Any attention Cash had garnered was lost to the questions so clearly forming in his counterparts’ faces. Malik lifted a hand to silence those incoming questions.
“The stakes have risen. Higher-ups see us as dragging our feet. They want answers. As a whole unit, not only our team, the directive is to infiltrate every part of the club to take greater control of events as if we haven’t been trying to do that very thing. Shanna, they want you more on the inside.”
She glanced up from where she had been reading in the file, most likely about him. “What exactly are you saying?”
“I think it’s clear. They want you to put your nursing degree cover on hold and work within the club.”
Shanna’s face paled. “They’ll never believe I want anything to do with them.” She shook her head at the new directive.
“Your job is to make them believe,” Malik instructed. Any compassion to what that might mean was lost in his steely command.
Emma sat back in her seat, her gaze on Shanna. “This will put her at great risk with no quick answers. We know what happens to the women who join the club. They have one job and that’s to be at the disposal of those nasty men. They’ll always think of her in that way even if they can’t act on it because Fox deemed her hands-off. We’re better off moving forward like planned. Our pace is good. The intel we’ve gathered so far is phenomenal.”
“I don’t question my directives. Neither should you. We do what we’re told,” Malik said. “And I honestly agree with this new direction. They’ve had us sitting out here with our thumbs up our asses, waiting for intel to cross our paths. It’s time to move in closer. Be prepared to act when they call on us. Hopefully it’s soon because I refuse to live through another one of these never-ending hot summers.”
The shifting pieces kept moving as Cash tried to get a read on each agents’ internal motivation.
“If we’re ready to continue, Cash Ryan is a healthcare administration consultant from California. He’s been hired in a yearlong assignment by Methodist Hospital. We’re assigning Cash to Devilman’s detail. Shanna, we want you to focus on the women in the club, specifically the ones they call club whores. They have a story to tell, at least one is always present when the club president is around. She has to know something. Cash will be moving into Devilman’s new property in South Dallas. Joe will be hidden inside the unit with Cash, acting as your official handler, as I said. He’ll monitor everything. Anything you need, he’ll work out the details and get it to you. Also he’ll relay real time information back and forth from the local office to you, Cash.”
Cash nodded. Having Joe on the inside with him was standard practice. He felt bad for Joe. He’d barely see the light of day for the length of the time Cash lived in the apartment, but Joe had clearly signed on for the job. He had to know what he was getting into.
“Shouldn’t I be moving into one of Dev’s apartments then?” Shanna asked. “It’ll make me appear as if I’ve had a change in attitude. More accepting of my brother, not so put off by the club’s values.”
“Good idea. Then you and Joe will be on-site to assist Cash if anything arises. We’ve secured two of the four apartments in your brother’s building through the shell company set up to look like they employ Cash. That leaves one additional unit left vacant. Talk to your brother. Get him to lease that space to you. That’s the easiest way to get that done,” Malik instructed and moved the laser pointer back to a slide on the screen.
Joe opened his laptop, repositioning it on the table to share with Cash the PowerPoint presentation Malik currently worked from.
The blessed numbness Cash associated with his assignments returned. His mind went clear as he focused on the newest details.
He could do this. Shanna had just surprised him. Nothing more.
Chapter 5
The unrelenting heat slowly roasted Dev from the outside in. The area needed a fucking cold front to plow through and cool this bitch down. Led Zeppelin jammed on the Bluetooth speakers inside his helmet. Music being the only reason he ever voluntarily wore a dome when he rode. The volume pushed past the recommended capacity as the song thumped through his head and vibrated against the helmet.
Dev navigated the pothole riddled pavement known as Red Bird Lane. The bike bounced and swayed on a road that had seen better days twenty years ago.
He took a left turn, edging by the largest pothole on the street, heading into the Red Bird Lumber Yard. He idled his sled at the secured gated entrance as he took the helmet off, shook out his sweat-dampened hair and stared at the motion-sensing camera angled toward the entrance.
The lock unlatched and the gate crept open.
Dev secured the helmet on the bike and drove through the maze of freshly cut and stacked lumber. Each pile had been intentionally stacked to be taller than the warehouse built in the dead center of the property owned by the Disciples. One of the most lucrative businesses in their commercial portfolio. With the demand and price of wood increasing by the day, Red Bird Lumber Yard washed more cash than the rest of their businesses combined.
His old man had taught him decades ago that operating on the older, poorer side of town allowed the club to hide in plain sight. Nobody cared about the less fortunate. The general public wore blinders. Easier to pretend they didn’t exist than try to do anything to truly help.
The police barely patrolled the area, and when they did, it happened on a regular timetable. The Disciples set the patrol schedule. The officers were on the payroll, rewarded in cash to keep their eyes forward and ears closed.
What couldn’t be seen from outside the fence was the actual warehouse building in the center of the property. Also hidden were the armed security guards ready to act when necessary. All were members in some way or another of the Disciples, and all were true-blue Texans with anarchy in their souls—the ideal candidate for their brotherhood.
His old man banked on their nonconforming natures, slowly building a small army behind these gates.
He tipped his head at Tank, a long-standing patched brother and head of security for the property, as he passed by a larger pile of lumber. Tank’s grin split big. His front two teeth were missing but Dev guessed no one would ever know. The guy never smiled and barely spoke unless barking out an order. Tank was known as the groundskeeper of this property. One of the many father figures who had helped raise him into the man he was today.
An overhead door cranked open on his approach. He could hear the sounds of an electric saw cutting through lumber in the distance.
He pulled into the darkened building. He brought his Harley to a stop and cut the engine as the big overhead door closed shut behind him. The air conditioner blasted cool air into the large, almost empty space, sending a light chill over Dev as he got off the bike.
Dev ran his fingers through his damp hair, waiting for his eyesight to adjust to the dimmer interior after such a bright ride over. High heels clicked on the polished concrete slab. The sound surprised him. The club whores weren’t allowed on the premises. Even his mother didn’t venture in this direction. These were sacred grounds.
