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Chapter 1 Mack
“Can’t say I’m surprisedto hear from you, Bryce,” I announced after accepting the collect call from Humboldt County Corrections. “You meet with Sydney?”
“Yeah. Doesn’t look good for me, Mack.”
Shit. “It’d help if you told me what the fuck they have on you.”
“Tons of shit. I ratted out the SOMC.”
I didn’t consider that a bad thing. Those assholes deserved what was coming to them. Bryce didn’t owe his dead abusive father or his club a goddamn thing.
“I fucking sang like a bird. Gave them everything they needed to bury the Outlaws for good.”
Damn. I didn’t think he’d go that far. “What was the plea deal?”
“I didn’t ask for one,” he replied calmly.
“Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell are you thinkin’, kid? You’re gonna serve hard time without one. That what you want?”
Guilt for leaving him behind at the jail while I walked out with my son Pete surfaced. Didn’t sit well with me that Bryce sacrificed his freedom for us.
“I want this shit to end,” he answered quietly. “No more attachment to those assholes. I need to know they’re going down, Mack. For good.”
“Not many of them left, Bryce,” I pointed out. “Not after the warehouse and Maxwell Forman’s involvement.”
“That’s why I got to see this through.”
“But not at the expense of your life. You wanna rot in prison for the next twenty years? Because that’s what’ll happen, Bryce.”
“I can handle myself.”
“This ain’t about Striker or any of the shit he beat into your head. You don’t have to sacrifice yourself for the Outlaws, Bryce. Take a plea.”
“Mack. This isn’t why I called.”
“You sign anything yet?”
“No. Sydney asked me to wait until tomorrow’s deadline. The feds seem antsy.”
Smart. That lawyer earned every dime we paid him. “Feds are always riled up. You take whatever deal Sydney tells you.”
“You’re actin’ like my pres, Mack.”
“Damn straight. The Riders need you, Bryce. Your brother wants you patched in. Pete’s not gonna let you take the fall for Striker’s mistakes.”
I wish that fucker was still alive so we could make him suffer a little longer for his crimes. Bryce should have had more than that mean motherfucker for a father who didn’t give a shit about him, treating him like dogshit on the bottom of his shoe.
Bryce’s heavy sigh was the only response. “Yeah, okay. I’ll talk to Sydney.”
My chest released and I realized I’d been holding my breath, waiting for him to agree. Fuckin’ kid deserved a break, not the shit from the past that threatened to consume him.
“Stay in touch,” I ordered.
“I will.”
He ended the call, and I sat back, wondering how Sydney would get him out of this mess. Edge wouldn’t be able to handle it if his brother ended up in prison for the rest of his life.
We kept Sidney Vaughn on retainer. He handled all the legal shit for the club and was worth every penny. He’d gotten us out of some tough scrapes. The one thing he knew better than anyone else was the law.
