion. We lived it—no need to linger in the horror of it if we can avoid it.
When the shootout started, I was a little worried Tank’s PTSD would get triggered. He didn’t seem bothered while in the heat of it. And he seems to fare well now as he shoots the shit with Reaper and Brass, reminiscing over the highlights of the mission. Perhaps he’ll do more mercenary assignments in the future.
Eagle and Stage pack up surveillance gear, while Triple unloads weapons of their ammunition. Flay—having already tended to mine and Candy’s injuries—finishes examining Piero’s bodyguard, Enzo. Though his direct shot in his bulletproof vest didn’t break through, Enzo still needs to be checked for possible broken ribs, like myself. Piero’s men hover near his vehicle, where Piero takes some calls inside. Chance and Ziggy are going over some tech data on the tablets, while Punk looks on at the team, almost like he’s taking stock of everyone. He side-eyes me more than once as we wait for the investigation to get wrapped up on the feds’ end. I’m too tired to care what it is about me that has him interested.
All I care about is that we’re safe. It’s a relief to look around our crew and find us all upright and mostly unmarred—all except for me and my wife.
My wife.
My entire world stays glued to my side, her pretty pink-haired head resting on my good shoulder. Candy wears my suit coat and is wrapped with one of many blankets we brought in the cars for the abducted women, knowing they’d need something to stay warm in once we freed them.
Candy huddles closer into my side for warmth and comfort. Her once bare feet are covered in thick wool socks and heavy combat boots that are a good three sizes too big for her feet. There’s no way I’m going to inform her Flay stripped those items off one of the outside guards our team took out. Protecting her feet from further frostbite was the only thing we cared about. We’ll burn the items once we return home, and I’ll scrub her in the shower myself if she’ll allow me, removing any trace of whoever their former owner was.
Pulling her close, I lay a tender kiss on the crown of her head. Candy wraps her arms tightly around me, clinging to me like I might slip away if she doesn’t hang on.
In the middle of the remains of war, this is a slice of heaven. I’m fucking giddy with Candy’s public display of affection and showing her ownership of me. I’m hers, and once we’re home, I’m going to show her how much she’s mine.
The mission is done. The wicked prick is dead. There’s nothing stopping me from revealing our marriage to Candy.
There’s no way she didn’t hear me roar at O’Conall he couldn’t have my wife . People in relationships don’t throw spouse terms around unless they’re married. There are a million other pet names a person could use when expressing their partner instead.
The urge to take her aside and explain away what I said in the heat of the moment is strong. But I don’t want to lie to her. I’ve already lied by omission. No need to tack on to my list of offensives. She hasn’t asked, so I’ll let it sit— for now .
As we wait, the feds question the abducted women. Bree, Jolie, and Stacy cling to each other, refusing to let go, not even when an agent wants to question them separately. When the agent keeps insisting to separate the women, even taking Jolie by the forearm to lead her away, Flay intervenes.
“Get your damn hands off her if you want to keep them attached to your body,” he threatens.
Too shocked to respond, the agent gapes at our burly medic as Flay pulls her away and returns her to her friends. Jolie looks up at Flay with teary eyes and mouths, Thank you . He gives her a stiff nod before he returns to Enzo. As Flay treats Piero’s bodyguard, he keeps an eye on the girls, his focus mainly on Jolie. The big guy has a soft spot for vulnerable women.
Things get interesting when the feds bring out O’Conall and Duffy’s surviving guards and bidders. Those who are healthy enough to face arrest are handcuffed and placed into the back of windowless vans to be transported to jail. Those too injured are transported to the hospital, where they’ll get the medical care they need before being processed for jail.
When a middle-aged man with a head of white hair and a sharp widow’s peak comes out of the estate in cuffs, our crew turns feral.
“Dirty pig,” Brass yells at the man in cuffs. He points a thick finger at the man we all identify as Fort Collins Chief of Police Owen Dunne. “You turned on your own city by involving yourself with this filth.”
“You’re a dead man, Dunne,” Reaper chimes in, cracking his knuckles like he’s ready to end the crooked officer himself. “Bet you won’t last a week in the slammer as soon as the other inmates find out you’re a cop.”
“And you’ll be REAL popular for that week of hell,” Stage adds with a sneer, spitting at Dunne as he passes.
Dunne flinches, trying to avoid the wad of phlegm.
