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“I was surprised, too, when I found out about this MC. How they really are. How they look out for people. How did you hear about them?”
“It was… it was just a job,” was all that Piper could say.
It felt like a dirty confession, saying it that way. Just a job. Just an assignment, from my overlords, from my masters, and here I am being a good little doggie and obeying.
“Oh. Well, I see how Pony is with you. I’d say you’re part of the family now, too,” Nikki said, then jumped a little at her phone buzzing. “Oh, that’s Devil texting me. Talk to you later, Piper.”
“Yeah,” Piper said dully, vacantly, lost in her thoughts as she shuffled her feet out of the clubhouse and across the parking lot.
Everything inside of her felt scooped out and hollow. She felt like she was leaving the scene of a crime, which technically, she was.
All of what Nikki had just told her only underscored everything she’d learned about the MC. Everything she’d felt about Pony. That this place was different, that he was more than just another outlaw biker, and that the last thing the FBI should be doing was wasting their time trying to infiltrate them and take them down.
What for? So that people like Benny could be tossed out into the streets?
This whole thing, everything she’d done, felt like the exact opposite of what she should be doing. The opposite of why she’d joined the FBI in the first place.
She sat in her car, practically falling into the driver’s seat, feeling like gravity had become ten times stronger and was pressing her down until she could barely breathe. Almost as soon as her ass hit the seat, her phone rang.
Piper dug out her phone mechanically and glanced at it.
Harris. Unbelievable. It was like he was in the trees watching her with binoculars.
Maybe he is, at that, she thought, and answered the phone.
“Is it done?” Harris said.
Piper stayed quiet, not wanting to admit to herself what she’d just done.
“Is it done?” he said again, more insistently this time.
“Yes, goddamn it, it’s done,” Piper said.
“Good. Good. You did the right thing. I’m calling it in now. We’ll be there with a search warrant in no time flat. Good job, Piper.”
It didn’t feel like a good job. It felt like she was drowning a sick puppy in a bucket.
Harris was still talking, but Piper hung up the phone and stared at the MC clubhouse. Soon, a team of FBI agents would descend on the building, sweep through it, find the heroin, and that would be it.
The brothers would be arrested. Pony would be arrested. And it would be her fault.
It wasn’t right. Pony was a good man, she knew it. And what he’d told her about the MC, and what she’d seen herself… it wasn’t justice to arrest them for something they’d never done. And once they were gone, then what?
If Pony and the MC were the ones keeping the heavy drugs from taking a foothold in this town, then with them gone, the floodgates would be open. The irony wasn’t lost on Piper. Planting drugs that the MC didn’t deal, with the result being that actual drug dealing would now happen on a regular basis.
None of it made any sense. But deep down inside, Piper knew that the real reason she didn’t want to do this was Pony.
Her initial instincts that he was a good man had been proven over and over again. Everything she’d seen had told her that he was the man she’d thought he was. That she’d hoped he was.And now she was about to crush him, with a paper bag full of heroin.
The thought of that bag sitting in the bar was an itch in the back of her mind, digging away at her conscience. She couldn’t ignore it; it was relentless, insistent, scratching and needling and demanding to be settled.
She couldn’t do this. She wouldn’t do this.
If she left the heroin sitting in there like a time bomb waiting to go off and destroy the MC, it would eat away at her soul until there was nothing left but a gaping hole. She had to go back in there and get it out.
But how? She’d barely made it out of there, and that was with the place virtually empty. It was starting to get later in the day; the brothers were going to start trickling into the clubhouse any minute now.
Piper knew that the majority of criminals got caught by returning to the scene of the crime and trying to cover up evidence. It was a damn cliché. The thought of some random tiny scrap of evidence would lodge in the criminal’s mind, like her thoughts of the planted heroin, and they couldn’t help but obsess over it. That obsession would lead them back to the crime scene, desperate to scrub every possible minute trace of their involvement, and in doing so, they ended up giving the police all the evidence they needed by actually being present at the crime scene when a witness showed up.
