Page 37 of The Enforcer

It hurts to say that, but it is what it is. I want to make partner—more than anything—but I don’t want it if Zeke isn’t by my side.

On one hand, I can see where Mr. Clinton is coming from, as I would be in a prestigious position and the MC could bring me down if they get caught with some shit, tangling the firm up with it. But on the other hand, it should be my decision on what I should do, not a warning issued to me during the fucking interview.

Sighing, I step away from Zeke. “Let’s get something to eat. We can talk about this later tonight.” With a grin, I add, “After you show me how much you love my two left feet.”

Chapter Sixteen

Zeke

We had to wait over two weeks for the heat to die down and the cops to stop following us every time we left town. Even in our cars, they’d pull us over to harass us. Prez says it’s frowned upon to break their fucking faces when they pull us over, so we have to be compliant little bitches until they leave us the fuck alone. I keep telling Prez we need to get more of the cops on our payroll, but he doesn’t think it wise to have too many people that know our business. Hopefully he changes his mind soon and we can get the newbies to get the rest of them off our asses.

Since a few days have passed without the cops following us, and our guy inside the precinct says they’re moving on, we think it’s time we make the run to Joker and the other MCs we supply. The plan is to meet in a warehouse that Joker owns, everyone meeting to grab their shipment. It’s not the worst idea, since that was what was going to happen at the charity ride; we just have to move locations so the DEA doesn’t bust in again.

Joker says the warehouse is deep in the wilderness of Georgia, a building that’s belonged to their club for so long the cops there seemed to have forgotten about it. We plan to meet there, drop off the product and head home. Since it’s only a few hours away from Tennessee, our ride will be a turn and burn.

I’m not driving, so it’s up to Reaper to get us there in one piece. He’s still on my shit list for letting Kirk get away and his probation won’t end for another few weeks. He’s doing all the bitch work until then.

After we have all of the designated duffle bags loaded up, I drive back to the clubhouse to get Reaper. I climb into the passenger seat, leaning my chair back and pulling my cap down over my eyes. I don’t want Reaper to get the idea that I want to talk during the ride to and from Georgia.

I don’t get so lucky. “Zeke,” Reaper calls, turning down the radio so I can hear what he has to say.

“It better be important.” I’ve been sleeping like shit since Shane hasn’t slept over for a few days. Feeling his body against mine is the best way for me to get a good night’s sleep. But since he has a new case that keeps him at the office for long hours, I’ve had to go back to sleeping alone.

I fucking hate it. Shane will have to move in with me soon or I’ll pack my bags and head to his door. Sleeping alone now is fucking stupid.

Reaper’s voice snaps my out of my thoughts. “I want to apologize. For fucking up with Kirk.”

“I don’t really give a fuck, for real. It’s done. You fucked up, so apologizing won’t get you off bitch duty.”

“I’m not trying to get off duty earlier than what Prez told me. I know what I did was wrong. I could have fucked up more than getting that club. Kirk could have skipped town without repaying for the coke. I know better. Pussy blinded me, but it won’t happen again. You have my word.”

I grunt. It shouldn’t have happened in the first place. I love sex and fucking as much as the next guy, but I’ve never let it get in the way of club business. I even held out on getting with Shane because I didn’t want to fuck up club business. Eight years I waited and Reaper couldn’t wait a few hours.

“Yeah, whatever,” I say, sinking lower into the seat. “We’re brothers and I still love you, but you’re on my shit list for the foreseeable future.”

He nods. “That’s cool. I’ll make it up to everyone.”

“Get us there in one piece and I’ll think about forgiveness.”

I’m done talking. I throw my arm over my eyes and try to get some sleep. But all I can think about is why I’m suffering from a lack of sleep.

Shane.

Before we started dating, I didn’t think any one person would make me feel like I couldn’t live without them. In a friendship capacity, sure, I don’t think I can live without the club and my brothers. But I didn’t think someone I was involved with would have my head all fucked up.

Shane has me thinking about our future. The whole nine yards—a house in the country, a white picket fence, the stupid small dogs, and a kid or two running around that call us dad. I’ve never thought about having kids before. But when I look at Shane, I want to give him everything—a home and a family. I’m not even sure how I would do as a father, but I would try for Shane, if that’s what he wanted. Whatever he asks for is his as far as I’m concerned—with the exception of me leaving the MC, of course.

Eventually, I drop off to sleep, even though it’s not very comfortable and my nap doesn’t last very long. It seems like I just closed my eyes when Reaper pulls onto a bumpy dirt lane. The shocks absorbers on this van are fucking awful—every bump and dip registering.

With a sound of annoyance, I sit up, checking out the surroundings. It’s pretty desolate, thick trees obscuring us from seeing more than ten feet into the foliage. It’s hot and muggy, big ass bugs hitting the windshield.

“Fucking hell,” Reaper mutters, holding the steering well tight with both hands as he tries to keep us on the dirt road. “How far back does this road go?”

Really fucking far, as it turns out. We drive down the bumpy lane for another ten or so minutes. It probably wouldn’t have taken so long if the roads back here were paved. Since it’s so long, I begin to think this was a design choice. No one can drive very fast down this lane, giving whoever they’re looking for down here an opportunity to prepare themselves or run.

Finally, there’s a break in the woods and a monstrous warehouse comes into view. Seriously, how the fuck did they get this place built? Who’s fucking idea was it to have something so large back here? Whoever it was, they’re fucking geniuses, that’s for sure.

Two prospects step out, pulling the sliding doors open on the side of the warehouse. As we drive in, Joker, Charlie—the president of the Villains MC in Virginia—and Lake, the president of The Heretics, an MC in Alabama, come into view, leaning against their choppers as they wait for us.

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