Chapter 11
T he door wasn’t even closed two seconds behind Steel, Lucky, and Bulldog before Ghost ordered harshly, “Keys.”
“I’m on it,” the club’s newest officer stated. As usual, Keys had a setup of monitors in front of him. He typed quickly on his keyboard and then the four large television screens on the walls of the Chapel lit up.
Like everyone else, Pumpkin’s eyes were fixated on the screen directly across from him.
He had a hard time processing what Steel had just said, and an even harder time believing it.
Dixie Gilbert was dead? How? Who? Because Pumpkin sure as hell did not believe Steel had done it.
Her body wouldn’t have been found if he had, but that wasn’t exactly a defense Steel could use on a jury.
In silence, everyone in the Chapel watched as Lucky and Bulldog descended the stairs behind Steel. The camera angle showed the entirety of the clubhouse main area, facing the entry double doors.
None of the men said anything until Jenna and Tessa entered. Steel looked over his shoulder at his VP and SAA. “Give me a minute with her.”
Both nodded and stepped away, beckoning Tessa to them. The three of them waited by the bar as Steel brought Jenna over to the couches on the other side of the room. The camera angle suddenly jumped to the main gate outside.
“Keys?” Ghost demanded.
“What they say is between them,” Keys defended. “I’m not going to invade their privacy when this could be the last time they’re able to be together for a bit.”
Pumpkin winced. He wasn’t the only one. The idea of there being distance, time, or anything between Jenna and Steel seemed unfathomable.
Ghost let out a sigh. “What do we know about Dixie Gilbert’s death? Why is the DEA involved?”
“I’m working on it,” Keys said, his fingers flying over the keyboard.
Half the screens switched to what looked like crime scene photos.
A woman Pumpkin had never seen before lay dead on a cheap motel bed.
There was a single bullet wound through the middle of her forehead.
“Dixie Anne Gilbert, thirty-one. No current state of residency, mainly because she never applied for a driver’s license and has never paid any taxes.
” Documents flew across the two screens faster than Pumpkin could read them.
He honestly had no idea how Keys was. “I have documentation that she starred in the Black Pythons’ pornos since before she was eighteen, and we already are aware that she had Ollie when she was underage as well.
Last Labor Day, after we raided and destroyed the Black Pythons’ chapter in Pitts, Dixie and seven others were dropped off to a rehab facility in Alexandria, Virginia, by Ranger and Ghost. After the abuse they received at the hands of the Black Pythons and all being addicted to one form of narcotics or another, they remained for several months.
Some are still there, but Dixie and three others checked themselves out roughly five months ago. ”
“Where did she go?” Ghost asked. He was standing now, his eyes flicking back and forth as fast as the documents and pictures on the screen.
“Unknown, but most likely the streets. There’s no documentation for her until about eight weeks ago.”
“What happened eight weeks ago?” Demo asked .
“This happened.” Keys hit some buttons and a new document appeared on the television screens.
It was a Criminal Consultant form with the Department of Justice round logo of an eagle and three stars in the top left corner.
The words Drug Enforcement Agency were at the bottom of the circle.
Dixie Gilbert’s name was typed in as the applicant.
“But that’s not the only one I found.” Keys pulled up another document.
This one had the name ‘Fergus Martinson’ on it.
Ghost wasn’t the only one who asked, “Who’s Fergus Martinson?”
“You’re not going to like this,” Keys muttered before putting a picture of a man on the screen.
His disheveled black hair and sunken green eyes made him look half-dead.
Lines around his mouth and eyes hinted at the permanent scowl on his face.
But it was the black, leather cut that caught Pumpkin’s attention.
Ghost rounded on Keys. “Fang? He’s the Black Python who got away?”
When the VDMC had attacked the Black Python’s warehouse in Pittsburgh last year, they’d been pissed to discover the President, King, and his SAA, Fang, had not been in residence.
It was later discovered that they’d fled to the Atlantic City chapter of the Black Pythons.
However, days later, King’s body was discovered floating in the ocean.
No one had seen or heard from Fang since, and the assumption had been that he’d been killed too but his body just hadn’t been discovered.
“So he’s alive?” Pumpkin clarified.
Keys nodded. “Very much so. Both he and Dixie were recruited by the DEA. I’m not sure how that happened, they went to the DEA or the DEA had something on them, but they are both listed as consultants on a narcotics case.”
“What narcotics case?” Ghost asked just as Carlos’s cruiser pulled up to the gate.
