Page 51 of Claimed By the Biker Brothers

“There’s a rogue Rider out there then?” He sounds just as confused as I am.

“Terry, do you swear on your life you’re telling us the truth?” I ask. “I can still come in there…”

“No, don’t. I swear! Ask Harlan. Harlan… fuck, what was his last name?”

“I know Harlan, relax,” I say.

Knox points a furious finger at him. “What did you tell Spalding about the club? What does he know, Terry? There’s a reason the DEA is knocking on our door, you sorry piece of shit.”

“I didn’t say a word. I just asked for a lawyer. I’ve been here ever since.”

“What did your lawyer advise?”

He shrugs slightly. “To keep my mouth shut until he can work out a deal, like I said. I guess they wanna flip me or my buddy. I don’t know. Or maybe they don’t have enough to go on. I’m telling you, the boss, the guy we dealt with, he was super cautious, like really paranoid. We never even saw him, man.”

And that doesn’t bode well for us.

This is organized crime on a whole new level, and somebody went to great lengths to implicate us. It makes my blood boil as I try to think of a way out of this mess. We’ll tear Harlan to shreds if we have to. We know where to find him.

But I’ve got a feeling there’s a lot more brewing under the surface.

Spalding is playing his cards close to his chest.

16

Jagger

Diesel, Knox, and I gather outside the Hughes mansion. For two days, we’ve been trying to find this Harlan dude to no avail. We were due to confront Marlo anyway. I would’ve liked more ammunition than what we’re packing, though.

“Robyn and Kyra are with Samson,” I tell the guys as we park in front of the massive wrought iron gate and get off our bikes. Beyond the gate, a driveway unravels toward the Hughes mansion—one of Redwood’s precious historical buildings. “The old guy’s keeping an eye on the house. So far, it’s been quiet.”

Knox points to several cars lined up outside the mansion. “By the looks of it, Marlo’s definitely home along with some of her known associates.”

“Our buddy kept his word,” Diesel smiles. “Nobody knows we paid Terry a visit. So far, so good. How are we doing this?”

“Through the front door like normal people,” Knox replies dryly.

Diesel gives him an understandable frown while also checking that his gun has a full clip in it before he holsters it under his leather jacket. I do the same. “No way I’m going in there naked,” Diesel says.

“I’d rather we didn’t have weapons, but I get it,” Knox sighs, showing us his Glock for good measure.

“We’re just talking,” I say. “There’s no telling what their reaction will be.”

Knox flashes his most sardonic grin. “Yeah, especially after the pounding you gave Calvin.”

“Zero regrets.”

“Hell, I’d give you a medal,” Knox says. “It was justified.”

“How’s Robyn handling the whole thing?” Diesel asks.

I offer a shrug in return. “I know as much as you do. She’s keeping most of it to herself as you’ve already noticed. There’s something, though. I don’t know what. I can’t put my finger on it. But there’s something she’s not telling us.”

“We’ll handle it when the time comes. Right now, we’ve got a nasty fish to fry,” Diesel says.

We head to the gate and press the intercom button, our eyes scanning the entire property until someone answers. The Hughes mansion was erected sometime in the early 1800s in lieu of the original settler’s building—they were also Hughes people, but they tore the farmhouse down and decided to go high class after making a fortune from slavery and tobacco. This place carries a heavy, dark, and loaded history.

“Name?” a voice crackles through the intercom.

---