RUNNING GAME (A SECOND CHANCE SPORTS ROMANCE) (97 page)

“What?
Seriously?
That’s huge!”

Hunter ignored the praise. “With a pinch of luck, I might be able to save whoever they haven’t sold off yet…” His eyes cut to mine, “…And maybe your cheerleaders will still be around.”

“You think I can help?”

“Maybe…”

He crossed the kitchen, pulling me into his strong, tender arms. I relaxed into his embrace, my face resting against his shoulder.

I thought back to how naïve I had been as a teenager. All that I could see was a reality in which Hunter’s world had molded him into a selfish killing machine, serving the leaders of his club with thoughtless, sterile precision.

But none of that had happened.

He’d bent the club to
his
mold, flushing out the wicked and leading the Devil’s Dragons MC to a new era – one of honor, respect, and fighting for the right causes.

The young Sarah had been so foolish.

Hunter was never going to be in danger by joining this world; instead of his light being snuffed out in the dark, the fire within him rose until it burned away all the shadows.

I was ripped from my thoughts by a buzzing in his pocket. My lips pressed against his tight skin as he flipped open a heavy, durable phone, glancing down at the screen.

“Hunter… I will do everything that I can to help you,” I promised him. “Whatever you need.”

“It makes me happy to hear that, Sarah…” he murmured softly before I heard the satisfying
click
of the phone snapping shut again. “…Because according to that message,
Víboras Verde
is moving the girls
tonight.
”

I
followed
behind Hunter as he rushed off on his bike towards the club. He had every intention of sobering up as many of his bikers as he could in order to launch a spontaneous strike against the cartel.

A feeling of dread overcame me.

Hunter seemed fit to ride and my mind was spinning at the prospect of what he was asking me to do… Even if the two of
us
were fit for whatever was coming, there was no telling what debauchery his club had gotten up to after we left.

Compounding my dread was my ringing phone. After the third missed call, I finally dug it out and almost panicked.

It was Lieutenant Crabbe.

What on Earth is he doing calling at this hour?

My worst fears were realized as I reluctantly, fearfully answered the fourth call.

“Well, if it isn’t my wayward fucking
detective
,” the Lieutenant’s voice crackled out over my speakerphone. “When I told you to get a lay of the land, I didn’t exactly think that I had to say
Stay in motherfucking Tucson.
”

“I think I might be onto something,” I answered as carefully as I could. “After our last conversation, I wanted to be certain before I–”

“You think you’re onto something,” he snuffed down the line. “Alright,
Detective
, let me give you the benefit of the fucking doubt. What do you
possibly
think you have
FOUR FUCKING HOURS
away from the city I specifically sent your ungrateful ass?”

“Cartel,” I answered quickly. “There are some other disappearances down here, and I have reason to believe that it’s the same people behind both.”

“You know, the funny thing about GPS trackers is that I
know
you left Tucson an hour after you rang,” the Lieutenant snarled over the radio waves. “I knew the moment you drove outside of a fifty mile radius of that city…”

What, seriously? What the fuck?

“So, tell me,” Lieutenant Crabbe continued, “Who the fuck
exactly
did you find to interview to give you this
lead
of yours?”

I was backed into a corner with no other way out… and I had only one card to play.

“There was a secondary investigation, done by people in the area with vested interest in these girls,” I answered. “A biker club by the name of the Devil’s Dragons.”

“ARE YOU FUCKING SHITTING ME?!” He screamed down the line. “Are you telling me that I have to hold your goddamn hand through the fucking case files?”

“But Lieutenant, I–”

“You listen to me right now. I don’t know how much goddamn clearer it had to be for you to discredit the bullshit spewed by some biker fucks that went vigilante… Our people in Tucson vetted their shit. And that’s what it was!
Shit!
Grade A, primo horseshit purveyed by the local thugs to put the police on a wild fucking goose chase! They wanted less heat around so they could swap drugs, you stupid, miserable
fuck!
”

“I think there’s more to it,” I calmly replied. “I’ve met with these people. These aren’t your typical thugs. They’re trying to do something meaningful. They want to give a voice to all these abducted girls–”

A sharp intake of air over the line silenced my words, and I felt my chest seize up.

“This is over that photograph, isn’t it?”

The wind was sapped out of my sails.

“That’s what I fucking thought. I saw how you looked at that guy. You
know
him, don’t you? How the hell did you get mixed up with a fucking biker gang?”

I was starting to get angry, but I reminded myself of every last grueling step – and every late night patrolling the streets – that had gotten me even
this
far.

