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  Wrath’s mouth formed a thin line. “Just the men. They must have hidden their transportation down the road.” He looked at Rock. “Do you recognize any of them?”

  He shook his head. “No. Judging by the tats, they’re members of the Night Devils, one of the numerous rival gangs to Demons Blood.”

  The agent looked at Wrath. “Have you run into them before?”

  “By reputation only. We’ve been trying to find a way to infiltrate their club, but so far, no one seems to know anything about the gang except it makes the Blood look like angels. They deal in stolen goods, counterfeiting, human trafficking—”

  The agent interrupted him. “How’d you hear about human trafficking?”

  “Intel from our boss. Confirmed intel.”

  Before the agent could respond, Ghost shoved both out of the way, aiming his gun and firing. A scream sounded before a gun dropped from one of the prone gang members, eyes rolling back.

  “Check each one again, Rock.”

  “Sorry, man. He must’ve had a hidden weapon. It won’t happen again.”

  A few minutes later, Rock walked toward them. “All clear. Twelve dead, all with the same Night Devils tats, but no identification.”

  Ghost massaged the back of his neck. “At least them showing up gives us an alibi for Drago.”

  Wrath gave a curt nod. “We’ll let him know the Devils stole the cargo.”

  “He’ll want to know how many men we lost.” Ghost cast an uneasy glance at the agent. “Will that work for your people?”

  Giving a soft chuckle, the agent nodded. “My people will go along with it. We don’t want to lose your connection with Drago, although you’ll be suspect for a while. He’s a suspicious man, Wrath. The fact he let you in on this deal is a huge breakthrough for us. From my boss’s point of view, getting this load without anything more than a grazed arm is another win. It’s a huge dollar amount of counterfeit goods that won’t make it onto the street. The next step will be to get another run, one where we can secure an arrest warrant for Drago and his top men.”

  “Consider it done. I’ll set up a meeting for this week.”

  Gathering his men, he split them into two groups. Half would ride back to their clubhouse from one direction with Ghost in the lead, Wrath leading the second group, which would return from another route.

  Driving out of the compound, Wrath thought over the events of the run, going over what went well and what didn’t. He’d never been on a mission where everything went as planned. Each one held opportunity for improvement.

  By morning, they’d have dissected the mission from every angle, making adjustments to implement in the future. It was an exercise no one enjoyed but knew was necessary. Debriefing could be every bit as important as mission planning. It saved lives and created successful operations.

  The clubhouse in sight, Wrath let out a slow breath. Riding through the gate, he parked and dismounted, glancing around. This had become as much a home as the house he’d built a few miles away. His retreat, a place only a handful of people had seen, including his family, Ghost, Rock, and a couple others. Unlike the clubhouse, he’d never invited a woman to his private sanctuary and had no intention of ever doing so.

  The door of the clubhouse slammed open, music and laughter spilling outside, followed by several nonoperational members of the club. Behind them came a handful of the local women they invited on Fridays and Saturdays, a fact which had escaped him until this moment.

  “Another Friday night,” he mumbled.

  Letting out a weary breath, he shoved past everyone, grabbed the beer offered to him, and headed back to the operations room. This meeting wouldn’t take long. He knew his men were tired, ready to relax and blow off steam.

  For Wrath, he’d head home, crash, and be ready for another full day tomorrow.

  Chapter Two

  “Will you two tone it down? You’re giving me a headache.” Rock took a sip of beer, not glancing at the two men going at each other somewhere behind him. They were newer members of Eternal Brethren, the deep cover motorcycle club formed to provide intelligence to various government agencies.

  When a chair sailed through the air, barely missing Rock, he slammed down the bottle and slid off his stool at the bar. A moment later, the newbies lay sprawled on the floor, blood dripping from the nose of one, the other cradling what Rock suspected to be a broken wrist.

  He glared down at them. “Go see Doc and get patched up. Next time, pay attention when I tell you to stop your fighting.” Stalking back to the stool, he ignored the snickers from several of those who sat around him at the bar.

  Wrath finished the beer he’d been nursing for an hour, listening to the banter of the men around him. After three years with numerous successes and no losses, including the one last night, they had a right to celebrate their latest triumph. It didn’t mean he’d be happy if one of the new members went out with a broken wrist.

