Page 13 of Last Mile

As Gavin slid onto the worn leather seat, he grunted. “Don’t think I didn’t take that angle with Peterson.”

I laughed as I climbed on behind him. My arms slid around his waist to grip him tight. Learning to ride bitch on a motorcycle was something I hated almost as much as having to dress like a hooker.

But Gavin and I had spent several evenings riding together after work to make sure I looked like a natural on the back of his bike. But thosehad been only short trips around the neighborhood and in town.

Tonight would be the farthest I had ever been on a bike.

We sped off into the night, leaving my house, my comfortable life, and my usual .40-caliber Glock behind. The Raiders clubhouse was a good forty- five minutes north of Marietta, the Atlanta suburb where I lived. After Gavin started scaring the hell out of me as he careened in and out of the Friday evening traffic, I closed my eyes and focused on the briefing we had had earlier in the day with Peterson.

Tonight was a huge opportunity for our case. Gavin had spent weeks slowly befriending Bishop Malloy, and it had finally culminated in Gavin, or Marley as he was known to Bishop, being invited to a hang out at the clubhouse.

While Gavin was to keep his eyes and ears open with all members of the Raiders, not just Bishop, I was to focus my attention solely on Bishop. As the sergeant at arms, he would be the most connected to the gun trade not counting the president and vice president. Because of the type of man he was known to be, I was to pull out all the stops when it came to using my feminine wiles. While his two brothers, Deacon and Rev, were settled down and married, Bishop was the epitome of a womanizer. His greatest joy in life outside the club was to flirt and fuck, and my intent was to use that against him. It was the old adage of a woman driving a man to distraction, and that distraction being used to slip him up and eventually take him down.

When we got off the interstate, the terrain began to change. We started to wind around curvy roads and climb small hills. I could see the mountains off in the distance. It was hard to imagine an MC staking claim in the backwoods, but apparently that was where the Georgia chapter of the Raiders made their home.

I knew where the roadhouse was long before we reached it. Far off in the distance, I saw a building ablaze with lights, and bikes lining the parking lot. Gavin surprised me by not turning in but parking away from the others. But then I remembered something I had read that only fully patched members parked their bikes together, and in turn, those bikes were watched over by a prospect. Everyone else was on his own.

After Gavin killed the engine, he glanced over his shoulder at me. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” I said— a lie, considering that my anxiety had spiked from zero to a hundred just from being on the Raiders’ property. When Gavin chuckled, I knew he saw through my line of bullshit. After he stood up and took off his helmet, he helped me.

“You’re going to be fine, Vargas.”

I held up a hand. “Please. No more pep talking. I can’t begin to tell you how thankful I am that we’re not wired up tonight, because I would die a thousand deaths before I would want Peterson or the others to see me so fucking fragile.”

“I promise no one will ever know my ball- busting bitch turned chickenshit. Okay?”

I laughed as I smacked his arm playfully. “Thanks.”

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

We started across the parking lot toward the roadhouse. As I worked to control my breathing, Gavin slid a comforting arm around my waist. To others it would look like a possessive move to show ownership over me, but I knew in his mind he was doing it to try to put me at ease.

When we got to the front door, a burly tattooed guy with multiple piercings guarded the entrance. “Can I help you?”

Without missing a beat, Gavin said, “Yeah, we’re here for the party.”

Tattoo Guy smirked skeptically at Gavin. “Is that right?”

“It sure as hell is. Just ask Bishop.”

“You Marley?” When Gavin nodded in acknowledgment, Tat-

too Guy stepped aside. “Enjoy yourself.”

“Thanks,” Gavin said.

As we walked in the door, I somewhat expected everyone to turn and stare at us— confirmation of the true outsiders we were. But no one really looked our way, and if they did, we were greeted with a nod of acknowledgment. Across the room, a house band had music pumping out of the speakers, and couples danced on a makeshift dance floor. Others hung around the bar, sipping on beers and mixed drinks.

Gavin started to take a step forward, but I froze. Each time my gaze fell on a biker, he became my father’s murderer standing in front of me. My heartbeat accelerated wildly in my chest, and I fought to breathe. Ducking my head, I pinched my eyes shut and started counting to ten in my mind.

“Sam, are you okay?” Gavin whispered in my ear. The fact that he called me by my first name meant he was truly worried.

“Bathroom. I need a bathroom,” I gasped. When he started to lead me across the room, I jerked back and shook my head. “No. I do this on my own. You go on. I’ll catch up to you.”

Gavin’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Just give me ten to get my shit together.”