Saviour: A Devil's Spawn MC Novel (Savior Book 3) (3 page)

Opening up the front door, I still have a key to the townhouse I own regardless that I’ve never liver then, I drop my keys on the front hall table and hook my jacket on the coat rack. It’s only eight-o’clock on a Thursday night, so I know Charlee will be home from work by now. It’s not a weekend so she’ll be slinking around here somewhere. Charlee works as a personal assistant to an event planner here in Chicago. Because Saturday and Sunday weddings are the most popular she’s usually always home early enough to get a good night’s sleep in before a full-on weekend. I don’t know much about my wife but I do know that she values her sleep like I value a cold beer at the end of a long day. There aren’t many lights on giving me a clue as to where she is. The kitchen is my best bet.

I bought the townhouse with Charlee in the Chicago historic district of Pilsen a few months prior to finding out Charlee didn’t want kids. I had no intention of moving in here with her when I was discharged, but saw it as a good investment so let her continue living here when I went back to my parents’ house. The place is too fucking big for just her, but I could give a shit, if it keeps her off my back she can fucking keep it. With four-bedrooms, five-baths, split over three levels I don’t know what the appeal is when you’re going to be living in it alone, however she fucking loves the place.

Folding my cut placing it beside my keys, I make my way into the kitchen at the far end of the house. Sitting at the counter with a glass of wine in front of her and the society pages of the newspaper open, Charlee has her back to the door not even cluing in to the fact that I’m here yet. She’s still as hot as she’s always been but these days, let’s be honest for the last six years, she doesn’t do anything for me. My cock doesn’t even twitch at the sight of her. Not that I’m surprised, he learnt his lesson too.

Tipping the glass to her painted red lips she lets out a shriek as she finally sees me leaning against the door frame.

“What the fuck Hunter? You scared the shit out of me.”

Setting her glass down she stands and I reply,

“Yeah? I’d say I’m sorry but we both know I’m not.”

Charlee snarls at me. Her upper lip twitches like she’s trying to hold back one of the bitchy comments she’s known for,

“Well now you’re here what do you want? There’s no way you’ve come all this way to just visit your wife, so I’m sure there’s something you’re after.”

This is how all our interactions go. Charlee acts like a raving bitch, I pretend I’m indifferent to her when all I want to do is fucking choke her out half the time, we fight, then we part ways until next time.

“What I want is for you to give me a fucking divorce. It’s been nearly sixteen years Charlee. For fucks sake, you don’t even have to change your name back to your maiden name if you don’t want to. Just sign the papers I sent you last month, and we can be done with this shit.” Last month I had the MC’s lawyer, Davis, draw up a new set of divorce papers signing the townhouse, and a million dollars from my trust fund my parents’ set up, over to Charlee if she agrees to settle out of court. My parents’ would be fucking livid if they found out I gave her a dime, but at this point I don’t fucking care. I just want her out of my life once and for all.

Chuckling she says,

“You and I both know that’s not going to happen Hunter. Not only do I know that you’re worth twenty times that minimum, but we’ve had this discussion before and my reasons for not agreeing to it haven’t changed. How would it look if an Adams son divorced me? I don’t know why this is such a big deal anyway, it’s worked for us so far. Unless…” She lets her sentence hang attempting to get me to bite. I never do so I don’t know why she still bothers. Not getting any reaction out of me Charlee keeps spewing her bullshit. “If this is about that cheap looking slut you’ve got stashed away in bumfuck Colorado then…”

I cut her off because there’s no way in fuck I’m going to let her talk about Priss like that. Priss isn’t cheap, and she’s far from a slut. The woman barely dates thanks to me. When she does, she doesn’t get more than a goodnight peck on the cheek. I’ve made sure of it. What I’m curious about is how Charlee knows about Priss to begin with.

“You checking up on me Charlee?” I don’t bother to address the shit she spouted about Priss. It won’t do anything but confirm Charlee’s suspicions and I can’t be fucked getting in an all-out fight with the bitch tonight. I’m tired, hungry, I need a beer, and a bed to crash in for the night. A fight is the last thing I need.

