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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: CHROME

Instead of finding Scorch on the other side of the door, I see Sammy.

“Is something wrong?” I ask him.

He shakes his head. “No, but I hoped to talk to you about something.”

I open the door and let him come inside. He enters but stops when he sees Eagle and Byte.

“I can come back if you’re too busy,” Sammy offers.

“We can leave,” Byte offers as he closes his laptop.

“You don’t have to leave. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

When Byte glances at me, I nod for him to stay. I’d rather he not lose any time. I can’t shake the feeling that we need to move quickly on this new lead.

Instead, I take my seat and gesture for Sammy to sit in the visitor’s chair across from me.

“What do you need?”

“I got a call from the District Attorney’s office. They wanted to tell me the case is moving closer to trial. They’re interviewing jurors this week. The prosecutor doesn’t think this will be a quick process. But once they’ve finalized the jury, the trial will start immediately, so he wanted me prepared.”

I nod. “That makes sense. Are you worried about having to travel to the courthouse? Because you won’t be going alone. I’ll make sure you have protection.”

“Thanks, Prez. No, I’m not worried about the trial,” Sammy says, then scoffs. “That’s not true. I’m nervous, but it’s more like nervous anticipation. I can’t wait to see that asshole pay for what he’s done.”

“Me, too,” I agree. Most of the time, I don’t give a rat’s ass about what happens to civilians. However, I am interested in Sammy and the priest he’s testifying against. That asshole assaulted an innocent young girl. Guys like him deserve to spend time in a cage. However, I wouldn’t mind first having him in The Shed for a few hours. The Shed is where we deliver pain to those who cross us. When my predecessor converted a former factory into the clubhouse, he demolished several outbuildings that would have required extensive repairs but offered little benefit. However, he had kept the house where the security guard lived. The two-bedroom, one-bath residence now serves as storage for odds and ends. But, that isn’t why he not only kept the building, but remodeled it. No, he kept the building because of one feature: a large basement that extended past the house’s footprint with concrete blocks for soundproofing. Many men have found themselves in that basement. Many men have lost their lives there, too. But only after spending hours screaming in pain.

Yes. I’d very much like to have the priest spend a few hours screaming in The Shed—a fitting punishment for a man who used his position of trust to molest young girls.

“I’m not worried about travelling to the trial,” Sammy says. “Although I’m grateful to have the protection.”

“Then what is the problem?”

Sammy runs his hands nervously over his jean-clad thighs. His eyes dart around the room before reluctantly dragging them back to my face. “I’m grateful to you for all you’ve done for me. You didn’t have to take me in when those assholes jumped me, but you did. You gave me safety and a chance to prospect with the club. Which is why this is hard for me.”

I stare at him, impatiently waiting for him to continue. When he stays silent, I don’t. “Are you saying you don’t want to prospect with the club?”

“No! I’m not saying that. I want to become a member. It’s just…” Sammy takes a deep breath before his words rush out. “I was wondering if I could prospect for a different chapter. It’s not that I don’t respect you or the guys, but I don’t want to stay here.”

“You have a problem with my men?” I ask him.

Sammy looks horrified at my question. “No! It isn’t you or any of the guys. It’s the city. I want to get out of Chicago. I want to start over somewhere else. My sister is living in Louisiana now. I want to be closer to her. I heard you have a chapter in New Orleans and that they might need more prospects. Do you think it’s possible I could transfer there after the trial?”

I lean back and consider his request. It’s understandable. He risked his life and turned on his parents to protect his little sister. Of course, he’d want to be close to her. “I’ll call Hex and see if he’ll take you.”

“After the trial?” Sammy asks, breathing out in relief.

“I’ll call him today. He’s actively looking for new prospects. I’ll make sure he keeps a spot open for you.”

“Thanks, Prez. I’m sorry…”

I hold my hand up. “An apology isn’t necessary. I’m glad you’re staying on as a prospect. I think it’s a good decision to get out of Chicago and get away from the memories. Your sister will be happy to have you closer. Hex is a good man. He’s got a good club.”

Sammy stands, shakes my hand, and leaves my office. Reaching for my phone, I call Hex. After giving him the lowdown on Sammy and his situation, I add in my praise for how well he’s taken on the duties of prospect.

“I’ll take him. We need more prospects,” Hex says. “Want us to pick him up after he’s finished testifying?”

“That’s not necessary. I can have Sammy hitch a ride with a delivery truck.” Under Dante’s leadership, most of our chapters have incorporated several legitimate businesses to conceal their illegal ones. In my case, our auto shops and part stores provide excellent cover for the profitable chop shops we run around the area. We ship legal and illegally acquired parts to other chapters. We’re so efficient that most of the cars we heist are in pieces and on trucks before the owner reports their vehicle stolen. “We have a shipment scheduled for your club in a few weeks. If the trial isn’t over by then, we can make other arrangements.”

“Does he have a bike?”

“No, not yet. Sammy can’t leave the clubhouse at this time,” I tell him. “The priest’s supporters have threatened his life.”

“We’ll get him fitted out,” Hex assures me.

We discuss the details of the next shipment before ending the call.

“Find anything?” I ask Byte as I stand to tell Sammy the good news.

“Nothing on Bush. He looks clear. He spends most of his time between the clubhouse and the chop shops. He doesn’t have much to do with anyone outside the club. I didn’t find any suspicious income. I think he’s clean. I’ve checked his phone records. He hasn’t called anyone not affiliated with the club. Although he could have a burner.”

“But you don’t think he’s the traitor, do you?”

“I don’t. Babe relayed his conversation with Bush before returning to San Diego. He said Bush was adamant about going out alone to get Jordan. I did a background check on Bush. Did you know the situation with him leaving his club in Australia?”

Anger and regret course through me like acid. I want to be mad at Byte for digging into Bush’s life, even though I understand the necessity. When Bush lived in Australia, he was a member of an MC based in Adelaide. He left Australia before his club could kill him. “Yeah, I know. His club branded him a traitor and tried to kill him. He fled here. That doesn’t mean he’s betrayed us.”

“So you know what he did?”

“Yeah, he put his life on the line to rescue an innocent woman. The club’s President threatened to kidnap the daughter of a local businessman who refused to pay for protection. He planned to use the girl as an example. The club was going to gang rape her. He warned her and her father before working with the cops to set a trap for the club. You think he might not be loyal to us because he betrayed his previous club?”

“No. I think the reason why Bush betrayed his former club is proof that he isn’t working with men who abuse women. Bush has a history of protecting women. He’s started more than one bar fight where he attacked a man who was either trying to drug a woman or a man who was abusive to his date. We know the traitor made the call that allowed Jordan’s men time to move the women. Everything I’ve learned about Bush tells me he isn’t the man who made that call.”

I take a deep breath for the first time since I realized I had a traitor in my club. I no longer feel alone. There is someone I can trust. Not that I haven’t had the Nomads and Byte to rely upon; they aren’t members of my club. Bush is. Knowing I can trust him is the first step to identifying every loyal member.

When my phone rings, I see Stone on the display. I accept the call and hear more good news.

“Mode’s awake,” Stone says.