don’t kill him, someone else will. It’s only a matter of time.
I shrug. “We don’t need him alive. Who cares if it goes deeper? Let them kill him.”
Mason shoots me hard eyes I recognize all too well. Pull your head in.
Cass shoots me a glare and rests a hand on her hip. “We do need him alive. He needs to pay for what he’s done not just to Ali and Lindsey, but also to everyone before them. The Angels killing him would be an easy way out and he doesn’t deserve that. If they really are looking for him and know where to find him, we could get him for good this time. No way will he survive in prison. He’ll be going in for attempted murder of a police officer and without any protection. He might as well sign his own death certificate now. This is what we want, guys. I think we should, at least, give it some thought because if we don’t Misery’s Angels will get to him first. And when they do, we’ll be taking them down as well.”
Mason shakes his head and taps a finger on the screen, over a mug shot of Axel ‘Cannon’ Hawke. For a middle-aged man, he’s in good shape and one look at him would send most people running in the other direction. He might be graying around the sides but his flinty eyes and angry frown scream badass.
“We’ve had an agreement with the Angels for a long damn time. I don’t like it, never have. But we lose that good faith. Shit could end really badly… blood bath, badly…” he trails off. ”They’ve never been the primary target.”
“Well, they are now,” I respond.
Mason stares at the board. What he said is true. They never have been our primary target and that’s the only reason half of the MC aren’t rotting away in prison cells.
Mase runs a hand through his hair and paces the room. “All right. Let’s do this. Roam and I will go to Cannon,” he points to Cassidy, “I need you looking out for your partner because Trey, I need you to talk to your CI and go under for a day. Find out who else on the streets knows where Lucio might be and who the Angels have contacted asking for him. Trey, you up for this? I know you haven’t done any UC work before.”
Trey’s lips curve into a giant fucking smirk and he raises his arms up, looking at Mason like he’s suggested something outrageous. “Mase. I’m Trey motherfuckin’ Reynolds. I got this.”
I burst into a fit of laughter, losing my breath.
Mason rolls his eyes and walks into his office and Cass’s face contorts into a look of disgust. “Oh my God. No. Don’t do that.”
She shakes her head and takes a seat at her desk and I do the same.
Trey raises his arms. “Oh, come on you guys, where’s your sense of humor.”
Mase returns from his office and dumps a giant ass file onto Eli’s desk that Trey’s been occupying. “All right. Let’s come up with a quick plan that doesn’t get Detective Douche here killed. Then we can go home.”
I switch off the engine, coming to a stop beside a line of black and chrome motorcycles. I peer out the front window at the tall, rendered brick building a few stories high. Bright red scrolly letters intertwine with a dark rose, illuminating the sign spanning the width of the building. The bar Black Rose looks as classy as ever with a few girls stumbling out already drunk—it’s eleven am.
“Ready to go in?” I ask Mase, who returns me a smirk.
“Born ready, my brother.”
I scoff back. We both exit my car. Stopping at the wooden door with two glass panels, I push it open and a bell chimes. Stepping in, every head in the building turns our way. And every head belongs to a biker or a woman hanging off one of them. A jukebox plays low in the background as Mason comes up to stand tall beside me as we both scan the room for the one man we need to see.
“We’re here to see Cannon. Where can I find him?” Mason’s voice travels through the bar but meets only silence. Bikers don’t talk unless they’re told too. At least not to us. Movement from the bar catches my eye and my spine stiffens. The bartender—young, maybe mid-twenties, covered in tattoos, a scowl on his face that looks like a permanent fixture