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Grabbing the small magnifying glass she always carried on her keyring, she slid it over the photo. The outline of a symbol or sketch was on the back of the second man. She held it up to the light, and a devil horn came into view.
Cursing, her stomach jumped.Diablos. I was right.Since Estevan “Muerte” Morales’s incarceration, her father’s motorcycle club remained reclusive. Despite their low profile, everywhere she searched, the East Coast MC dominated the club market. Other MCs laundered Diablos’ money and moved their drug shipments.This time, I’ll get them.
Immediately, the past hit her hard. After finishing her FBI training, she’d been dead set on tracking down the bastards and making them pay. To her regret, they avoided her and always gave her the slip. It wasn’t a coincidence. Her father knew her occupation—how? She could only guess money granted information from within prison walls, and Estevan had plenty of it—and didn’t want her to catch them. She’d kept her government issued surname in hopes that no one would associate her with Estevan. No matter how much distance she tried to put between her past, it wasn’t far enough. Her supervisor at the time forced her back to reality. It was then that she focused her career on organized crime, specifically motorcycle clubs. She had to take down Diablos.One way or another, I will.
She looked out the window. Fluffy clouds met her gaze, along with blue sky as far as her eyes could see. Removing her father’s MC meant she’d have to color outside the lines, though. Her FBI set of rules didn’t apply when it came to Diablos. They were the devil that hid in the shadows, waiting for her to step out of bounds so they could capture her and take her to their leader—her father.
An entire wall of her apartment was dedicated to Diablos, with a multitude of spider webs intermingling the MCs she knew of or had taken down. After her father repeatedly tried to get in contact with her, it became clear she couldn’t ignore him. Estevan Morales filed numerous appeals with the court, attempting to appear as the wronged victim and loving father. Nikita rolled her eyes. Her father was anything but innocent. He’d wanted to pull her into the MC. He’d said so before he was sent to prison. She purposefully avoided all things MC after his trial.... but the past always seemed to come back for her. She couldn’t put aside her true purpose in life.End Diablos.
Mandi nudged her leg. “You look like you’re brewing something.”
She closed the file. “Maybe, I am.”
Her partner sighed. “Just try and not get me killed. My niece turns five next month. I’d like to attend her golden birthday.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll be home before then.”
She glanced to the window again, the plane entering a clump of dark clouds. The dark hue of the clouds reminded her of the pile of cuts in her storage locker. She clenched her jaw, recalling ripping the patches from the MC presidents’ cuts after each takedown and pinning them up on her intricate MC board at her apartment. Trophies in a way but mostly puzzle pieces that would lead her to Diablos.
Her reputation in the bureau was solid, and she earned the respect of the men and women around her. She couldn’t ask for more. Thoughts of a future and someday having a family of her own made her frown. Her workaholic reputation didn’t get her any dates, but she didn’t have time for that.
“You’ll come back, mija, and you’ll stay by my side.” Nikita shook her head. She’d prove her father wrong. She wouldn’t return to Diablos unless it was to take it down for good. There was a black and white tattoo with that same promise. The future could wait.
Chapter Three
Kevlar
“Once you finish the radiator,move to the air compressor.” Kevlar patted the prospect on the shoulder and walked away before the younger man could ask any more questions. He didn’t feel like answering now.
Pausing at the entrance of Macha’s garage, he watched vehicles zoom by one at a time. Over the last month, he’d slowly reintegrated himself with society and the club. It really didn’t take much effort. The guys were the same as when he’d left. A few new faces greeted him each morning, but the tried and true kept him going.
Hawk waved at him from outside the tattoo parlor connected to the club’s bar. He was out there for his usual smoke break, Legs and her man, Snoopy, joining him this hour. Rubble cursed from within the garage, and Kevlar glanced over his shoulder and smirked toward the big man rubbing the back of his head. He was a whiz when it came to vehicles of all kinds, but clearly, his large stature wasn’t made for Honda Civics.
He faced forward, a group of nymphs huddled outside the bar, their assortment of colored hair blowing in the sultry air. He recognized one of the brunettes, and the night before flashed in his mind. Scratches lined his back alongside bite marks from when the little nymph could take his thrusts no longer. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and turned around. The casual sex was fine. Nothing to write home about, but better than none.
“Kevlar, can you give me a hand?”
Steering toward one of the newer prospects, he helped the other man finish the tire rotation and wiped his hands with a rag.
“I’m done for the day. Let’s go grab a beer,” Rubble called over the hum of the impact wrench.
Tossing the rag to the prospect, he nodded. “Works for me.” He gave the prospects their final jobs, then walked toward Booze and Tattoos.
Waving his big hand, Rubble said, “Nah, not ours tonight.”
Kevlar lifted his brow. “Then where?”
Rubble straddled his gigantic Harley. “Greenback’s.”
“Wait, what?” He grabbed his helmet off the back of his bike.
“Prez wants us to do a little recon. He heard some whisperings about the Cutthroats joining up with Diablos.”
The MC name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. “Who’re they again?”
“They’re an East Coast MC.” Rubble pulled on his leather gloves. “Over the years, they’ve slowly encroached on other club territories. Some even merged with Diablos.”
“Damn.” He shook his head and swung his leg over his bike. “Wait, weren’t they on the news? They run drugs.”
