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Chapter One
Diesel
“Why the fuck are we doing this again?” I asked the question to no one in particular as I hauled a big ass bag of old clothes, shoes, and other shit from my house that I didn’t need, into the clubhouse. I sent the MC vice president, Rocky, a dark scowl and he met it with a devious smirk. “Whose bright idea was it for the Steel Demons MC to do a clothing drive for the needy?”
Rocky barked out a laugh, his white teeth shining bright against his dark olive skin. “Someone had the bright idea that we needed to garner good will within the community.” Rocky scratched the scruff on his chin. “Seem to remember our president saying something about how giving back keeps the people on our side.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I waved him off because, as president of the Steel Demons MC, I had said that. Multiple times. “Where am I putting this shit?”
“I’ll take it.” Hawk, secretary, relieved me of the overstuffed trash bag with a knowing grin. “The prospects are in the parking lot with some of the girls sorting everything.”
“Make sure all the electronics come to me first so I can wipe everything,” Slate called out. He was the MC’s tech captain, which meant he was in charge of all things tech—both inside and outside the club. At first, I didn’t think we needed a tech anything, but his skills had helped us locate a kidnapped brother and my mind was changed.
“Yeah, I remember.” Hawk waved a dismissive hand as he carried my bag out back.
Slate laughed and went back to cataloging about a dozen old-school cellphones. “It’s so easy to rile him up.”
Rocky bounced away from the table and finished his beer before he clapped me on the back, sending my dark blond hair into my eyes. “Cheer up, man. It’s only, what, five or six hours of charity work.”
I groaned, pushing my hair back and pushing Rocky off me. “Fuck you.”
All the guys exploded with laughter at my uncharacteristic display of anger, and I couldn’t help but smile. The drive was my idea, but there was too much shit going on to spend five hours dealing with the citizens of Steel City. It was already on the books and the prospects had it handled, so I took a few minutes to deal with MC business before I went out to show my face.
Okay, I took an hour. Maybe two. The drive was in full swing by the time I made my appearance and found hundreds of people lined up to get clothes, shoes, older model televisions and gaming consoles, and even cell phones. They were all smiles, talking and having a good time. No one showed any concern about mingling with the local motorcycle gang.
The Steel Demons MC called Steel City, Nevada, home. Located on the outskirts of Las Vegas, our position allowed us to take advantage of the big city money to be had in the form of drugs and pussy and guns, without having to deal with drunk tourists and turf wars. The club owned more than a dozen businesses that fell on the right side of the law, which was a big part of the reason the good folks of Steel City hadn’t turned on us. Yet.
“This is a good thing you boys are doing.” Sheriff Hudson Cross stopped beside me, arms folded over his chest so that only half of his shiny badge peeked through. “The people of this town need a leg up.”
I nodded because I couldn’t disagree with the lawman, not on this point.
“Thank you for doing this. Many of the people need this but they’re too proud to ask for help.”
“This is our home, Sheriff. It benefits us all to make sure everyone has what they need to make it through the day.” It wasn’t the first time we’d had this discussion. By my count this was at least the ninety-ninth time.
“I know.” His gaze, like mine, remained fixed on the lines of citizens eagerly waiting to get what they needed without going broke. “That’s why I wish you boys would go legit.”
“We are legit,” I reminded the salt-and-pepper-haired sheriff. He was only in his fifties, yet he treated us all like his misbehaving nephews. “In case you forgot, it was the hair salon, dispensary, and bar that gave you their endorsement for sheriff. All businesses owned by Steel Demons.”
“Not to mention the gun range, the nightclub, and how many whorehouses?”
I shrugged. “Enough that our taxes help keep this town runnin’.”
“Exactly,” he said, and turned to me with a gotcha smile on his face. “So why not take the burden off both our backs by getting rid of the guns I’m not supposed to know about and all the other shit, and focus on those businesses?” His brow unfurled as a smile crossed his face. “Surely that’s enough to keep you in exhaust pipes and leather vests?”
It was a fair question, one we’d all asked once or twice. There were plenty of answers to that one question, but it all came down to one simple thing. “This is who we are, Sheriff. The good and the bad.”
“The good isn’t the problem,” he sighed, and stopped a rolling soccer ball with his booted foot before pushing it back to a group of boys wearing sheepish smiles. “Two girls were found half naked and overdosed behind The Waffle Grill.”
“Which we don’t own,” I reminded him. “You ID the girls yet?”
Cross shook his head. The disappointed set of his shoulders and the angry clenching of his jaw showed that he was a good man—for a lawman—and why we tolerated his well-meaning advice. “I don’t recognize them as locals.”
I knew it took around two hours for AFIS to get hits, but if their prints weren’t in the system then that wasn’t much help. Slate was a sneaky fucker who knew a few backdoors, so maybe he’d manage to find something.
“Got photos?” The last fucking thing I wanted to see was two dead girls who’d partied too hard, but this was part of the deal.
He handed me his phone, his expression glued to mine while I examined the photos. “Know ’em?”