“He’s onto something,” I reiterated. “We think we can find the cheerleaders, or at least get justice for them. If it’s the same people who are behind these other disappearances, then the girls are being sold into sex slavery overseas…”

“
Other
disappearances?”

“Yessir. There have been over a dozen kidnappings in the greater El Paso area in the last two weeks. If we find the cartel taking these girls, I think they can lead us to the cheerleaders.”

It was a long shot… but I needed his backup on this one. Maybe he could pull resources I couldn’t access, and get us some backup…

“I can smell the stink on that bullshit from over here,
Detective
,” he glowered down the phone. “If that was really the case, then it would be
all over
the fucking news and on every damn officer’s desk from LA to goddamned Houston. Forget three cheerleaders – it would be pandemonium! But do you know what I see on my fucking desk right now? ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOTHING!”

“They’re… undocumented, sir.”

“You’re fucking shitting me.”

“No, sir. The cartel we’re tracking is targeting the children of illegal immigrants to the United States. They’re taking them right out of their homes in broad daylight, if the information I have is solid–”

“So, let me get this straight: I send you down to Tucson to follow up on a nationally-known high-publicity case. I ask you to prove your mettle as a fresh detective… I make it
very clear
what was on the line…”

The pit in my stomach deepened.

“…And you
immediately
bullshit off four hours away to El Paso, chasing after some wayward kids that aren’t even in the fucking system? Do you have any goddamned proof at all?”

My spirits crumbled into dust.

He wasn’t going to help me.

“Your silence is goddamned deafening,
Detective
,” Lieutenant Crabbe sneered the title as usual… only with a little more obvious disgust this time. “The case I gave you – your
assignment
– is four hours away from whatever fuckery you’re chasing at the moment. That’s one hell of a goddamn stretch.”

“But it lines up,” I tried to reason. “If they were heading this way… El Paso is directly on the border. They could have seen an opportunity and come back to reap the locals.”

“I don’t know if they teach you
basic fucking geography
in the Academy, but you’re out of your jurisdiction and out of your goddamned mind,” he growled. “Your little biker boyfriend has hocked you some goddamn bullshit, and you will
not
tie up resources in
my
precinct over fucking hearsay from a goddamn criminal,
DO YOU HEAR ME?
”

“Yes sir,” I hesitantly replied.

“That’s the first fucking thing you’ve said since picking up the goddamn phone that has been what I’ve wanted to hear,” the Lieutenant scowled. “I’m giving you tonight to get your damn head screwed on straight, and you should fucking thank me for it. Your orders are as follows: get back in your car tomorrow morning and drag your sorry ass back to Tucson. Hit the street. Get results. Abandon this little bullshit crusade of yours or you’ll be riding home in the
back
seat of a squad car. Do I make myself
perfectly
clear?”

I gritted my teeth, sitting on the cusp of giving the lieutenant a piece of my fucking mind.
This could be solid! He wasn’t even giving me the time to fucking follow up on the lead that was sitting right in front of me!

“Yes sir,” I answered.

Without a speck of acknowledgement, the line disconnected on the spot.

For the next few moments, I furiously beat my steering wheel with my fists; after a couple of more minutes to simmer in anger, I twisted the keys in the ignition and followed up towards the bar.

I glanced at the clock as I pulled up to the covert headquarters of the Devil’s Dragons MC. It was already half past midnight. Sitting alone in the car, I muttered, “Do we even have a chance tonight?”

With no answer coming from my empty cruiser, I released a heavy sigh and let myself out. My boots crunched against the gravel, bringing me towards the front door – and whatever
other
surprises lay in wait for the night.

The big one was when I let myself in.

I’d fully expected either a deserted bar, or a crowd of drunken, belligerent bikers. After all, the last time I’d see them they were given a free round on the house, with plenty of alcohol already flowing.

This was no longer the case.

The women who had been clinging to the bikers were nowhere in sight. There wasn’t a drop of alcohol to be seen that wasn’t in a bottle behind the counter.

I spotted eight, maybe nine bikers suiting up. Slapping on bulky bulletproof vests and checking a wide assortment of guns, the Devil’s Dragons MC was clearly ready for war.

Jesus. These guys are impressive,
I thought to myself as I briefly studied them. Besides a couple of quick glances up, they were committed to the task.

“If they weren’t expecting you, you’d be staring at the wrong end of a barrel,” I heard Hunter’s voice amble from across the room.

He stepped out from a corridor and strolled my way, firmly clasping a few bikers on the shoulders. All heads glanced up at him in acknowledgement as he passed, offering curt nods or brief smiles.

