Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

B arron drove his truck into the station parking lot. Same as he had on Saturday, he pulled up his hoodie and tilted the cap’s bill down, shadowing his face. A cop or a clerk would have to go through the trouble of looking up the truck’s license plate to identify him. He stopped in front of the entrance.

“Are we early enough?” he asked.

“Perfect. Most of the staff doesn’t come in for another hour. The office should be quiet. I want to get a head start. There’s lots to do.”

“Same arrangement as the other day, Nugget. Call or text, and I’ll pick you up whenever you’re ready. Will you talk to the captain?”

“I have to.” She smiled. “I need more clothing from my place. I hope the investigation is over and we’re allowed to go in.”

“That’s right, we are allowed to go in. ’Cause you’re going nowhere alone, babe.”

Yoanni giggled. “Exactly what I thought you’d say.” She threw him a discreet air kiss and opened the door. “See you later.”

“Have a good day and be careful, all right? I don’t care if you’re in a police station. Keep your eyes and ears open, and order in for lunch. Don’t go out alone or with one of the girls. Not until this guy is picked up.”

“I’ll be careful, Daddy.” Smiling, she slid down, closed the door, and waved.

Barron drove off, and she entered the station, her soul brimming with warm, fuzzy feelings. A stark contrast to the sharp anxiety and doubts that had riddled her when she came from Miami. Barron loved her. He’d demonstrated his affection in ways no one could deny, including suffering a blow to the back of his head. Still, they had to figure out some details. With a little honesty and open communication, they would sail right through any problems.

Humming a tune from a popular singer she’d heard on the way over, Yoanni walked through the station’s receiving area. It was quiet at the moment. She wiggled her fingers at the officer on duty behind the shatterproof plexiglass divider, tapped her code into the side door’s lock, and pulled it open.

Officer Durbin waved at her. “Wait, Miss Sanz. Before you go to the back…”

“Yes, Officer Durbin?” she said.

“This came for you.” He lifted a crumpled brown paper bag. The top edges were rolled down.

Now, he piqued her curiosity. “For me?” She stepped closer.

“Yes, ma’am. A boy dropped it off less than fifteen minutes ago.”

“How strange.” She frowned. “I’m not expecting anything. Are you sure he said it was for me?”

“I’m sure, ma’am. He gave your name and the captain’s.”

He left his spot behind the plexiglass, holding the bottom of the bag. She tried to open the top, but he moved the bag away.

“Hold on. Does the bag look familiar to you? Did you leave it in a store or someplace else and forgot? ”

“No.” She shook her head. “Did the boy say anything? Did he give you a name? Was he alone?”

“He came in and inquired about you. Miss Yoanni Sanz, Captain Weaver’s assistant. I told him you weren’t in yet. He asked if he could leave it on your desk. When I said no, he shrugged and put it on the counter. He didn’t seem too interested in the bag or bothered that you hadn’t arrived. When I pressed him, he said a nice man had paid him ten dollars to deliver the bag. I suppose I should’ve pushed him harder. Do you mind if I take a quick peek?”

“If you think it’s safe.”

The officer carefully pulled the opening aside. “Well, so far, it’s nothing but old pens, used pencils… I see a couple of pads, paperclips, and a couple of boxes of staples.”

Eyes wide, she glanced at the officer. “Oh my God.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Those things were taken from my desk.” Sighing, Yoanni gave him a quick rundown of her return from Miami and the items missing from her desk. “I’ll take the bag. Even though I’ve replaced most of the stuff that’s inside, I’m not going to throw away anything that works.”

Frowning, Officer Durbin drew the bag out of her reach. “I don’t like how this sounds, Miss Sanz. Your items disappear, and now a strange boy drops them off like it’s no big deal. My mistake, I should’ve kept the boy until you or the captain arrived. I want to take a closer look, but not in the building.” Holding the bag at arm’s length, he walked from his post toward the exit. Yoanni followed him.

