Good Gone Bad (The Fallen Men 3)

“You have a linen closet?” I asked before I could help myself.

But come on, my hot cop slash sexy undercover biker had a fucking linen closet? Fuck, I barely even knew what constituted linens.

“Just get the fuck in there,” he ordered softly, harshly then tagged my hand as I moved away to press a hard kiss to my mouth. “Be quiet and stay there until I get you.”

I nodded and dashed away to the closet midway between the bedroom and the living area, thankful when I opened it that there was a narrow space beside the shelves I could tuck my slim, straight form into with relative ease.

Two seconds after I closed the closet door, the front one opened and the heavy stomp of motorcycle boots sounded in the hall.

“Good, you’re up,” Grease grumbled.

“Yeah, brother, though you’re knocking woulda done the job I was still asleep.”

“Got shit to do today, need all hands-on-deck.” A pause then an incredulous, “Eatin’ kid cereal?”

“Got a sweet tooth and I like some spice,” Danner admitted in a way that made me smile even through my fear.

“Well don’t mind if I help myself while you put some fuckin’ clothes on. Just ’cause you’re some kinda pretty boy don’t mean you can just go ’round not wearin’ nothin’.”

“Aye, aye, Serge,” Danner said. “What’s the gig?”

“We’re goin’ after a delivery of Fallen grass.”

I felt the air compress out of my lungs.

“You shittin’ me?” Danner asked, sounding mildly curious, but still down for it.

It was crazy how good he was at acting the part.

“Nah, got some intel a few boys are running some shit down the Sea to Sky tonight for a big party the Red Dragons are throwin’. We’re gonna take it. If those Asian fucks really did do in Cricket, it’ll be good to have The Fallen lookin’ at them as shady fucks to distract ’em from the fact we’re goin’ strike them soon’s the opportunity comes.”

“And it’s just a bonus that we’d get grade A marijuana in the process.”

“You betcha. And you know the Prez, anythin’ to poke at big bad Zeus Garro, ya know?”

“Sure. Give me a sec and I’ll get dressed.”

I heard Danner’s step pass by as he went into the back bedroom and then listened closely to the sounds of Grease rustling through a few drawers, snooping because it was in his nature to be distrustful and because he relished any opportunity to find a brother wanting so he could enact revenge.

Once, he’d made a car bomb that took out a brother they suspected of snitching and his entire family, including their toddler and dog.

I tried to regulate my breathing as panic seized me then tried to stop breathing altogether as the thud of Grease’s boots moved closer and suddenly he was at the closet door.

I squeezed my eyes shut and held perfectly still, but for my madly pounding heart.

“Ready,” Danner called out from the mouth of the hall and the feet shadowing the crack under the door shifted away from me.

I let out a slow, quiet stream of air and felt grateful I hadn’t peed my panties.

“Let’s head,” Danner said as he walked by and clapped a hand over Grease’s back.

I waited for what seemed like fifteen minutes after they left until I let myself out of the closet and scuttled back into Danner’s bedroom. There was a burner phone on the basin in the bathroom and a note written in condensation on the mirror, the sink plugged and filled with steaming hot water.

Don’t tell your father.

I dolled myself up biker-style, big hair, black eyeliner, tight jeans with huge rips strategically placed right where my ass cheeks met my thigh, exposing the white fishnets I wore underneath, and my habitual black combat boots, before heading to the Berserkers compound.

I wasn’t going off half-cocked like Danner had warned me not to do. I was just doing some gentle recon.

If Danner thought I could sit back while the club attacked my family, he didn’t know me very well.

I parked my custom black Mercedes G65 in the gravel lane beside the clubhouse, taking a second to let the familiar sounds of AC/DC’s “TNT” wash over me. It was my dad’s favourite band, one of our favourite songs by the band, and sitting there in the car he’d built and customized for me, I felt closer than I had to him in weeks.

I was my father’s daughter.

I’d been born that way then forged further into his image by the fire of trials I’d undergone in my formative years. It was a good likeness, one I was secretly proud to have more of than King, but for the first time in my life even after everything he’d done for us, I understood the incredible responsibility Dad must have felt knowing he had the power to keep us safe and happy.