Page 41 of The Enforcer

“He’s the ringleader of this gang of misfits.” The voice is angry and unmistakable—it’s Captain Matthews. What the fuck? “He’s the one my contact, Kirk Richards, said stole his nightclub. Held him at gunpoint while he was forced to sign it over. He says that the president of this band of bastards tried to recruit him to sell drugs out of his nightclub, but Mr. Richards refused. He informed me he suffered harassment from the biker club until he was forced to allow them inside to do their illegal dealings. He provided us with the photograph I showed Judge Arlow to get the help of the DEA. He was able to snap the picture from his cellular device, which is why it looks so grainy.”

I want to scoff at that bullshit excuse. With the way the retina display is set up for even the most basic of phones, a photo wouldn’t look so old and out of date. There has to be more to it, I know there is.

“And Shane Astor was the attorney on this?” Judge Moss doesn’t sound convinced. “I’ve flagged his cases for the past year looking for other instances of coercion by the motorcycle gang, but everything looks clean. Even this transfer of ownership contract. None of his other cases overlap with any known associates for the,” he pauses for a moment, “Devil’s Mayhem.” There’s the sound of papers shuffling, and I assume Judge Moss is checking over the contract I drew up for Kirk to give up his club.

I’m glad I went through the arduous process of adding clauses that cover my ass, including one that says all parties were there of their own free will. Kirk wasn’t exactly there because he wanted to be, but he agreed to give the nightclub up in exchange for his life and he signed on the dotted line. Why is he now trying to get it back or sink the MC? My contract is legit, so I have nothing to worry about there.

Because of this recent development—Kirk being the one that dropped the anonymous tip—Prez won’t let him live when he gets word that he ratted the MC out.

Judge Moss scoffs. “And why didn’t your contact come forward when he was forced to sell drugs? Why wait until he signed his nightclub over?” There’s silence from the police captain. He probably thought he had adequate evidence, not expecting Judge Moss to be a fucking shark. Should have asked someone else for whatever it is he’s seeking.

After the pause stretches, Judge Moss asks, “What is it you want, Captain? Your first tip was unfounded, since there were no drugs found in the Devil’s Mayhem building of operation. The second tip also failed, and cost almost one hundred thousand dollars of taxpayers’ money on top of that. Why are you soliciting me with my favorite brandy?”

Barely controlling his anger, the chief of police says, “This motorcycle gang is a blight on the community. They don’t belong. They’re selling drugs to the youth and stealing from our citizens.”

“Do you have proof of this? Other than this iron clad contract that states that all parties were there and acted of their own free wills?”

Captain Matthews is quiet again. Judge Moss presses on. “I may not like that this motorcycle club takes up residence within the city limits, but they haven’t broken any laws, far as I am aware. If you have personal feelings about them being here, that’s for you to sort out. Your first warrant was signed because of photos and good faith. There won’t be a second one. I’m sorry I can’t help you, but I won’t bend the law for you or anyone else. The contract you brought forth from Shane Astor is solid. If you see here, he had all parties sign that they were there on their own free will, not under coercion. I’m sure no one is stupid enough to pull a gun on someone when an officer of the court is present.”

Debatable.

Captain Matthews mutters something I can’t quite hear, and Judge Moss replies, “No, I don’t think I will. I won’t review further into his cases.”

I don’t need to hear any more and I don’t want to be caught, since it seems as if the meeting is coming to a close. On quick, but quiet feet, I dart out of the outer office and make my way as quickly as I can down the stairs and out of the building.

When I climb in my car to call Prez and ask if I can come see him, my phone rings in my hand. Chance’s name pops up. I answer quickly. “Hey. You got something for me.”

“I do and it’s the damnedest thing. That photo you sent me? It’s not from our department, or this state even. It’s a photo from a case from about twenty years ago in Virginia. It was a bust for drugs driven in from Georgia. You’ll never guess the rookie officer that was responsible for the bust.”

A lightbulb goes off in my head and I have to commend him for his ingenuity. No one but law enforcement would be able to trace the photo. Who would go digging around or question the word of the police captain? “Let me guess. Captain Matthews.”

Chance chuckles. “You got it. It was about two years before he moved here and started working for Mellbind PD.”

I shake my head, driving in the direction of the clubhouse. I don’t bother to call Prez. “Thanks, Chance.”

“No problem.”

We hang up and I think about all I learned today. Because of Kirk’s snitching, my cases are under review. That answers my question on what the flag is for.

Good thing I don’t mix what I know about the MC with my career. The only time I deviated from that was helping Rax get out of the country.

Now, it seems as if my two lives are converging. It might be time for me to pick a side and stick to it.

Chapter Eighteen

Shane

The gates are opened as soon as I pull up to the headquarters and I hop out, wanting to tell Prez all the information I know. He should know the club has a well-connected enemy.

When I step inside, I immediately see Zeke at the bar, talking to Prez. He looks surprised as his eyes meet mine, but he smiles nonetheless. Even though I need to talk to Prez urgently, I can’t help walking into Zeke’s outstretched arms, kissing him quickly. Zeke is having none of that. He wraps his arms around my waist, tilting my head back so he can pillage my mouth. I gasp at the unexpected show of affection, but I’m not upset by it at all.

I allow the kiss to go on for far longer than it should, but eventually, I pull my mouth from Zeke’s. He grins down at me, appearing genuinely happy that I’m here. “You’re supposed to be at work.”

“Yeah,” I answer breathlessly. His fucking mouth is dangerous and distracting. It takes a few moments for me to remember I came here for a reason.

Stepping away from Zeke’s hard body with effort, I look at Prez. “Can I talk to you for a moment? In private?”

Zeke raises his eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. Prez looks at me, then over at Zeke and shrugs. “Okay. Zeke, you might as well come too.”

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