  Every mission brought more danger, higher stakes, heightened potential one of his men wouldn’t return. They weren’t just men under his control. They were his closest friends, each owning a part of him. They called themselves the Posse, the original nine men who’d founded Eternal Brethren out of a bureaucratic collection of ideas.

  The nine men fought as Navy SEALs, leaving their positions to pursue their desire for justice and a sense of freedom not allowed in the severe military structure. Not one man Wrath invited to join the Brethren had turned him down. They knew a similar opportunity might never come their way. Plus, they craved danger, the hunt, the chase, the ultimate conclusion. This duty station was a way to continue their adrenaline charged existence, even if they might never be allowed to assimilate back into the regular Navy.

  Besides their allegiance as SEALs, each member of the Posse had been ranch kids. All had grown up riding, training horses or running cattle, and each had thought of escape. After years overseas, all desired to reconnect with the simple life they’d left behind. Liberty Lake’s numerous ranches provided the opportunities each man sought.

  Over the last three years, they’d brought in members of the Army’s elite Delta Force. All were highly skilled, battle hardened men. None were part of the Posse and would never receive the distinction set aside for the nine original members.

  Their ranks also included women from the Army, Navy, and Air Force—all nonoperational members with distinct skills who were willing to change their lives. The men saw them as equals with expertise required for successful missions. To the outside world, they were seen as nothing more than sheep, club whores who offered sex in exchange for the club’s protection. The outside world had it completely wrong.

  The Brethren also allowed a few local women to come around, helping preserve their image as an outlaw motorcycle gang. These women were the actual club whores.

  Club whores had become a great source of information, even if the women didn’t know how much data the Brethren had been able to get out of them. Some had hung around other clubs prior to coming to theirs and were exactly the kind of women they wanted.

  Whenever any Eternal Brethren was on club property, hanging in town, or doing a run, they used their club names. Caid was Wrath, Quinn was Wrangler. Each member had a unique club name. The only time any of them used their given names was around family and in the privacy of each other’s homes.

  Each club member knew to keep their mouths shut and understood the value of obtaining intelligence without anyone suspecting. They walked a fine line, working on behalf of the government while pretending to be the thugs most locals believed. His men had pulled it off without a hitch for three years.

  Much like any motorcycle gang, civilians and law enforcement believed the Brethren earned their money by selling guns, moving drugs, and trafficking in stolen goods. In truth, their work centered on preventing, disrupting, and eliminating those activities. Caid’s brother, Ethan, had been elected sheriff of Kingston County and continued to be the only lawman aware of their actual mission. No doubt beca
use he’d once been Army Special Forces and had guessed the reason for their existence within months of Caid returning home.

  Wrath felt a hand on his shoulder, turning to see the smiling face of his youngest brother, Quinn. More commonly known as Wrangler, his Navy SEAL moniker. It was the same nickname his two older brothers had bestowed on him years before when they bred, broke, and trained horses. Something all three still occasionally helped with at their parents’ horse ranch, Freedom Meadow, seventy miles from Liberty Lake.

  The ranch was created before Caid entered the world. One year later, he was followed by Ethan. After another two years, Quinn arrived. By then, Freedom Meadow had become a thriving ranch. Stuart and Belinda McCord lived there and ran daily operations, their boys helping when they had time, which didn’t happen often these days.

  “What are your plans tonight, big brother?” Wrangler took another draw from a bottle of beer.

  Wrath chuckled again at something the club’s VP, Ghost, said. Probably another of his corny jokes. The man never ran out of them.

  He held up his beer. “I’m heading over to Robbie’s with Ghost and Rock.” Wrath mentioned the bar the Brethren owned, named after one of their fallen team members while still SEALs. “You?”

  Wrangler tipped his bottle back, finishing the contents. “Same as you. I’m meeting a lovely lady I met a week ago.”

  Wrath nodded in understanding. Their bar had become a local magnet for beautiful women and lonely men looking for nothing more than a quick escape. Wrangler fit the description, as did most of the men sitting at the clubhouse tonight. No one had a wife or significant other. A couple were divorced and hadn’t felt the desire to go that route anytime soon. Thankfully, none had children, which meant the Eternal Brethren was the single most important facet of their lives.

  Wrath tilted his bottle toward Wrangler. “Do I know her?”

