Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
They got out while the getting was good.
Chapter Twenty
After getting a “taste” from Wolf the night before, they met Crew on their way to Saturday’s poker run in a parking lot to hand over the tiny bag of powdered ice they scored.
The task force leader would test the sample to confirm the meth was the same shit the Demons were selling on the street and to confirm Wolf wasn’t selling his own stash for his own side hustle.
They weren’t looking to bust a small-time dealer, they wanted to get to both the source and the major distributer the Demons were sandwiched between. Crew had newly discovered info that the Demons weren’t keeping all of the meth they hauled from the border. They were transporting it for someone else, a much bigger organization who was financing the purchase and then the MC was keeping a kilo in payment for each run.
Saturday was a long fucking day surrounded by too many asshole bikers he couldn’t trust. He was tense for most of it and didn’t let Nova out of his sight at all, even though she reminded him more than once that she could take care of herself.
He had no doubt she could, but she was supposed to be his ol’ lady and as her ol’ man, she “belonged” to him. That responsibility included both protecting her and keeping her in line, whether she liked it or not.
Halfway through the tortuously long poker run, Fletch finally got the text from Crew with the go-ahead to make arrangements with Wolf to buy more. They all agreed they should only buy a small amount to start until a solid relationship was built between Wolf and Ghost.
Once they did that, they’d start making bigger buys, then work on finding out who they were transporting for. It would just be a matter of time and patience. For now they only needed to concentrate on the outlaw MC.
As soon as he caught up with Wolf at one of the stops, they set up a time and date for a buy. Soon after, Fletch and Nova slipped away when no one was paying attention and headed back to Shadow Valley.
On the way back to the pawn shop apartment, they picked up a large take-out order at Bangin’ Burgers, and not even a minute after hitting the front door, they both stripped down to their skivvies, enjoyed the cool air conditioning and stuffed their faces and stomachs.
Then after a shared shower, they had a late “afternoon delight” for dessert and Nova actually fell asleep by his side for a few hours.
All in all, even though the poker run was miserable as fuck, the day ended better than expected and he, Nova and Crew were satisfied that their part of the investigation was going smoothly so far.
At least until Wednesday night when Wolf didn’t show up at the agreed upon buy location.
They’d been waiting on the metal bleachers at an empty baseball field just south of Uniontown when a Harley pulled in twenty minutes later than the scheduled time. Fletch had already been annoyed for being left hanging like that, but then to see someone else show up made all the fine hairs on his body stand on end.
He didn’t like this change of plans. Not one fucking bit. Neither did Nova.
“Keep an eye out to make sure this isn’t an ambush or anything sketchy,” he muttered under his breath.
“Yeah, I’m not liking this,” she said. “Did Wolf tell you he wasn’t coming?”
“No.” Fletch had even given the fucker the number to his assigned task force cell phone. “Okay, let’s go deal with whoever this is. Just watch my back.”
“You got it,” she answered.
As they climbed off the bleachers and headed toward the stone parking lot, he called out, “Who the fuck are you?” to the biker dismounting his sled. “You a Demon?”
The unknown man, about as unkempt as Wolf, turned and hooked a thumb over his shoulder at his back patches. In the shadowed parking lot, Fletch could barely make out the Deadly Demons’ rockers. That still didn’t mean it wasn’t a set-up.
As they approached the man, Fletch purposely didn’t hook an arm around Nova so they’d have both hands free and be prepared to act, if needed.
Since they needed this biker’s name for their task force daily report, he asked, “Who the fuck are you?” again as the short, heavyset guy turned around to face them.
“You Ghost?”
Fletch pointed to his own name patch. “That’s what the fuck it says, don’t it?” He purposely squinted when searching the front of the Demon’s cut. “Your name’s Bitch?”
“Ain’t Bitch. It’s fuckin’ Stitch.”
“Got it. Poor lighting.”
“He sure looks like a bitch,” Nova snickered, standing right behind Fletch but off to the side.
“Who’s that?” he asked, jerking his chin at her.
“My ol’ lady.”
“Why the fuck you got your ol’ lady with you to do business?”