“It’s in my best interests to know what you’re up to when you’re not here. I’ve been told the motorcycle gang you’re involved with makes for interesting viewing. I can only assume the teenage girl you’ve been seen around town with is the sister?”

Yeah, she’s having me tailed. Complete with fucking photos, which no doubt she’s intending to use to benefit her somehow. If I thought that giving her my entire trust fund would get the bitch to sign those papers I would. But I know better. Charlee values her reputation, or the reputation she thinks she has more than the quick injection of cash she’ll most definitely spend faster than water runs from a tap. Shaking my head I ask,

“What’s it going to take Charlee? You don’t want the fucking money, and you don’t want me, so what will it take to get you to give me my life back?”

Turning to the sink she rinses her glass placing it in the dish drainer. When she’s done she turns to face me again, and I can see a ghost of a smile on her lips.

“See, that’s just it my dear husband I don’t want anything from you other than the use of your name. I don’t give a shit who you fuck while you ride around on your bikes in the middle of nowhere. What I do care about is that you keep up appearances while you’re here. That means for all intents and purposes you’re my husband and you’re faithful. If you keep pushing for a divorce, not only will I go to the press with that little expose, I’ll also consider making an exception when it comes to leaving Chicago so that I can visit my long-lost husband in his new hometown. I haven’t got the chance to assure myself you’ve settled in yet, and I would love to meet your latest plaything. So the choice is yours.” With a cruel smile she crosses her bony arms over her chest.

I won’t bite. Giving her the satisfaction of seeing me angry wasn’t going to happen. I ask keeping my tone even,

“And what? You’ll roll into town in the BMW daddy bought you and throw a fucking temper tantrum? Because if that’s what your grand plan is you’ll be fucking disappointed Charlee. I could give two fucks whether you show up in Blackwater, or not.” There’s no use withholding specifics like which town I’m living in anymore she obviously knows. I just want this done. “Consider yourself on fucking notice. Before I leave tomorrow I’ll have the divorce papers filed then we’re done. Use the Adams name, or don’t. I don’t fucking care because you won’t be my problem anymore.”

An evil smirk crosses her face. I can only imagine what her head is concocting. What she intends to manipulate me with this time. I don’t have to wait long to find out.

“I don’t think you’ll do that Hunter, you’ve got too much to lose. It would be a shame if anyone in that little gang you pretend to belong to found out your little secret now wouldn’t it? It wouldn’t be hard to share the valuable information I’ve come across while making sure my husband wasn’t cheating on me. From what I’ve heard, motorcycle gangs don’t appreciate rats. Apparently that’s frowned upon isn’t it?”

Jesus Christ. Whoever this bitch is using to get her information is fucking good I’ll give him that. I don’t correct her use of the term ‘gang’, she knows full well it’s a fucking club not a gang. Years ago that threat might have made me uneasy. Not because of any fear for my life if any of the brothers found out, because I could easily slip away like a thief in the night, relocate, use an alias, and they’d never find me. No. Her threats impact would have come from me needing to leave Priss. I hadn’t had the chance to assuage my curiosity yet, and had no intention of leaving until I did. Things have changed now though, and while most of my brothers don’t know about my real job someone, or should I say someone’s do.

CHAPTER TWO

Hunter

Turn The Page - Metallica

Damon Ford is the FBI agent in charge of the task force responsible for the sting involving the Satan’s Sons and my handler. He’s the only person within the bureau I’ve had any direct, or indirect contact with, and he’s also the man who’s about to have his ass handed to him. It’s ironic really when you think about it. The FBI prides themselves on being all seeing, all hearing, all knowing. When it came to Devil’s Spawn MC they had no fucking clue what they were up against, especially Damon.

Damon sent a text to my FBI issued burner phone today, eighteen months into the op we’ve been working instructing me to meet him at a spot about twenty miles out of town. I spotted him sitting on a bench underneath some overhanging branches, taking a seat beside him I stretch out my legs crossing them at the ankles and ask,

“What’s this about D? You don’t call me away ever, so it better be damn important if you’re getting me out here in the middle of the day when anyone can show up.”

Damon isn’t a small guy. He isn’t close to my height or weight, but he’s just as intimidating if not more so. Cracking his knuckles he leans back releasing a deep frustrated breath.