It didn’t take that long to get from town to the VDMC property, which made Pumpkin wonder if Carlos had tried to stall the DEA.
He wouldn’t interfere, especially if there was a signed warrant, but he would stall to give Steel a moment to get himself together.
The VDMC didn’t have anything to hide—not here at least—so it wasn’t like Carlos was telling them to hide potential evidence.
All four screens switched back to the view of downstairs.
Steel and Jenna were standing in the middle of the room now, their arms wrapped around each other.
Steel’s eyes were closed and his lips were pressed firmly into Jenna’s flaming-orange hair.
Under the circumstances, Jenna seemed quite composed.
Tessa was nearly to the top of the stairs. While the rule was that only patched members could enter Chapel, there’d been, uh, exceptions over the years. Most notably was the time Jasmine and Sophia had burst inside mid-Church to inform the club about the dog-fighting ring they’d stumbled upon.
Bear reached the door just as Tessa was raising her hand to knock. “Lucky sent me up,” she told her husband.
Bear nodded, pulling Tessa inside just as Carlos and an unknown man stepped out of the police cruiser on the screens. Bear retook his seat and pulled Tessa onto his lap. “Where are our cubs?”
“Frankie, Terry, and Pamela took all the babies to the park this afternoon,” Pumpkin answered for Tessa. “The prospects went with them. I’m not sure about Lila, Scotty, or the teens.” No one had to question where Cassie was. Bulldog and Abby’s oldest had agoraphobia, and rarely left their house.
“Keys,” Ghost ordered over his shoulder.
“On it.” A second later, he said, “They’re in The Pentagon’s backyard. Chip’s there too,” Keys added with a hint of surprise.
Since arriving on property a month ago, Chip had been keeping to himself.
He’d tried to sleep in the clubhouse apartment Steel had offered him, but hadn’t been able to handle the hustle and bustle of the clubhouse.
Bulldog had taken him to the trailers the club kept for when they needed to hide someone or when someone in the community needed assistance.
Over the summer, Tom, Keys’ new business partner, his wife, Simone, and their two kids had stayed in one while moving from Atlanta and still house shopping. Now Chip resided back there.
The man was a recluse and the club rarely saw him, but they all knew—some more than others—the struggles of PTSD. There was no rush to join the club. All of them just wanted to see the man get back on his feet and live the rest of his life in relative safety.
“Send out a mass message,” Ghost ordered. “Kids are on lockdown. Tell Frankie to keep the babies away. Ol’ ladies are to remain indoors. We’ll figure out what to tell them once we know what is going on.”
As Carlos and the agent wearing a DEA wind jacket approached the door, Steel stepped away from Jenna. Lucky came forward to bring her back towards the bar. He placed her behind him and Bulldog. Steel went down on his knees, hands laced behind his head.
The DEA agent stormed inside, gun drawn. Carlos, though, grabbed the man’s wrist, forcibly lowering the weapon. The two spoke heatedly for a moment before the agent holstered the gun.
“Jack Duncan! You’re under arrest for the murder of Dixie Gilbert. Anything you say can and will be used against you…”
Steel was no sooner handcuffed and in the back of the police cruiser than the entire club came bursting from the Chapel and pounding down the stairs. Keys, who was collecting his equipment, and Pumpkin were the last out the door.
Tessa went immediately to Jenna, but the club’s first ol’ lady was not beside herself as Pumpkin had assumed she’d be.
“Jack didn’t tell me much,” she stated. “What is going on? And none of that ‘club business’ bullshit,” she added to Lucky. “I want to know everything.”
Lucky stared at her a moment and then nodded once.
“Give me a minute, Jenna,” Keys pleaded, his voice gentle but hurried. He was getting reset up at the bar. “I am still figuring that out.”
“Here’s the copy of the warrant—” Bulldog started, handing the folded piece of paper over but Keys shook his head.
“Already have it. I don’t recognize the judge’s name, though.” He never looked up from his computer .
Pumpkin made his way over to the couch. The bar stools didn’t give his hips and back enough support.
“We need to get the ol’ ladies in here,” Tessa said. “Jenna’s right. We have a right to know what’s going on.”
“Ollie, too,” Jenna added sternly. “Which means Bree and Aaron will want to know what’s going on.”
“They’re old enough to understand,” Lucky stated. His voice was grim. He looked to Angel and Cage. “It’s your choice, though.”
The couple didn’t even exchange a look or need to think about their answer. They nodded in unison.