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|Uncover Me(Men of Inked #6) by Chelle Bliss|
A loud pounding at the door drew me out of my self-imposed Roxy funk. “What?” I yelled, pushing myself off the bed and moving toward the door.
“Are you coming out for a drink?” the prospect asked me. I couldn’t remember his name, and I didn’t try.
“Move,” I growled as I pushed past him, stalking toward the common area.
Glancing at the clock as I leaned against the bar, I realized I had sat in my room in a total haze for an hour. Two hours or less and this shit would be over.
“Tequila.” I held up two fingers, needing the one-two punch that could only be delivered by such quantities of Patrón.
The prospect placed two glasses on the bar and quickly filled them. Before he could walk away, I slammed one back and said, “Another.”
Why do this shit sober? I could have a nice buzz by the time everything went down. Since they were sending me to jail with everyone else, I wouldn’t have to handle a gun or read anyone their Miranda rights. The members of the club had been partying for hours, so I didn’t see any reason why I should be the only sober one.
The minutes slowly ticked by as I thought about Roxanne and how my life was about to change. Sitting with the boys, drinking, and laughing were just a façade for the violent storm of emotions that were battling inside me.
I downed another shot of tequila before sipping a beer, feeling a sense of guilt for the children who would become fatherless. It wasn’t my actions but theirs that would cause the eventual separation. When someone leads a life of crime, they take that risk. The women who loved them and had borne their children had known the eventuality of their incarceration when they had become their old ladies. The only people who didn’t have a choice in the situation were the kids. They hadn’t asked to be born into this life—they were the innocent victims.
I drank shot after shot, chasing each with the beer I nursed as I tried not to watch the clock. Time escaped me as my mind became fuzzy, my thoughts scattering as the liquor coursed through my veins.
I jumped from my chair as the doors slammed open. Screams erupted, women went scrambling, and chairs fell over as men stood and reached for their guns. Following their actions, I went through the motions to keep my cover.
James burst through the door, holding up his badge and a search warrant. “Put your weapons down and get on your knees.”
The men stilled, looking to each other to decide what to do next. I could see it in their eyes. They wanted to fight back, make this shit a blaze of glory, but we were outnumbered. Slowly lowering my gun, deciding to be the leader, I kneeled on the floor and tossed my weapon.
The law enforcement agents, which included DEA, FBI, US Marshals, and local law enforcement, waited with their weapons drawn, pointing at every member of the club.
“Give it up, gentlemen. We have an arrest warrant for each of you and a search warrant for the property,” James declared, shaking a piece of paper in his hand.
“Fuck,” Cowboy hissed as he followed my lead.
Murmurs and growls filled the space as each member laid down their guns as they dropped to their knees.
“Don’t worry, brothers.” Cowboy looked cocky and calm, not realizing the severity of the situation.
Even the best lawyer in the world wouldn’t be able to get the guys out on bail. Federal courts and crimes weren’t easy to deal with, and it was harder to buy off the judges. The case would be too big—on every major news channel—for it to be swept under the rug. People would scream foul if judges sided with the MC, with all the evidence we had been able to accumulate over the months.
James stalked toward me, placing his gun in his holster and grabbing his handcuffs. “John Lansing,” he stated, opening the handcuffs and attaching the first to my left wrist, “you have the right to remain silent…”
I blanched, always having hated that name. It wasn’t me and never would be.
He gripped my hands, sticking them behind my back. As he attached the second one to my right wrist, he finished reading my rights.
When I climbed to my feet, James marched me out past the other members. As I walked by, I found that each man was going through the process. I nodded to them, pretending it was going to be okay.
James stopped close to his car, far enough away from the building, and turned me to face him. “Shit is finally over.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I thought there were be some gunshots. Thank fuck for that.”
“If Rebel had been the head, there may have been. I’m just happy I’m one step closer to home.”
“They can’t wait to see you, Thomas.”
“Yeah,” I whispered, turning my back to him as I saw the door open.
“Get your ass moving,” he barked, pushing me toward one of the vans to carry us to the station.
Smiling, I dragged my feet, being a total asshole and making him push me in the direction.
“Move your feet!” he yelled, shoving me harder.
“Fuck off,” I replied, coming to a complete stop.
“You’re a dick,” he whispered before nudging me again.
Slowly moving my feet, I took step after step toward my ride to freedom. After climbing in, I sat in the back and watched as they loaded the rest of the guys in the three vans parked on the property. As soon as the doors slammed, they started to bitch and question each other.
“What the fuck?” Rooster adjusted his body, trying to find a comfortable position.
We all felt the same way, but some of us dealt with it better than others. Rooster was still nursing a shoulder wound he’d received during the shootout with the rival group that had killed Rebel.