Making Her His (Beating the Biker 1)

“Not exactly, Officer. I was trying to pass a car.”

The trooper nodded his head curtly, as if getting the answer he’d expected. “Wait here.”

The minutes ticked as the cop checked for wants and warrants on Saks, and probably stolen vehicle reports on Saks’ motorcycle, and probably his whole fucking life history. Oakie, the club president, wouldn’t be happy with this new development. He’d made it quite clear that each of the Spawn had to keep their shit straight. The legal troubles of the previous year put a blazing bullseye on each of the club members, and bad behavior of one reflected on the others.

On his return, the officer’s boot crunched on the sand gathered on the side of road, left behind by from winter road sanding. “Sir, step away from the vehicle.”

Now what? Saks thought. Saks swung off his bike and kicked the stand to hold it upright.

“Put your hands over your head.”

Saks, well-schooled by his father, did what he was told.

“Have you’ve been drinking, sir?”

“I had one beer at the Red Bull. You can ask them. I run a tab there.”

Wrong answer.

“Do you often drink and drive, sir?”

One freaking beer, Saks screamed to himself. That I didn’t even finish! “It’s not a habit,” he said instead.

“You’ll need to submit to a breathalyzer.”

Now shit was getting serious. He doubted he was over the legal limit, but he didn’t like submitting to a breathalyzer. However, if he refused, the state could automatically suspend his license. “Sure, Officer.”

Saks said nothing as the cop walked to his cruiser. He looked at his watch and realized he was now twenty minutes late. Luke would be waiting for him to return before he went out to grab his own lunch, since Emily was taking their baby, Robbie, to a doctor’s visit. Luke would be calling him to find out what the holdup was, and the last thing Saks wanted to do was answer his phone. Cops got touchy about that, too.

The trooper returned, holding the breathalyzer machine. “Sir, blow into the tube, and keep blowing until I tell you to stop.”

Saks puffed through the thing as the officer held it. Cars whizzed past, safe from the predations of law enforcement. He grew more annoyed by the minute.

“Stop.”

Saks stood there seething, while the trooper looked at the machine.

“Put your hands on your head and spread your legs.”

What? Now things were getting worse. A pat-down. Though he had nothing on him, or ever did, to get him arrested all he had to do was flinch and this guy could arrest him for resisting.

Yet another thing he’d learned from his father, a man well-schooled on Connecticut law from his own experiences. Son, those asshats will charge you for resisting just for looking at them wrong. The statute is written so broadly it’s nearly impossible to avoid it when they get you under their thumb. It’s the most commonly charged crime in the state. So, if an officer stops you, cooperate—fully.

“Anything in your pockets I should know about? Any needles or sharp objects?”

The sharpest thing Saks had was his wits, which weren’t exactly finely honed at this minute. “I have nothing sharp in my pockets, Officer. Except for my Leatherman.”

“Knife?”

“No. A multi-tool. I’m a mechanic. But there are small blades on it.”

“Stand still, sir.”

Saks held in the urge to huff. This guy was overly officious and thorough in his duties. Though he hadn’t crossed over the jackass line yet, he rapidly moved toward that territory.

The officer ran his hands across Saks’ back and down his legs. Saks grew paranoid with each passing moment. He’d heard of cops, eager for a bust, planting narcotics on a detainee. However, to be honest, he hadn’t heard of state cops doing that.

Still, there was always a first time.