Page 36 of Claimed By the Biker Brothers

“I will. And rest assured, I’ll be back,” Agent Spalding says. He takes the vest, then shoves it back in his bag and leaves a card on the table.

Diesel looks unimpressed. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“I’ll enjoy slapping the cuffs on you, in particular,” the agent replies, then walks off.

Silence falls heavily in his wake. I feel as though I can even breathe again once he’s out of the clubhouse.

“What the fuck was that?” I ask, exhaling sharply.

“That was definitely our patchwork,” Knox frowns.

Diesel’s lips curl with genuine disgust. “Either somebody’s trying to frame the Riders or we’ve got a dirty fucker in our ranks.”

Either way, we can’t let this go without an investigation.

11

Knox

“Shit’s getting real,” I tell the lieutenants as soon as we’re all gathered in the upstairs office. My stomach churns as I say words I’d hoped I’d never have to say again. “The DEA is looking to burn us. We can’t let that happen, not after all the hard work we put into turning the MC legit.”

I get a flurry of nods and murmurs of agreement from the six men present.

Jagger and Diesel keep exchanging glances while Samson and Paulie stare at the desk. Jonas and Pedro are the youngest in our crew. They weren’t even prospects when we kicked Calvin out. Back then, the club was still cutting ties with the Hughes family, so they don’t remember life in the Rogue Riders when we were still running drugs and guns for various gangs in the region. But they’re also the most motivated to make sure we keep things that way.

“I joined the Riders because you were doing solid business,” Jonas says, his jaw muscle ticking furiously. “Supporting the local economy, giving people jobs in a time when jobs were hard to come by.”

“We’re still doing that,” I say.

“Then one of us went off book,” Jonas replies.

“Or it’s a con,” Samson cuts in. “Someone using our patches to throw us under the bus. As far as I know, we’ve got good men and women running this club, fellas. We’re all making good money out of it while feeding our passion for hogs and the open road. This doesn’t feel right.”

“So you think we’re being framed?” Paulie asks with a furrowed brow. “Why does it seem so strange that one of our guys might’ve done some moonlighting for a drug dealer?”

“I’m not outright rejecting the premise. I just find it hard to believe,” Samson says, giving him a hard look. “Remember how thorough we were with the background checks on everybody after what happened with Calvin?”

“He was a liability from the moment he joined the club, and it only got worse after we kicked him out,” I remind them, leaning back in my seat. I don’t feel comfortable in this room anymore. Something’s changed. My haven has been marred. “But he wasn’t even the worst of us. We kicked several members out after he went down for manslaughter.”

Diesel nods once. “And we recruited new folks with clean records. People who believed in our mission, who wanted something better for Redwood and the entire fucking district. We’ve got deputies and former Federal agents within our ranks, man. Who could’ve done this?”

“They need to analyze the patches on that vest,” Pedro cuts in, thumbs already tapping on his phone. “I’ve got a buddy in the DEA’s Portland field office lab. I’ll send him one of our own for comparison. And if they can’t hack it, Jonas has friends at Quantico. Someone’s gotta be able to tell us if the patches are original Rogue Rider stuff.”

“The best they can do is identify the artist who made them. We still need to do the legwork,” I tell them. “At the end of the day, anybody can reproduce the patches if they want to. Most people know it’s a dumb thing to do, but if their goal is to fuck us over, well…”

“What do we do then?” Jonas asks.

I gaze out the window for a moment. I think I liked this office better when it was just us and Robyn. The door locked. Making crazy love and ignoring whatever was going on outside of this room. The real world is calling, though. And our ability to protect Robyn, to be with her, depends on our ability to protect the club from the incoming shitstorm.

“Jonas, Pedro, you two ride out and find Nunzio Davila,” I say. “He lives in Portland. Samson will fetch you the details. He’s the one who designed and custom-made every single insignia and patch for the club.”

“Nunzio was made an honorary Rogue Rider forty years ago, when our fathers revamped the club and the logos and everything.” Jagger nods in agreement. “If anybody can tell us something, it’s him. I know he keeps a record of every patch he’s ever made, including the newer batches.”

“We only saw the patches when Spalding brought the vest over,” Diesel says, then looks at Pedro. “You need to talk to your DEA lab buddy, have him send you some high-definition photos of the vest and the patches so Nunzio can see for himself.”

Samson gets up from his armchair. “Knox.”

“Yeah?”

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