Havoc (Tattoos and Ties 1)

“I’ll figure it out,” Alec said, looking down at the clock on his console.

“Yeah. Sure. Good luck with that. You said that when you explained this ridiculous move to Dallas. Why the hell I ever agreed to follow, I don’t know. Then you were going to figure it out when you took the job in the DA’s office instead of working for Kensington. Seriously, what the hell were you thinking turning Reed Kensington down? You could’ve gotten me into that firm. Now, we live in the desert of all places. In all the planning we did as children, I can’t think of one time we ever said, ‘Hey, I wanna live in a suburb of anywhere in Texas.’ This is ridiculous,” Blaine added flippantly. Then, in all his over-the-top style, he reached over to adjust the radio station, selecting the soft jazz station Blaine loved. Alec, not so much. And in case Alec hadn’t comprehended Blaine’s irritation, he increased the volume, blaring the sounds of Kenny G, to drive his point home.

Maybe he should have gone to this political fundraiser alone, but Blaine knew how to work a crowd. He’d ease the checkbooks out of those tight pockets, forgoing decorum, openly pitting donors against one another to increase the size of their contribution.

How had this become his life?

Anger licked at Keyes’s soul like a flame drawing oxygen. He stood with his back pressed firmly against the metal wall of the tire shop, his heart pounding in his chest, both his fists and his jaw clenched tight as embarrassment and rage coursed through his veins. Keyes’s fiery scowl stayed trained on the federal agents watching his every move. One agent stood directly in front of Keyes. Two others flanked him. All three had their weapons drawn. The nearest agent’s gun was pointed toward the ground close to Keyes’s feet, a ferocious stare of his own marring his ugly law enforcement face. None of the three men seemed to pay any attention to Keyes’s old man or the other servicemen standing next to Keyes. They focused all their attention straight at him. And goddamn, did he want a go at these motherfuckers.

In the first confusing moments of the raid, a squadron of federal agents had emerged from unmarked cars—Keyes their only focus. With weapons drawn, they’d moved toward him in tactical formation, violently slamming him against the outside wall of his building. His old man had apparently seemed less of a threat than Keyes, even with his father’s big mouth spewing all his intense hatred for anything cop-related.

Keyes didn’t fight them. When he’d first identified the cars, he’d lifted his hands straight in the air and held his tongue, trying to identify the reason behind what was happening. Then the first taunting slur about his outlaw-biker status showed him their assault was more bullshit from the authorities who were consumed with picking at his motorcycle club. From there, shit went sideways.

“Give me a reason.” The agent in back lifted his Glock toward Keyes’s chest. Woo. So scary. Even Keyes could see the goddamn safety was still on.

“Fuck you. Do it,” he growled between clenched teeth. Man, he wanted to shove his fist down that guy’s throat.

With every ounce of willpower he had, Keyes reined his anger in. He needed to focus. He still had no idea what the fuck was going on. The local authorities stayed straight up their ass, all the fucking time. Especially when there was a change in civic leadership. The Disciples of Havoc had a bad reputation from way back when. They’d become a target of continual investigations. That escalated to their club being the so-called reason for the high rate of crime in Dallas County and always being harassed for some reason or another. But this felt different. He couldn’t remember ever hearing of a federal raid on his club before.

“I don’t know why they were so concerned about you. You ain’t nothin’,” the condescending agent holding the Glock taunted.

“Yeah, fuck you. You wait,” Keyes goaded, taking in every detail of the guy’s face. He knew better than to poke at an angry bear, but this was fucking bullshit and they knew it. What burned him the most and caused him to grind his jaw as he bit back words that could and would be used against him was the way they acted beyond reproach—how they became judge and jury before he could even clue in on what he’d been convicted of.

“That a threat?” the agent in front of him said in his deep Texas twang, instantly reminding Keyes of a bad Western movie. All the agent needed now was a horse to ride off into the proverbial sunset. This guy was cocky and wanted him to mess up, but this wasn’t his first rodeo. Keyes couldn’t help the sneer forming on his face as he weighed the options. If he swung his fist, they’d most likely shoot him, but he’d make contact, for fucking sure. Win-win, right?