Page 41 of Creed

He snorts. “Half the town at this point. That’s the fucking problem. No way those fucks are making enough to buy up as much land as they are.”

I frown a little. “If they have that many businesses, it’s possible. It’s not necessarily about cash flow but collateral when getting loans.”

Warner scoffs. “Not when all their businesses never ran red. One, we can see, but every business turns a profit every year? That’s unheard of.”

“How do you know this? I can’t imagine a judge signing off on their financial records.”

My partner laughs, shaking his head. “Devil’s Tide may try to front like a weekender club, but they were one-percenters not that long ago. We can ask for whatever we want and the judge will sign off on it. Hell, sometimes we don’t even have to ask. Can’t wait to see them get what’s coming for them.”

I try to calm my heart, thinking about Creed and the club that he talks about proudly. Even in Arizona, the Sedona Sinners rarely gave us trouble. I’ve never been one to harass people for the hell of it without cause. They can live their lifestyle until I see them break the law, then I’ll step in.

I purse my lips. “What’s coming for them?” And why? I’ve never heard of anyone in town being harmed outside of the normal crime here and there.

“Chief didn’t tell you?” His suspicion isn’t hard to miss.

I shake my head. “No. If anything, he pushes me a little harder than everyone else so no one can accuse him of favoritism. I’m probably too new in his eyes.”

Warner hums under his breath. “He’s a bit of a hardass.”

We exchange a tentative glance while he tries to smother his hesitant smile before clearing his throat. “Some rich hotshot from Vegas is looking to run them out of town, buying up all their loans out from under them so he can drive them out of the space.”

“I didn’t know that was possible, but I’m also not an expert or anything.”

He nods. “Me either, and I don’t try to understand. I just do what I’m told. Like look the other way when some kids want to mess with the restaurant or break into some shops overnight.”

Oh, is that all?is what I want to sneer. Instead, I calm my angry heart and raise my eyebrows. “That why you’re switching to overnights?”

He sighs. “Yeah, Marla ain’t happy about it. Macy might have some ear infections again.” Warner doesn’t speak often about his family, and the small reminder has me calming a little. I can’t fault a man for trying to protect them, but I can find the level of corruption that’s bleeding into the force despicable.

“Well, I can take them. I don’t mind switching, just…give me a route to cruise.”

I try to tell myself this isn’t for Creed, but to get an idea of what’s going on. It’s a little of both; I need the space from him and what we’re going to do about the tiny peanut growing in my belly.

Seeing that woman wrapped around him leaves a sour taste in my mouth, but I can’t help feeling protective of the club, or more so Creed.

Warner glances at me, then back at the road. “Yeah?”

I nod. “Yeah, can’t report what I can’t see, right?”

My mind wanders back to the file I still have stashed on my desk and all the other things that the sheriff is just overlooking for the sake of trying to drive the club out of Bluport. It doesn’t make sense to me; they don’t seem like bad people, or really even criminals anymore.

“Morgan—” Warner is interrupted by dispatch calling in a possible homicide. My stomach drops, knowing we’re the closestunit. “Shit,” he curses before calling us in to answer the call. Everything to do with the bikers is forgotten as he switches the lights on and we race to the scene.

As soon as he pulls into the parking lot and around the back of the building, tingles of trepidation skitter up my spine.

“Something doesn’t seem right,” he mutters under his breath.

I nod, agreeing silently as we climb out of the car. He takes his flashlight out and nods in the direction he’s taking.

“Bluport Sheriffs! Is everyone okay?” he bellows out.

I keep my hand on my hip, right over my gun as I follow Warner behind the building. A drawn-out moan that sounds painful has my heart jumping into my throat. We slow our pace and Warner unclips his gun, steadying it with his flashlight over the barrel.

“Bluport Sheriffs. Is everyone okay?” Warner calls again.

Another groan, and I unholster my gun as well, nodding at Warner that I have his back.

We come around the corner and pause to take in the situation with our guns drawn. There’s a large man slumped over next to a dumpster. Dirt smudged all over his shirt and jeans, a blood spot pooling on his bulging belly.