Page 44 of Rio's Release

“How?” he bites out.

“We’ve got something on all of them, too.”

His mouth drops open. “All of them?”

“Yep. And if you’re thinking the DA will back you if you make a move, forget it. He won’t be touching us with a ten-foot pole. Any charges you try to make, he’ll refuse to prosecute.”

“How is that possible? That guy wouldn’t hesitate to get a shot at you. He’s running for re-election next year.”

“Every man has his kryptonite. We found them all, even his. Now we make the rules, and you sit back and collect your paycheck and live your life quietly. You’re up for retirement in two years. I wouldn’t do anything to fuck that up now.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You try to make any waves, you won’t live to see the sunrise. Understand?”

His jaw locks, and he glares at me.

My voice drops low. “I said, do you understand?”

He jerks his head in agreement.

We take his ammo so he can’t shoot us in the back on the way out, then leave, slipping out as quietly as we came.

“That was fun,” Zig says, grinning from behind the wheel.

I point down the road. “Let’s go find Deputy Dumbass. I can’t wait to show him the photos you found on his laptop. The ones of him dressed in women’s underwear.”

“And he named the file Victor’s Secret,” Zig snorts. “He really is a dumbass.”

“I’m just glad we didn’t find any child pornography. I’d have to put a bullet in his brain, and that would fuck up our plan.” I watch the businesses flash by as we drive across town.

By the end of the night, we’ll have both deputies and the district attorney blackmailed. Tomorrow is going to be a fucking fantastic day.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

They’ll Know Our Name

Rio—

We’re on our bikes and in our colors as we head into town, and damn, it feels good. Mauler, our Road Captain, is on my left, our VP Zig and Treasurer Bandit behind us. Pulling up the rear are Blue, our Sgt at Arms, and Bagger, our Enforcer.

As we approach the city limits, I spot a woman on the side of the road with a flat. Raising my arm, I signal, and we ease to the shoulder ahead of the car.

“Everyone stays on their bikes,” I order, yanking my helmet off and dismounting. “Bagger, come with me.”

When we approach, the woman has pulled some mace from her purse and aims it at us.

“Stay away from me,” she shouts, backing away.

I lift a hand. “Easy, sweetheart. We stopped to help you with the tire. Why don’t you step over there and let us do it?”

She retreats to the side of the road a good ten feet and watches nervously while Bagger makes short work of switching her tire for the spare. In a matter of minutes, he’s rolling the flat to the rear and hefting it into the trunk.

“Looks like you picked up a nail, ma’am. If you take it somewhere, they should be able to patch it,” he tells her.

The woman stares.

Bagger walks to his bike.

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