Tony squints through the windshield. “Tell me that’s not who I think it is.”
“Yeah, it’s them,” I mutter, pulse kicking up a notch. This operation just got more complicated.
Five bikes roll in tight formation, chrome flashing under the streetlight as they circle once and pull up beside the SUV. Every one of them moves like they own the place. As if they’ve done this a hundred times and never had to look over their shoulder. They didn’t rush in or make any sudden moves. Men like them never do. They own the dark, using it as the perfect cover.
The Royal Bastards. The one outlaw club I’ve never been able to touch.
I’d been chasing these fuckers for years before they went underground… drugs, guns, extortion, you name it. Every time I got close, the trail went cold. The last time I thought I had them, I brought in Maverick. Back then he was the VP. Rough, arrogant, and smirked at me through every interrogation. My case was solid with evidence and witnesses. Everything I needed to bust his ass once and for all.
But his old man, the president, pulled strings I didn’t even know existed, and the charges vanished overnight.
Now Maverick’s the one running the show, and has managed to keep the Royal Bastards off the police radar.
Tony whistles low. “Looks like your brother didn’t just wander into the wrong crowd this time.”
“No. He’s walked straight into the lion’s den,” I say, watching Tyrique a little closer.
He glances toward the warehouse door, aware that someone is coming. I lean closer to the monitor on the dash, squinting at the grainy feed. He’s trying to play it cool, but I can see the tremor in his fingers even through the static. He’s trying to look calm, but I know my brother… he’s scared. And he damn well should be.
“Control, be advised… our CI’s meeting with members of the Royal Bastards MC. Repeat, Royal Bastards are on site.”
Sarge’s voice crackles through. “Copy that. You sure it’s them, Detective?”
“Positive,” I say, eyes fixed on Maverick as he steps into the light. He’s a little older now. Harder. But that same cocky grin’s still carved into his face. I’ve waited years to make something stick on him, and tonight might be the night.
“Stay cool, Banks. If he bails, we let him bail. You hear me?”
I nod even though he can’t see it. “Yeah. Copy that, Sarge.” I reply, but this is unexpected. I was prepared to take down two buyers at the most, but it looks like Christmas is coming early this year.
Pressing my finger against the mic, I say,
“Ty, relax. Stop shaking or you’ll give yourself away.”
He nods once, shifting from foot to foot, looking like he’s about to jump out of his skin. My stomach tightens as I watch the screen. Maverick walks in first followed by two of his guys.
“You’re early,” he says, coming through loud and clear on our end. Tyrique swallows hard.
“Yeah… uh, traffic’s light. Figured I’d get it over with,” he stammers.
I wish he would stop fidgeting, but more than likely he’s coming down off a high, and needs another hit.
Maverick doesn’t smile, doesn’t nod, just cuts his eyes toward the two men at his back. It’s quick, but it makes my gut twist. I’ve worked enough of these cases to know what that kind of look means.
Pulling the plain, unmarked package out of his hoodie, Tyrique sets it on a crate, his hands shaking worse now.
“We’ve got movement,” Tony says, shifting forward in his seat.
Following his line of sight, I observe another Bastard rolling up, parking next to the others. Pulling out his phone, he shoots off a quick text. One of the others doesn’t waste time… he bolts for the warehouse door.
“Something’s off,” Tony mutters.
Staring at the monitor, Maverick’s phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, then lifts his eyes to Tyrique. His face hardens as he walks toward my brother, roughly yanking up the hoodie. In one motion, he rips the wire off, crushing it under his boot.
“Snitch.”
I may not have heard the word, but there’s no mistaking what Maverick said. The bottom falls out of my stomach, a cold dread settling deep in my bones.
“Shit!”
