Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
“The more I hear, the more I’m not likin’ this,” Hawk muttered.
“None of your members have to be involved,” Crew assured them.
“Then who the fuck will be involved?” Zak asked.
Fletch took a step forward, feeling like a sacrificial lamb. “That would be me.”
All six eyeballs at the opposite end of the table zeroed in on him.
Zak’s head tipped to the side and his blue eyes narrowed. “How’s he gonna do that?”
“By blending in.”
“Really not likin’ this,” Hawk muttered again.
“How’s he blendin’ in? He’s a fuckin’,” Zak visibly swallowed down what he was going to say and replaced it with, “cop.”
“Here we go,” Fletch heard Jamison warn under his breath. “Brace.”
Zak’s eyes flicked to his younger brother before going back to Crew, who explained, “By wearing your colors.”
Fletch did what Jamison said. He braced for the detonation.
“By wearin’ our goddamn colors?” Diesel roared. “What the actual fuck? Axhole never got to wear our colors. Never will. The fuck if any of you shitbags will, either.”
Hawk shook his head. “It’s like us holdin’ open the door to the hen house an’ welcomin’ the fox inside. Fuckin’ hate the idea.”
Zak said nothing. His gaze bounced from Crew to Finn to Cross, then paused on Jamison. It finally landed on Fletch, where it stuck. Fletch met his eyes across the length of the table and held them.
The DAMC’s presidents jaw shifted. Then shifted again.
Both of them tuned out the grumbling coming from the men flanking Zak, and instead, remained focused on each other.
Fletch wasn’t sure if he was being challenged or if the man was trying to see deep into Fletch’s soul. Because of that, he didn’t move, didn’t blink and certainly didn’t look away.
Now would not be an ideal time to show any sign of weakness. Perceived or otherwise.
Zak tapped the length of his left ring finger on the table, his wide black wedding band rapping against the wood. “Whatcha know about MCs?”
“I’ve been riding with the BAMC for years. Ever since your father was prez. Now your brother’s my president.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Don’t mean goddamn shit! You all are nothin’ but fuckin’ wannabe bikers who don’t got the balls to do it right. Need to hide behind your fuckin’ tiny shields.”
Both he and Zak ignored Diesel’s outburst and remained focused on their own conversation.
Tap. Tap. “How long you been ridin’?” Tap.
“Since I got my license at seventeen.”
Tap. “What kinda sled you got?” Tap. Tap.
“Custom Fat Boy.”
Tap. “That what you’d be ridin’ with us?”
“Z!” Diesel bellowed like a bull whose balls got slammed in a gate.
“No. Feds will provide a…” What the hell. When in Rome… “sled for me. One untraceable back to them.”
Tap. “A hog?” Zak asked, his ring finger hovering over the table.
Fletch nodded as Diesel bellowed, “You ain’t actually fuckin’ considerin’ this!”
Zak continued to ignore the shitstorm swirling next to him. “Ain’t scared of the shit we’re gonna give you? ‘Cause we ain’t gonna spare your fuckin’ feelin’s.”
“If I was worried about that, I wouldn’t be here.” And there was no lie in that answer.
“We do this, we’ll have terms. You don’t stick to them—”
“You die,” Diesel boomed.
“Jesus fuck,” Zak muttered, shaking his head. “Won’t die, but might wish you had.”
Fletch nodded. “Understood. You give me respect, I’ll give it in return.”
He did not miss Hawk’s amused smirk when Fletch mentioned the mutual respect.
Tap. “You’d come in as a prospect?”
“No. Fully-patched member.”
Diesel slammed his hand on the table making the gavel laying by Zak’s right hand jump an inch in the air. Fletch was surprised the wood top didn’t split.
Since the DAMC president was now actually entertaining the idea of allowing Fletch to go undercover with them, he figured he’d better let him know he wouldn’t be alone. “I’ll also need a cut for my ol’ lady. We can get them made, but we’ll need the patches. You’ll get those back once we’re done with them.”
“Ol’ lady?” Diesel roared.
Fletch continued as if the big man wasn’t thrashing around in his seat, in the middle of having a terrible twos tantrum. “One of our TFOs will be my partner.”
“TFO?” Zak asked, now spinning that wedding band with his thumb.
Him fiddling with his ring made Fletch believe Zak Jamison was thinking of his wife and kids. It could be that his first priority was looking out for them, instead of his own club.
If so, that might be what would save this proposition.
“Task force officer.”
He nodded. “What’s she?”
“FBI.”
“You?”
“State trooper.”
Zak tugged on his bearded chin as he considered Fletch, while still not paying attention to the two brothers flanking him as they kept trying to interject their opinion on the matter.
It was like he and Zak were the only two in the room. Maybe it would have been better to talk to the man one on one.
Too late for that now.
They already had their boot in the door, now they just needed to keep it there. And somehow not fuck it up. Especially when things might be going their way.