Two officers coming from the parking lot crossed paths with Yoanni and Durbin. One had the probation vibe all over him; the second officer had been around awhile.

“What are you doing with that supermarket bag, Durbin?” the older officer asked.

“Checking the contents, Murray,” he replied.

“For a delayed explosive?” The probationer chuckled. “The way you’re handling it, the thing should’ve detonated already.”

Durbin scowled. Obviously, he didn’t care for the comment. “There’s a time and place for everything, probationer. I don’t want to hear your wisecracks. Make yourself useful and bring me some scissors. Now.”

The new officer winced. “Where am I supposed to find scissors?”

“Not my problem,” Durbin growled. “Buy a pair if you have to.”

“The kid has a point,” Murray said when the probationer ran off. “An explosive device would’ve gone off already. What do you suspect?”

“This thing was delivered for Miss Sanz. Ever heard of delayed release? An item contains a noxious substance that could be acid or poison. One touch, and the substance releases on your face and hands. Very nasty. I’d rather check first and not be sorry.”

“I’ll help you,” Murray said.

“Thanks.” As Durbin and Murray headed for the parking lot, he turned to Yoanni. “Stay here, Miss Sanz. We’ll check it out.”

“I don’t want you or anyone else to get hurt,” she said, clasping her hands.

After listening to his explanation, she feared for the officers’ safety and was grateful for Durbin’s precautions. As innocuous as it seemed in its humble presentation, the arrival of the bag was a new reminder she was in someone’s crosshairs. One more message intended to keep the tension high and keep her looking over her shoulder. Maybe there was nothing harmful in the bag, and that was part of the mind fuck. On the other hand, she might have searched through the contents and… She shivered, thinking of the possibility of acid eating up her skin.

“Found scissors,” the probationer sped past her, scissors in hand. He joined Durbin and Murray in the parking lot. Together, all three moved toward the farthest corner, where no one liked to park, and put the bag on the ground.

They were too far away for her to overhear the conversation, but she could easily see as Durbin cut the bag down the middle, then stood to the side in case of an unwarranted forward release. Murray, standing behind, separated the cut paper. Some of the contents spilled out.

“Miss Sanz.”

Yoanni jumped. Captain Weaver should be in his office, not standing behind her. “Oh, hello, Captain.”

“What are you staring at, and why is Durbin’s post unoccupied?”

“Umm… Officer Durbin is helping me. He’s over there.” She pointed to the three officers. Murray was putting on his gloves to examine the contents. “Maybe you shouldn’t do that.” She whispered the warning as if Murray could hear her.

“Say again?” Weaver bent closer. “Murray shouldn’t do what, Miss Sanz? What’s going on?”

“Well, before I arrived, a kid delivered a bag for me. Turns out, all the items missing from my desk are in the bag. Officer Durbin was concerned something harmful could be in there, so?—”

“Durbin, Murray, stop!” shouting, Weaver strode toward them. “Don’t touch another thing.” The officers glanced up and nodded.

Squinting at the four men talking and gesturing at the bag, Yoanni crossed her arms. Her curious side wanted to get closer and listen to the discussion, but she also knew the moment she stepped one foot into the parking lot, Captain Weaver would have a conniption.

“Good morning.”

She recognized Officer Billings’s voice. He and three officers exited past Durbin’s post. Turning, she gave him a little wave. “Good morning. Daily briefing over?”

Billings tapped his forehead. “Yes, ma’am. We’re heading out.”

“Hey, what gives?” said one of Billings’s companions. He’d noticed the situation in the parking lot.

Before she could explain, all four officers took off to join Captain Weaver and company. In a quiet town like Garden City, the idea of danger was a powerful lure.

Yoanni shrugged. Whatever had triggered Captain Weaver to act the way he did had to be significant. She hoped he would bring her up to date later. Meanwhile, her time as an observer had to end. She had a mountain of paperwork waiting on her desk. Might as well get her day started, because staying past five today was a no-go item on her list. She glanced at her watch. Shit, eight forty-five already?

