Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 109640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Donnie, the poor guy assigned to those duties, was shy, lanky and young—maybe eighteen—and didn’t wear a Demons cut. When she asked if he was a part of the MC, he stated he was considered a “hang-around” and hoped to be a member one day when he could afford to buy a “sled.”
Having that as his future hopes and dreams depressed Cami. The kid should be getting an education, or learning a trade, and aspiring to be more than a Deadly Demon. Especially since that club might not even exist after the feds were done with it.
Tonight, she was working with the same crew. Bulldog was overseeing the joint, Cap was busy pouring beers and Hook was tasked with serving “specialty drinks” to customers or random people stopping in to get their fix.
A couple of those buyers looked no better than the walking dead. Meth addiction did quite a number on the human body.
She was doing her best to keep track of how many deals were made out in the open across the bar. If she didn’t already know what was in those disposable coffee cups, she might not think much of it.
But she did and dealing out in the open like that was brazen.
While alcohol was still Hawg Wild’s main moneymaker, their drug sales had to come a close second.
And of course, every sale of meth or pot was paid in cash. She had no doubt whoever the Demons had doing their accounting was cooking those books. The Demons were smart in the sense that they knew the right businesses to buy to easily wash their drug money.
They must have taken notes from La Cosa Nostra, the Sicilian Mafia running Pittsburgh. Though, she couldn’t imagine that the Russos rubbed elbows with the Demons. Use them as mules to transport their product? Sure. Sit down to dinner with them to exchange ideas? Not a chance.
When she had read through the daily reports, some notes in particular had caught her attention. The task force, including all three groups, had heard some talk about the MC cutting out the Russos so they can deal directly with the Mexican supplier and then make all the damn profit.
Cami doubted the Russos would allow that to happen without any blowback. That blowback wouldn’t be a little pop followed by a sizzle. It would be a kaboom, leaving behind nothing but scorched earth.
She had a feeling the Demons wouldn’t even know what hit them until it was too late.
The MC might be making good money selling meth, but the Russos had a complete criminal enterprise making them more money than God. It wasn’t difficult to figure out who would win if those two criminal organizations went head-to-head.
No matter who prevailed, devastation would be left behind and innocents might get caught in the crossfire. Cami was pretty damn sure that none of the federal agencies wanted to see a war between those two. If that happened, she could see the top brass snacking on Tums and guzzling Pepto Bismol to settle their stomachs and ward off heartburn.
A shouted, “Gimme a beer!” yanked Cami back to the bar from her wandering thoughts.
Damn. She shouldn’t drift off like that in this crowd.
She glanced down the bar to the “gentleman” slamming his empty mug on the scarred wood bar top.
“Yo, woman, bring me a beer!”
For shit’s sake. Though, being called “woman” was a step up from being called “bitch.”
She headed down to the biker. “What are you drinking?”
“Beer.”
“Figured that by the mug. What kind?”
“The cold, wet kind. Bet when you get wet, you ain’t cold.”
In Fletch’s pool she was cold and wet.
This morning in bed with Crew she was wet and definitely the opposite of cold.
But that was not a conversation she was having with—she read the name patch on his cut—Vice.
Vice? Whatever with these crazy names.
“Will any draft do, Vice? Or are you particular?”
He stroked his beard. “I look particular?”
“So, Iron City Light, then?”
He just about shot like a rocket off his stool. “Hell no. Don’t gimme any of that goddamn swill water. Get me a Bud.”
She was learning quickly how to bring these guys to heel when they were being difficult. Which was practically all the time. By the time she was done with this undercover assignment, she should be an expert at herding cats. Alley cats at that.
Her eyebrows rose. “Please?”
He reached out and snagged her chin. “I’m fuckin’ sure I can please you.”
“By releasing me.” She yanked her head back and freed herself.
Heading down the bar, she grabbed a clean mug from the stack as she went. As she filled it with the beer at the tap, she let her gaze roam over the crowd. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary.
She tracked Hook as he carried one of the disposable coffee cups from the back and passed it to someone she couldn’t see because of the thick of bodies gathered around the bar.