Riley (Shattered Souls MC 4)

Her defenses go up and she steps away from me. “Don’t let me down again.”

She’s scared and uncertain. Which she has every right to be. If I don’t meet with him, I have absolutely no doubt that he will arrest her. He will make her suffer to cause me more pain. I don’t know what he wants or what evidence he has, but I won’t agree to shit unless I have in writing that she is left out of it. I’ve caused her enough pain. I will do whatever is necessary to make sure that never happens again. I will protect her with my life if that’s what it takes. She’s not here because she misses me or forgives me. She’s here because she’s scared for her life. That’s something I can change.

“You have my word.”

She walks out and I hear a sob leave her before the door closes. It’s for me, but I’m not sure if it’s because she misses me or because she’s scared I will actually let her down.

I don’t tell the club. I just get on my Harley and drive toward the warehouse. I know this is wrong and if the club finds out I’ll be in deeper shit than shooting that Raging Devil who disrespected me. No decisions about the club are made without being around the table. We figure it out as a club, as a family. But I can’t risk it. I don’t know what this agent wants and until I do, I need to handle it on my own.

I park in the back of the warehouses and climb off my bike. When the agent pulls up next to me, I’m lighting a cigarette. Alright asshole, let's do this. He climbs out and I meet him at the back of his car.

“Riley Giddens?” he asks.

I laugh as I blow smoke in his face. “Don’t act like you don’t fucking know.”

He smiles and leans against his trunk, crossing his arms. “You’re right, I do know. I know a lot of things, Riley. One being that the sexy ass girl you used to fuck is about to be fucked over in a way that either of you would enjoy.” I lunge for him and he moves quickly. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

“Too fucking late, asshole. You’re still breathing,” I hiss.

“You ready to talk?”

I shake my head and toss my cigarette on the ground. “I need a written agreement that Gillian is protected. Once I have that, we’ll talk.”

I turn my back and he calls my name. “I already have the documents drawn up.” He grabs a packet of papers from his briefcase.

Of course you do, you shady piece of shit. “Let me read them.” I read them over and when I’m satisfied she’s protected, I nod. “Sign them,” I hiss.

He laughs as he places them back in a briefcase in the backseat of his car. “Not so fast, Mr. Giddens. I proved I have the documents to protect your fuck buddy. But how do I know I can trust you?” He smirks, leaning closer to me. “You’re gonna need to prove that shit.”

Rage has my body shaking. I’ve never felt this kind of anger before. This guy has me by the balls and he knows it. I close my eyes as I run my hands through my hair. Gillian’s terrified eyes stare back at me.

I snap my eyes open and nod. “Fine.”

“Let’s make something very clear here, Riley. If you so much as blink in the wrong direction, Gillian will be in cuffs. Don’t fuck with me,” he growls.

I laugh as I step closer to him. “A dirty piece of shit federal agent. Do they even know you’re here or are you hoping to prove yourself to get a promotion that your pathetic ass could never get?”

“Fuck you,” he hisses.

Yeah, that’s what I thought. He’s gone rouge. Unfortunately, that doesn’t help because he will make good on his promises and I’ll be the one fucked regardless. If I do what he asks, prove I’m trustworthy, he’ll sign the documents. Gillian will be protected. That’s all I care about. This is all wrong, but there’s no other choice. I’ll end up dead, but at least she’ll know I took care of her.

“What the fuck do you want?” I ask.

He hands me a picture of a guy and a piece of paper with all the information I could possibly ever need. It’s got his home and work addresses, his marital status, his kid’s information. It’s got his car’s make and model, not to mention license plate number. It has his tattoos, birthmarks, and scars. It has his fucking blood type.

“I need him whacked,” he says.

I raise an eyebrow and grin. “This isn’t the fucking mob, dickhead. You want me to kill him, say it.”

“I’m in charge here,” he shouts.

I step back and nod. “Cool, so tell me what the fuck you want.”

He growls, grabbing my shirt in his fist. “I need him dead.”

I push him off and climb onto my bike. “I need a few days, but it’ll be done.”

“I’ll be in touch.”