She returned to the door and reentered her code.

“Yoanni, wait,” Betty called out, and Yoanni let out a long breath. Her newfound friend approached from the parking lot in a hurry.

Fate conspired against Yoanni. Catching up on her work wasn’t in the cards. Steadying her expression to appear calm, she waited for Betty to join her, which didn’t take long.

Talking nonstop, Betty embraced her in a slightly over-the-top bear hug. “Oh my goodness. What’s the deal with the bag? Did you get hurt? I hope not.” Betty released her but held her arms as she glanced from one side to the other, checking her for injuries. “No. I see you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” Yoanni said, close to losing her patience.

What was the matter with everyone this morning?

Gently, Yoanni removed Betty’s hands from her arms. But as she turned to grab the door, Betty shoved her aside with a strength that surprised her, punched in the code, and rushed into the main hallway .

“It’s almost nine. I have to clock in,” she exclaimed by way of apology. “I don’t want to get into trouble. But not you. You’re the captain’s assistant. The clock doesn’t exist for you. Lucky girl.”

Yoanni stopped, watching the young woman dash to the time recorder. That was the second time Betty had made a snide remark about her position. Too bad. Yoanni had paid her dues to get here and wouldn’t apologize for whatever perks came with it.

Something else too…a faint detail didn’t quite track. Seemed odd when it popped, but she lost it in the commotion. Later, she would remember. She always did.

Barron strode through his place, discarding the sweats, hoodie, and cap he wore on the drive to drop off Yoanni. He’d agreed to spend the day buttoning up the agency for opening day and wanted to change. He didn’t care if Shifter and the other guys wore ratty jeans and shirts. That wasn’t his style. Standing in his boxer shorts, he rummaged through his closet, searching for business casual clothes. As he finished dressing, his phone dinged with a text from Johnny Gun.

Get to the clubhouse. Now.

What’s up?

Johnny G replied quickly.

Deacon wants to see you.

Be right there.

Frowning, Barron dropped his phone into the side pocket of his cargo pants—it was a mystery to him how guys carried their phones in their jeans. He took his gun out of the nightstand’s drawer, where he’d stored it overnight—he didn’t want to worry Yoanni—stuffed it in the back of his waistband, and pulled his Henley over it.

Wondering what the Dalton prez could want with him, he took the last gulp of coffee, picked up his keys and wallet, and walked out to the garage. He hesitated a moment between taking the bike or the truck, but if he and Yoanni were stopping at her place for clothes, the truck was a better option. After tapping the garage opener, he hopped in behind the wheel and pulled into the street. As he merged into traffic, any questions he had about Deacon Lennox were pushed aside.

Rush hour was over. Barron reached the clubhouse in ten minutes. He led the truck past the new gate—the front yard had undergone significant improvements—to a space allocated for larger vehicles, and parked.

He ran up the steps into the clubhouse and walked in. Considering the number of bikes outside, he expected to find the room busy. It was empty. Would Blade call everyone to church without including Barron?

Nah.

Barron started to type a text to Johnny G when the muted discussion reached him, which meant closed doors. He went after them, stopped before Blade’s office, and walked inside without knocking.

Fuck ’em.

“Good. You’re here. Join the party.” Blade’s tone dripped with sarcasm. He waved at Barron from behind his desk. “Find a spot. I hope you brought your phone.”

Patting his pants pocket in response, Barron moved to the window next to Johnny Gun and leaned against it. Blade’s office wasn’t large. With the return of Breaker from vacation and the presence of Little Billy, Turbo, Shifter, and Axel, there was nowhere to sit. Deacon stood all by himself, no Isolde, against Blade’s shelves. His combative expression put Barron on alert.

“What the fuck is going on?” he whispered to Johnny G.