“We’ve run into a snag Hunter. I had no idea about what I’m about to tell you until today. Apparently the higher ups didn’t see fit to inform us lowly employees that they have multiple operations involving the same MC happening with in the bureau at the same time. I figure they were playing the odds. Working out who was gonna find the most, and then they’d decide how to proceed.”

Conflicting operations could blow this shit out of the water before we can even get a case put together.

“What the fuck are you talking on about? What did you find out?”

Shaking his head I can see Damon is just as pissed as I am, if not more so. Replying with clenched teeth he spits out,

“Getting you inside Devil’s Spawn in order to take out Satan’s Sons doesn’t seem like it’s a new idea. Two hours ago I got a call from the DA in Denver telling me he’s concerned about the overlapping cases with the MC’s. Apparently the FBI has four other agents already inside Devil’s Spawn MC under deep cover. They’ve been there for over twenty fucking years.”

Suddenly everything clicks slowing right the fuck down, and it all finally makes perfect sense. There are only six guys in the MC that have been members for over twenty years; Priest, Pipe, Reaper, Phil, Vic, and Jones. Having the president, vice president, sergeant at arms, and road captain acting as undercover FBI agents is akin to printing your own currency if I’m right in my assumptions. The influence those positions hold is like having a majority vote in our, the FBI’s, favour.

Shaking my head at the implications of Damon’s statement I question him some more.

“So what does that mean for us? Do we continue? Do we pack it in? What?” Unless our operations can work in cooperation there’s no point in me staying on.

“Look Hunter, word from above is we continue as planned. The Intel these four guys have is only going to work to solidify our RICO case. They fucking pegged you within a month of prospecting, or so I’ve been told by their handler. As to why they haven’t approached you about it, I don’t know. Clearly they’re not a threat otherwise I would have expected them to make a move, or at least make themselves known long before now.” Fuck me. This has just turned into a clusterfuck of epic proportions. “I’ve got no doubt they’ll make contact soon so hang tight. Do what you’ve been doing. Go about your business like this was any normal day. This shit doesn’t mean anything other than you’ll have other people in your corner. From the little I’ve been told not even their families know their status, so you won’t be jumping out of any closets any time soon. Keep your shit tight, and watch your six Hunter.” Damon wasn’t wrong in his assumption that they’d make contact soon, nor was I with my guess who the agents’ identities were.

Priest, Pipe, Reaper, and Jones are all, or was in Jones’ case, deep undercover operatives. They were all recruited as seniors in high school due to their dads’ involvement with Devil’s Spawn MC, all their dads’ being position holding members of the MC at the time. The FBI saw it as a challenge to get four potential MC prospects on the payroll before they delved into a world that they’d never come out of without criminal records, or possibly dead. They ended up being useful assets over the two decades that followed, so the FBI left them where they were.

It’s hard to guess which side of the line their loyalty lays on these days. After being firmly entrenched in the lifestyle, fabricating lies to cover their positions, and creating families that live the life now too, they’d be hard pressed to choose a side if it came down to it. If anything, Jones and his wife dying in a car accident only strengthened the three remaining agents’ dedication to the MC. Watching the way the brothers and their families rallied around a grieving Priss and Tilly, I knew what my choice would be if it was ever forced. I’d choose her… Every time. 

Bringing me back to the now Charlee says,

“So what’s it going to be Hunter? Do you agree to give up on this ridiculous idea of a divorce, or do I need to book a ticket to Boulder?”

It is make or break time, and I’m not breaking today.

“Bring it bitch. Do you need me to book the ticket for you, or do you think you can manage?” I call her bluff. Why? Because I’m fucking stupid, that’s why. The truth is this day’s been coming for years now. I knew my hand would end up being forced somehow, I just didn’t think it would be Charlee doing it. Obviously I hadn’t given her enough credit for the bitch she truly is.

Something else I knew was Charlee would bide her time before showing up in Blackwater. She’d want to do it when I was least expecting it, and she did. Her timing couldn’t have been worse if I handpicked it myself. I just had to hope that when my house of cards came crumbling down that I got everyone clear before its total collapse.