I was two seconds away from snapping this motherfucker’s neck in front of the whole fucking precinct. Brantley smiled at me as he reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone. I debate popping a cap in the back of his head as he turns around and takes the call.
“Petra,” I hear Jones call and peel my eyes away from Brantley’s head and the vision of his brains splattered on the floor. I shake my head as I close the distance between me and Jones and I grab the front of his uniform.
“What the fuck, Jones?”
He glances over my shoulder and I followed his gaze toward Brantley, watching as he hurries out the front door of the precinct. I look back at Jones and shove him back, releasing my hold on him.
“I don’t give a fuck about that cunt. Now, I’m going to repeat the question one more fucking time,” I tell him, dropping my voice down to a whisper. “Club pays your ass a lot of money for things like this not to happen, so again…what the fuck, Jones?”
“I was on a domestic call when it came over the radio. I couldn’t fucking leave the call I was on to go to the clubhouse they’d fucking know I was in your pocket. I came here as soon as I could. He brought them in on bullshit charges, he keeps saying he’s got a witness but I’ve searched every fucking interrogation room and haven’t found anyone. I don’t know what he’s up to, but he’s up to something,” he mutters, taking another sweep of the busy room before tipping his chin toward the hallway. “Follow me and I’ll take you down to the holding cell before he gets back.”
I follow him down the narrow hallway, down three flights of stairs to the rat infested basement where the holding cells are. Before we even round the corner I hear them; Pipe, Wolf, Riggs, Bosco and another voice I couldn’t place.
“This is a bunch of bullshit, when I get out of here I’m suing the city,” Pipe hollers.
“Brantley you fuck, tell your mother to get the lube ready because I’m going to fuck her six ways to Sunday when I get out of here,” Wolf adds.
“Let me out! I’m not part of the cult. I don’t even have a tattoo. I’ve never owned a leather jacket in my life,” the unfamiliar voice whines.
“Keep talking. I’m going to tie this bitch up,” Riggs grunts.
“Ignore him,” Bosco mutters.
“Man, I’m itching to hit something so be careful who’s side you choose,” Riggs warns.
We round the corner, and I clear my throat, making my presence known to my men as my eyes zero in on the only one of the five that didn’t belong to me.
“What the fuck is he doing here?”
“He came to pay us a visit, crying he had information for us before the police showed up,” Riggs says, using his fingers to mimic a gun pointed at Ronan Summers, and pulls the imaginary trigger.
Summers was the father of the little shit that tried to rape my girl. He’s a gambling junkie that hooked up with the Corrupt Bastards MC and some online gambling site they had. When he couldn’t pay he offered up his son, Brandon, the Bastards sent Brandon in to get close to Lacey. The cocksucker decided he would take things a little further and tried getting inside my Lace.
Depending on who you ask, Brandon is lucky to be living, some might argue he’s better off dead being as he’s permanently deaf and fucked mentally from the brain injury. I would’ve preferred him dead and buried but then Lacey wouldn’t have been able to get him to drop the charges.
Yeah, like I said, lucky to be living.
Skeptically, I stare at Ronan watching as Riggs grabs him from behind and wedges him into a headlock.
“If I find out this shit has anything to do with you,” Riggs seethes.
“Let him go,” I order, earning a glare from Riggs.
This isn’t the first time Ronan has showed his face around the clubhouse spewing nonsense about having information we might be interested in. We never pay him any mind though, send the fucker on his way figuring he’s looking for a handout. Usually he cries that Brandon’s medical bills are choking him but he’s a degenerate gambler and a fucking liar too. I like my money in my pocket just as every one of my brothers.
However, this shit with Brantley came out of nowhere and maybe it’s time someone listened to what this fuck has to say.
Ronan’s eyes were wide with fear as they settled on me.
“Why,” he stammers as his eyes move nervously around the cell choosing Wolf to hide behind. “Don’t hurt me man!”
“For crying out loud,” Wolf bellows, grabbing Ronan from behind him. “Would someone hear this little jerk-off out so he stops showing up at the clubhouse? I’d rather be locked in a cell with officer dick bag than this guy.”
“I offered to shoot him,” Riggs says.
“Why were you at the clubhouse?” I demand calmly.
“Like I’ve told you before I have information I think you might want,” he says, ducking behind Wolf again. “Maybe if you listened to me before we wouldn’t be in here.”