He snorts. “You’re in a fantastic mood.”
“What do you need?”
“Wondering where you are,” he says, the words garbled like he’s got food in his mouth.
My stomach does another uncomfortable twist. I jerk my phone away from my ear to check the time. It’s only three thirty. Still got plenty of time to work out, shower, eat, get to the station before shift, and then?—
Oh.
Shit. What day is it? Shit.Shit.
“Fuck.” I jump to my feet and stumble to the window, then throw open my blackout curtains. “They start yet?” I ask, squinting as my eyes adjust to the afternoon sun.
“Nope. But you better get here quick. Wells is asking for you.”
“Yeah? And what did you tell him?” I put my phone on speaker as I rifle through the pile of laundry on my bedroomfloor. I find my shirt and pants, then pull off my sweat-soaked T-shirt and pull on a clean white undershirt.
“That you’re on the shitter. All-you-can-eat buffet at Cooter’s last night.”
I scoff. “Nice, Miller.”
He chuckles. “Just get here. Briefing starts at four.” A second later, the line goes dead.
I shove my phone into my wrinkled pants, then key in the code to my safe and pull out my gun and badge. Time check. Twenty minutes. Of all the fucking days.
Shirt buttoned and gun holstered to my belt, I dart into the bathroom. I swirl a capful of mouthwash, then throw water on my face and rake the excess through my hair to tame a few rogue strands. I need a shower. And a shave. I look like shit. The chief is gonna have my ass when I show up looking like this.
My bike is waiting for me in the driveway. Sleek jet-black body, gleaming chrome exhaust. Just as I’m about to kick my leg over my machine, I pause. Last time I drove this thing to work, the chief almost levelled me.It’s not appropriate,he’d said, because someone might confuse me with one ofthem.As if the only kind of man who rides a motorcycle in this town is the kind that keeps his hands bloody and a gun at his back.
I adjust the Glock holstered tight to my side, then straddle my bike and tug on my helmet.
Fuck it. And fuck the chief.
With the turn of the key and twist of the throttle, I crank the ignition, and the engine roars to life. I take another one of those big, deep breaths. I push Emily out of my head. The dreams, the accident, all the shit that came after. I let the bike shake and rumble until it’s the only thing I feel—the thunder in my chest, the vibration working its way into my bones.
Time check. Ten minutes.
Fuuuuuuck.
I kick off and rip down the road. With some maneuvering and a little speed, I make it to the station at 3:59, though Chief Wells is already talking when I slide into the back of the briefing room.
“I expectfullcooperation,” he says, voice booming as he zeroes in on me. He sneers. “Decker. Tummy troubles all sorted?”
The entirety of the South Bay Police Department turns to stare at me, along with the front row of uniformed Ontario Provincial Police officers. The unit we’re meant tocooperatewith.
In my periphery, Miller sniggers.
Irritation pricks at my neck, but I keep my face neutral and my tone even. “Yes, sir.”
The chief runs a fat hand over his greying mustache. “Good,” he says, readjusting his focus on the rest of the room. “The BEU is here to help. This is a joint effort, but they willbe taking point. And wewilllet them lead.”
Wells adjusts his belt, pulling it up high over his gut as he sticks his thumbs beneath the strip of leather on either side of his buckle and does his best to puff out his chest. It’s a reminder that he’s still in charge around here, despite the OPP takeover.
He nods at the tall man to his left. “Morgan, you’re up.”
“Thank you, Chief Wells. Afternoon, everyone,” the man says as he swaggers to the podium. His tie is tight to his throat, his face clean shaven, his hair mostly grey with hints of black. “My name is Detective Inspector Charlie Morgan. Most of you know who we are and why we’re here, but so there’s no confusion, I’ll explain.” He motions to the screen behind him, where the OPP logo has appeared. “The Biker Enforcement Unit’s key directive is to monitor, disrupt, and dismantle the inner workings of organized crime groups, specifically outlaw motorcycle gangs.”
He clicks a small remote, and the picture on the screen changes.
