Page 1 of Barron

PROLOGUE

Federal Court, Atlanta, Georgia.

“All rise! The Honorable R. Ferguson, Judge, presiding.”

The clerk’s announcement hushed the droning murmur of voices in the courtroom, but an air of tense expectation floated like a heavy dark cloud, ready to unleash a nasty thunderstorm on everyone present.

As Barron stood, he shoved the dozing Johnny Gun on the shoulder. “Wake up, man,” he whispered. His best friend stumbled to his feet, rubbing a fist over his eyes. Johnny Gun had the uncanny ability to fall asleep anytime, anywhere.

Judge Ferguson, a tall man somewhere in his fifties with a shiny bald head that resembled a billiard ball, stepped out of his chambers. With a swish of long black robes, he stood behind his bench, frowning at the audience. Actually, closer to a glaring message:“Behave or else.”

In a few moments, the lengthy ordeal, which had begun with the arrest of several members of the infamous Sons of Chaos MC for human and drug trafficking, would reach an end. The hard work of Garden City Junior Detective Emily Mayhew and Devils’ Spawn enforcer Cutter Zejak had yielded the solid evidence and timely information that allowed the police to intercept an illegal delivery of human cargo and drugs before it hit the streets.

As a result, the outlaw MC—with ties to the Oquendo crime cartel—was arrested at Garden City’s Main Warehouse in the act of picking up a cargo container shipped from South America. When the authorities opened the shipping container, they found a stable of women inside in terrible physical condition who were slated for sexual servitude, in addition to large quantities of uncut cocaine and fentanyl with an estimated street value in the millions.

The Chaos’s senior leadership fought back and perished during the raid. But Nails, one of the club’s cruelest and bloodiest lieutenants, escaped. A week later, Nails and his close buddies were picked up cowering in a hideout after a Chaos member arrested at the raid made a sweet immunity deal. Turning stool pigeon, the dude sang every detail of the club’s businesses and safehouse locations.

The high-profile trial—plagued by issues with witnesses and jurors, unexpected ploys from an excellent defense team that, some folks believed, the Oquendo cartel had secretly retained, and disruptions from the audience—went beyond the original timeline. Despite the delays, the jury delivered the hoped-for guilty verdict after less than a day of deliberations.

To protect the investigators’ identities as much as possible, Judge Ferguson allowed Emily and Cutter to testify in closed court. But as soon as the judge gave them leave, the couple drove home to another state.

Nevertheless, the Chaos had invaded Devils’ Spawn territory,and the MC had a strong interest in the outcome of the trial. With Cutter and Emily gone, at least one of their own had to be present. Barron and Johnny G volunteered to attend the sentencing and report back whatever transpired to Blade, the Spawn president, and the guys in the club.

Judge Ferguson tapped his gavel and sat down to shuffle the docket documents before him. Everyone in the courtroom quietly followed suit, except for a woman with flaming-red hair who refused to sit down.

This woman had been a constant disruptor during the trial, and her preferred seat was the front row, right behind the defense and the accused. The judge had kicked her out and cited her for contempt, but she returned defiant and unconcerned with the repercussions.

Nudged by a strange internal warning, Barron attempted to see the woman’s face, but she kept it carefully hidden under hoodies or scarves. Unless he walked over and faced her, there was no way to see her features.

“Oh, great. Judge is gonna empty the courtroom again,” an elderly gentleman sitting next to Barron protested in a low voice.

“Maybe he’ll ignore her this time,” Barron commented. There was no need for explanations. He knew the guy was talking about the red-haired problem.

“I doubt it.” The man shook his head. “Judge’s a stickler for procedure. And for sure, she ain’t stopping.”

The man spoke with such certainty that Barron’s curiosity was piqued. “Why wouldn’t she?”

The elderly man arched a thick silver eyebrow at him. “Don’t ya know?”

“Know what?”

“She’s the sister of one of the accused. The guy sitting in the middle.”

Barron craned his neck to look at the table. “She’s Nails’s sister? You’re kidding me, right?”

“I’m not. I was sipping my coffee out in the hallway, close enough to overhear her and one of the defense attorneys talking. They saw me and could’ve walked away, but I guess they didn’t think I could hurt their case.” He shrugged. “They’re right. I can’t. From the conversation, I can tell you she’s Nails’s sister, all right. And she came to do battle. By the way, I’m Joseph.” He extended his hand.

Smiling, Barron shook it. “I’m Barron. Next to me is my friend Johnny Gun. We’re members of the Devils’ Spawn MC. We’re not wearing our colors because we wanted to keep a low profile.”

“You both are?”

Johnny G gave a soft chuckle. “Here we go.”

“Shut it, dude.” Barron jabbed him in the side.

“What did I say?” Joseph glanced at the smirking Johnny Gun.

“Ignore him,” Barron said. “Being a wiseass is his natural state.”

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