Prologue

PROLOGUE

F ederal 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.”

“The truth is, even without the patched MC cut, your friend has the biker look, but you…”

Barron groaned. The comment was getting really old. He’d been ribbed and harassed during his prospect days in the Spawn’s South Florida chapter until he earned his patch and every day since. At the moment, his leather jacket showing Spawn colors folded neatly at his side was a sign to the world of his MC allegiance, but the tactical slacks and long-sleeved Henley he wore were a stark contrast to Johnny G’s head scarf, torn jeans, scraggly beard, and washed-out T-shirt.

Fuck ’em all. This was his style, and he wasn’t changing.

“I know. I hear it all the time. ‘Too clean-cut.’” Barron made air quotes.

“Well, you are,” Joseph said .

“Silence in the courtroom!” The command from the bench put an end to their hushed conversation. Judge Ferguson had finished studying his documents and was now engaged in a staring contest with the redheaded woman who refused to sit. “Enough of this.” In a soft voice, he spoke to his clerk. “Matthews. Please have the lady removed from my courtroom.”

Barron watched open-mouthed as two court officers approached. Folks sitting in her row scrambled out of the way. Fighting back, she swung with clawlike hands at the officers.

“Bastards. I’m not leaving!” she shouted, then she reached with both arms over the row, trying to hold Nails. “They’re going to pay for what they’ve done, brother. I swear. These fucks aren’t getting away with this.”

Startled, Nails stood, but his attorney yanked him down to his seat, whispering something in his ear.

One of the deputies slid into the row. Getting a good hold of the screeching woman, he pulled her by the arm. She still struggled as the other officer grasped her under her free arm. Having gained control of the fighting woman, the officers forcibly walked her to the hallway. In her absence, a thick silence filled the room.

Huffing, Barron sat back against his seat and folded his arms.

“What’s got you all twisted up?” Joseph asked.

“I couldn’t see her face. Shit.”

“So?”

“I can’t explain it. From the moment I saw her make a fuss, I’ve had this feeling in my gut, kinda like a warning, that it was important to see and remember her face, but with all that struggling, it’s been impossible.”

Joseph shrugged. “I had a good look out on the hallway, and she ain’t a peach. Except for that wild red hair, her looks ain’t nothing to write home about. Now pay attention.” He waved to the bench. “Judge is about to pass sentence. ”

Judge Ferguson gave a signal to proceed, and without delay, the clerk announced in a clear voice. “Will the defendants rise?”

Though all five men had their backs turned to Barron, their posture was tense. An air of fear and anxiety floated about them. And with good reason, Barron thought. He’d researched Judge Ferguson. Known for his adherence to the law and hard stance, this judge had been appointed for life to the bench by the previous presidential administration and confirmed by the Senate. He was so confident in his position that he didn’t worry about naysayers.

Judge Ferguson began a lengthy anticrime speech about the breakdown of moral and ethical behavior in today’s society, the difference between right and wrong, on and on… Barron, bored to tears, ignored it until Johnny G stiffened. It was coming. Ferguson’s stern voice rang out as he sentenced all five men to twenty years behind bars due to aggravating circumstances. He left the door open for possible parole around the fifteen-year mark for good behavior.

What were the chances, Barron wondered, that these hardened men would play nice in the joint?

The defendants were removed, the judge departed for his chambers, and the courtroom emptied out, leaving a strange silence behind.

Barron mumbled goodbye to Joseph, then walked out with Johnny G. The hallway was quiet. No stragglers lingered to gossip or compare notes, but at the outside steps of the building, it was a beehive of activity. The press surrounded the redheaded lady and one defense attorney. Even if he pushed through, Barron couldn’t get close enough to get a better look at her. Meanwhile, amid a barrage of questions from the press, she shouted into a bunch of mikes shoved at her.

“Today, an innocent man was railroaded and sentenced unfairly,” she thundered. “But this judge and the rival MC responsible for this injustice will pay. Mark my words! ”

“Shit. She ain’t letting it go,” Barron muttered as he and Johnny Gun rushed unnoticed past the mob.

“No kidding, man. I’m afraid we haven’t seen the last of her.”

“Nope. Blade has to know,” Barron said as they ran across the street to the parking lot where they’d left their bikes. He couldn’t get back home fast enough.