“Better get used to it,” Eagle jeers. “You have a lot worse body fluids awaiting you in the clink.”
The crew chuckles, enjoying watching Dunne squirm.
Serves him right for being the mole inside the Fort Collins Police Department. The asshole screwed with a lot of our cases, throwing up roadblocks more than once. The worst being when he tipped off Lorenzo Bianchi when we discovered his illegal drug operation. His leak nearly got Josephine abducted and put Mama Bear Holland and Simone in harm’s way.
When you harm our family, shit isn’t forgivable.
As the feds load Dunne into the van, Triple approaches him.
“We’ll give Detective Quire your congratulations when he takes your position as chief of police. Here.” Triple tosses a bottle of gun lubricating oil on Dunne’s lap as the feds go to close the van doors. “For the ass pounding you’re gonna take. You’ll need it.”
The team breaks out into hysterics, grabbing their sides and slapping their knees.
“It’s not enough,” Candy murmurs beside me. “After covering for O’Conall and Duffy, putting Lord knows how many women through hell, what waits for him behind bars is not enough.”
She’s right. It’s not fair. Men like Dunne don’t last long in jail. His hell will be over as soon as it begins. For the women he victimized, it’s a different story. Several in law enforcement and government are at fault for what happened. The only silver lining is, Dunne’s reign has ended.
Not knowing what to say, I kiss the top of Candy’s head again, breathing in her sweet bubble gum scent. She burrows into my embrace, letting me comfort her in my own silent way.
Atlas and Gauge emerge from the horrible stone mansion, guns slung over their shoulders. They make their way toward our group, each sporting content smirks. The mission was near perfect. Plenty to be happy about.
Flay looks up from packing his medical bag, asking, “We good to go, Prez? ”
“Waiting to get the all clear from the special agents.”
“And then we head home,” Gauge adds with a wide smile, rubbing his hands together. “By the time we get to Fort Collins, Opal will have her morning baked goods ready. I’m craving one of my wife’s cream cheese Danish. We could all use some sugary comfort food after a successful mission.”
Everyone nods in agreement—all except Punk.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Punk chides our team. “How can you be happy when there’s still work to do? This night was a shit show. First, I lose Candy, nearly identical to how I lost Jo to Estaban. Second, Butch gets hurt. And third, my dear old step-dad fucking got away!”
The crew goes quiet. Of course, we’re upset one bidder slipped past us. We hadn’t anticipated any of the buyers having a backup plan in case things went bust. Tire tracks further south of the logging road are the only evidence there was an all-terrain vehicle on standby. Punk had pursued the group through the dense pine forest, losing them when they hopped into the ATV and gunned it out onto the road past our barriers.
A few in the group hang their heads. Some, like Atlas and Gauge, look at Punk with pity. And the rest of us look at everyone else to see who’s going to take one for the team.
Chase is the first to break the silence. He’s probably the only one able to get through to Punk at this time, being his best friend. “I’ve got a copy of all the security footage, bro. If your step-father was here, I’ll find the evidence.”
Scowling, Punk barks at Chase. “I don’t need security footage. I saw the fucker with my own eyes, Chase. It. Was. Him.”
Gregory O’Donnell is the pompous self-righteous senator out of Florida Punk had the displeasure of having as a step-father. The man made our biker brother’s adolescence a living hell. Punk doesn’t talk about his past often. However, he makes it no secret he firmly believes his step-father had a hand in the downfall of Punk’s relationship to his childhood sweetheart, Natalie .
Atlas rests a heavy hand on Punk’s shoulder to anchor him. “We believe you, brother. The footage is to prove to the rest of the world what a piece of shit he is. It’s our evidence we’ll use to build our case against him. There’s nothing we can do about it until we investigate more. Be pissed if you need to be, but take comfort in knowing we’ll nail the bastard to the wall.”
“Been a long time coming, Punk. Taking the extra time to build a solid case against Senator O’Donnell will make it worth it when we bring him down,” Gauge chimes in with a reassuring tone.
Placated for the moment, Punk nods sullenly.
Atlas juts his chin at our caravan of vehicles. “Come on. Let’s pack up. Tomorrow, we dig into O’Donnell.”
As Atlas leads Punk away from the group, my skinny biker brother turns on his combat heels and walks towards me and Candy. What Punk says next brings all the cards down around us.