“Our friend from the north and a Wolf had a run-in once. It’s all I know.”

“I understand you took the photos Blade showed me.” Deacon stared at him. Felt closer to a glare.

What the fuck is this guy’s problem?

“Yeah, so?”

“Blade said you have more. May I see them?”

Barron narrowed his gaze. Rejecting a brother’s request was considered rude and hostile. Still, he was a possessive fuck and allowed no one near his private property.

“I’ll text everything I have to Blade. He’s seen them before.”

Deacon stiffened at the obvious rebuff, and some of the brother’s murmured in disapproval.

“You’re not being very accommodating, brother,” Deacon said.

“On the contrary. I’m sending Blade what you asked for.”

Deacon arched an eyebrow. “Are you always so possessive?”

“With the important stuff? Fuck, yes.”

“Does that include your woman too?” Deacon smirked.

“Uh-huh.” Barron didn’t buckle under any kind of intimidation, hinted or otherwise, and the Dalton prez didn’t impress him much. He continued in a gentler tone. “My bike, my phone, and most definitely my woman. Touch her and be prepared for the consequences.”

Barron was over the appeasing bullshit. He was in a “push me and you’ll find me” kind of mood. No one spoke as he loaded the images into a text and sent it.

Blade’s phone dinged. Scratching his two-day beard, he scrolled through the images and lifted his eyes. “Are we finished with the pissing contest?” He smiled at the group. “You should take a look at this, Deacon. ”

Deacon walked between the brothers, then moved around Blade’s desk to stand behind his friend. He glanced at the phone screen over his shoulder.

“That one,” Deacon blurted.

“Let me open the image,” Blade said.

“Yeah. That’s him,” Deacon said.

Barron and Johnny Gun eyed each other.

“Hey, guys. Can you clue the rest of us in?” Little Billy asked. “Not everyone here knows your history.”

Deacon straightened. Staring at the brothers in the room, he ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair.

“This guy in the photo is Rover, the Wolves’ president, and we go way back. When Warden started the Devils’ Spawn, Rover was one of us.” He sat at the edge of Blade’s desk.

“Warden, Rover, and I did everything together. We were close, and riding was our life. Then Gunner, his current vice president, joined the MC with a different agenda. Transporting the Spawn’s contraband tobacco and other petty shit didn’t do it for him. Gunner presented his plan to smuggle weapons across state lines. Warden and I rejected it outright, but Rover liked the potential profits and the action. Warden and Rover argued, accusations flew, and nasty things were said. Rover and Gunner broke ties to start their own club, the Pistons.”

Johnny Gun laughed. “That’s some fucked-up name.”

“That shit happens all the time,” Turbo said.

“Settle down, guys,” Blade intervened.

“Things were quiet for a while.” Deacon stood. Folding his arms, he stared at the group. “Months later, Warden and I heard Rover and his MC were involved in a gunfight. Some of his guys got hurt and Rover barely escaped with his life. Later, we learned a rival MC had ambushed the Pistons at a weapons pickup point. But we didn’t know the Spawn, specifically Warden, was blamed for the ambush. ”

“Is that how it happened?” Shifter asked. The guys around him turned his way. Smirking, he lifted a shoulder. “Hey, I’m older. I know things.”

“Yeah,” Deacon said. “That’s the background. Rover decided to pay Warden back for his supposed deceit. We had a truck full of hot items coming from up north…”

“Fuck,” Turbo exclaimed.

Deacon nodded. “Similar setup. The Sentinels MC showed up claiming their merch. Tempers flared, someone pulled a gun, and a fight broke out.” He sat on the corner of the desk again. Suddenly, he’d aged ten years.

“After Warden died of his wounds, I did my best to hold the Spawn together. But I couldn’t hack it. I needed space and a change of location. Even though he was newly patched, Blade had the cojones to lead the club. We elected him president in an emergency vote. I told him I wanted to open a chapter in Dalton, where it’s quiet and things rarely happen, and he gave me his blessing. I took my ol’ lady and young daughter and Warden’s child and moved north.”