I could clearly see a bulletproof vest over his tee, just like his men. This spontaneous midnight strike in the desert clearly came with some high stakes, and an expectation of definitive danger.

“What took you so long?” Hunter asked as he stopped in front of me, tilting his head.

“I couldn’t stop ignoring the Lieutenant’s calls,” I shrugged noncommittally. “When he wouldn’t let up, I had to pull over and update him on a few things. Such as explaining why I’m four hours from my specific assignment…”

“
And?
” Hunter asked, crossing his arms.

“Safe to say that I don’t
exactly
have his support. He wants me the hell out of dodge in the morning, chasing up whatever wisps of a lead that I can find in Tucson.”

Hunter shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. “About what I expected. Your Lieutenant’s an idiot. Tucson’s a dead end. What we’re doing here is the best shot you’ve got at finding what you need.”

“I tried to explain that,” I insisted. “He wasn’t having any of it… Hunter, I think my career might be on the line with this one.”

“Then you’ve got a choice to make,” he answered without skipping a beat. “But you’re lucky. Things are moving quickly. It isn’t like
Víboras Verde
to suddenly launch an operation like this… not unless they’ve escalated things. Set up a cleaner escape point, maybe…”

“Do you know where they’re going, or when?” I asked, following Hunter as he patrolled across the bar, checking his men’s work over their shoulders.

“I know both.”

“And how is that?”

Hunter flashed me a devious smile. “My faithful scout has been in touch. Let’s just say that I know men in some wicked places…”

I didn’t want to work out whatever
that
was supposed to mean, so I dropped the topic.

As a member of the other side of the law, it was probably for the best that I knew as little as possible about my old flame’s operations.

“Not to sound rude or anything, but your numbers are looking a little light…”

Hunter expected the question. “This is only about a third of the club. The rest were too tired or drunk to lend their assistance. They’re sleeping off a few more hours. What you see are the ones who could sober up.”

I accepted this answer, noting how a few bikers glanced up with bags under their eyes. I could only hope that some fresh midnight wind would invigorate them.

Hunter turned to a nearby biker. He hadn’t pulled his attention away from working with the pistols on his bar top table. “How are we lookin’, Grizz?”

The biker stood up straight. Tall, burly, and intimidating, Grizz flashed his piercing blue eyes our way. Turning with a pistol in hand, he expertly emptied the magazine, bounced the bullet from the chamber, and reloaded the gun – all with his eyes trained on us.

“We’ve got this shit, boss.”

His fierce eyes locked onto mine, and I felt a slight shiver down my spine. He had such an otherworldly feel, but even in his dark gaze I sensed something compassionate and sad…

“Grizz, meet Sarah. She’ll be joining us on our little jaunt in the desert tonight.”

His eyebrow raised, and a faint flicker of a smile crossed his lips. “So, you’re the infamous
young woman that I’ve heard so much about…”

Hunter cleared his throat instantly, and Grizz flashed him a grin. “We’re in good shape,” he elaborated, turning to gaze upon the other bikers in the bar as they worked. “We’ll be ready to roll out in fifteen, maybe twenty minutes…”

“That’s what I like to hear,” the biker president nodded. “I need to go over a few things with our… distinguished guest, so I’ll leave things in your rather capable hands.”

“You go right ahead,” Grizz acknowledged, returning to his work. “I’ll give the signal when we’re ready to ride out.”

“Good man.”

Hunter led me towards the corridor, and I noticed the other bikers glance at us as we passed. They seemed to murmur among themselves, although a sharp eye from Hunter put these things to an immediate stop.

“Who was
that
guy?” I whispered.

“My second-in-command,” Hunter replied softly. “One of my best men, and an expert marksman. It has something to do with those pale goddamn eyes of his. Fucker’s saved my life more times than I can count…”

The sounds of clicking and loading guns receded as I followed him around a quick turn. A moment later, he pulled open an old, dusty door, beckoning me inside with a brief wave of the hand.

“Welcome to our
chapel
,” he explained.

A single exposed bulb above lighted the decrepit wooden room. It looked like something from below decks on a pirate ship – dark, dirty, and with rudimentary décor and a single large bookcase flowing with old hardbacks. The center of the room was dominated by a large, wooden round table – with large maps of the Southwestern states spread out, scattered with marks and small plastic pieces.

In a glance, I was taken back to the end of my youth – and that fateful last night together. I recalled stepping into a room that was filled to the brink with bikers from two distinct clubs, where Hunter had merely been the latest pawn on the table.