“Warden had a child?” Little Billy asked.

Deacon nodded. “Opal was born after Isolde. It was a sad situation. Julia, Opal’s mother, overdosed on sleeping pills after Warden’s death. Elaine and I took her with us.”

“There’s more, right?” Barron asked.

“Yes. I was under the impression the Pistons had disbanded,” Deacon said. “I was wrong. Several years later, I heard Rover had changed the MC’s name and moved over the state line to Alabama.”

“The Steel Wolves,” Johnny Gun said.

Deacon sighed. “By the time I found this out, Warden was gone, years had passed, and the Spawn was thriving under Blade’s leadership. I didn’t want to stir up the old shit. But imagine my surprise when I got here and Blade filled me in about the Steel Wolves and their association with a drug cartel. He showed me the photos and told me Barron almost had a run-in with a Wolf at Nightshade.”

“What do you have in mind?” Blade asked.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Part of me wants payback for Warden’s death. The other wants to clear the air, which is stupid.”

“You’re clinging to old memories,” Blade said. “It’s over, dude. The friendship died the day Warden was shot. The man in this photo and his brothers don’t care about anything but money. Otherwise, the Wolves wouldn’t be dealing with Los Emes.”

“I would still like to parley,” Deacon said.

“Your choice.” Blade frowned. “But do it on your own as a civilian and don’t involve the Spawn.”

“I can live with that.” Deacon d turned his attention to Barron. “Are you going to Nightshade soon?”

Shit. Barron swallowed. The upcoming visit to Nightshade was supposed to be a fun learning experience for Yoanni, not a time to expose her to MC politics.

“Why do you ask?” he asked cautiously.

“If the Wolf’s there, I’d like to approach him. Peacefully. Request a parley.”

“Here’s the thing.” Barron stepped forward. “Nightshade is our special hangout. Master Darius goes the extra mile for the Spawn. When you say approach peacefully , you better mean it. ’Cause if you make a scene, Master Darius will kick your ass, and I’ll help him. I don’t give a shit about your Spawn seniority. Got me?”

Chuckling, Deacon turned to Blade. “Cranky bastard, ain’t he?”

Blade folded his fists together. “You can’t blame him. He’s protecting all our interests. Most of us are Dominants, and Nightshade caters to our needs and lifestyle. We don’t want to lose that. ”

“Yeah, dude.” Shifter piped up. “We love you, but we also know your temper. We can’t allow you to fuck it up. Nightshade just opened an age-play room. I promised my girl I’d take her.”

“Okay. If the Wolf is present, I promise to be cool. If he balks, I won’t push.”

“For real?” Barron asked.

“I swear,” Deacon replied.

“All right. Thursday night, I’m taking my woman. You can come.” Barron pointed to Johnny Gun. “Johnny G will be with us. He’ll keep an eye on you.”

“Him?” Deacon growled, staring at Johnny Gun. “I don’t think so.”

“Not a good way to start.” Barron shook his head. “Take it or leave it.”

“Fine. I’ll take it,” Deacon said and left the room.

Barron eyed Blade. “What’s that all about?”

“He’s an uptight father.” Blade rubbed his temples. “He thinks Johnny Gun is after Isolde.”

“He’s nuts,” Johnny Gun protested. “I’ve barely said two words to the girl.”

Blade waved a hand. “Ignore him. Once he goes back to Dalton, he’ll forget about it.”

“Are we done here?” Shifter asked, standing.

“We are,” Blade said.

“Good, I’m going to the agency.” He glanced at Barron and Johnny Gun. “You guys coming? There’s work to do.”

“Meet you there,” Barron said and walked out, his mind on Thursday night. Deacon better not ruin Yoanni’s evening. His sweet Little deserved a fun night, and Barron was going to deliver.