  His brother’s face sobered. “I sure as hell hope not.” He set down the empty bottle, not losing the scowl on his face. “She’s one of the few women you don’t know in this town, bro.”

  Shaking his head, Wrath chuckled. “I don’t know where you get your information, but there are hundreds of single women in Liberty Lake I don’t know. Believe me, I’m fine with it staying that way.”

  Wrath meant it. He had no plans to tie himself down with any woman. More and more of the beauties who frequented Robbie’s were looking for more than he cared to give. When needed, he accepted the company of one of the bar customers, explaining the rules—his rules—which usually eliminated further complications.

  “When you’re ready, let me know. We’ll ride over together.” Wrath pushed up, striding down the hall to his office and another stack of paperwork.

  The government provided them with a magnificent clubhouse, the best computer and telecommunications equipment, and a basement designed as a giant safe room with two secret escape tunnels. The facility plus generous salaries and operating funds were the perks of their dangerous assignments. The downside was the mountain of paperwork, typical of any government project.

  Setting down his pen, Wrath thought about working horses at the family ranch last weekend. He and his brothers had been raised at the breeding and training facility a good distance south of Liberty Lake. It was a good deal different than his career in the Navy or his current role in the motorcycle club. He loved all three, but knew he’d return to Freedom Meadow at some point.

  Picking up the pen again, he got back to work. Half an hour passed before a knock interrupted him, Ghost entering. The club’s vice president and Rock, the sergeant-at-arms, were his closest friends. The three knew more about each other than anyone else and trusted each other implicitly.

  “We’re ready to ride over to Robbie’s. Are you still coming?” Ghost leaned against the doorframe, a brow lifted.

  Setting down his pen, Wrath stood. “Wouldn’t miss it. You and Rock playing pool after several drinks is the highlight of my week.”

  “Reprobate,” Ghost muttered when Wrath walked past him.

  “Never said I wasn’t.”

  Ghost and Rock were already in the middle of a game of pool by the time Wrath arrived. Watching for a few minutes, he took his usual seat at the bar, a spot with a good view of the baseball game on the big, flat screen.

  “Evening, Wrath. What can I get you?” Mike, the head bartender and manager, cleaned the bar in front of him.

  “Jack and Coke.” Wrath pulled over a bowl of peanuts, picking one up and cracking it before popping it into his mouth.

  Relaxing, he nodded at Mike when he placed the drink in front of him. Taking a sip, Wrath glanced around. A couple regulars sat at one end of the bar, a man he didn’t recognize next to them, two empty stools, then a lone woman, her head tilted down as she took a bite of a taco. When she straightened, her blonde hair fell away, displaying a beautiful profile. Wrath knew he’d never met the woman before, a situation he planned to rectify tonight.

  “Her name is Cara.”

  Mike’s low voice tore Wrath’s gaze away from the woman to look at him. “Cara?”

  “The gal eating a taco. That’s her name. She hasn’t been in town long, came here to work as a law professor and start a private practice.”

  One side of Wrath’s mouth tilted upward. “You always amaze me, Mike.”

  The bartender shrugged. “I like to talk to people. She’s a nice lady. A widow.”

  If Wrath didn’t know how much Mike loved his wife, he might’ve thought he had competition for Cara’s interest. Picking up his drink, he got up and settled on a stool beside her, saying nothing as he returned his attention to the screen. A grin appeared when one of the players hit a home run. The bar erupted in cheers, Cara joining them.

  Wrath watched her out of the corner of his eye for a moment before speaking. “Do you like baseball?”

  Glancing over, she studied him with a wary expression before taking a sip of her drink. “I like a lot of sports, but baseball is my favorite.”

  “Mine, too.”

  “Did you play in school?” She glanced at his arms, noting the tattoos, wondering if they covered his entire body.

  Wrath’s features showed a hint of melancholy before he nodded. “I played baseball and football in high school.”

  She lifted a brow. “Not in college?”

  Taking another swallow of his drink, he shrugged. “I didn’t go to college right away. When I did, playing a sport wasn’t practical.”

  Her eyes lit in humor. “Practical, huh? I suppose that’s as good a reason as any.”

  Chuckling, Wrath looked back at the screen as another home run flew over the left field fence and into the crowd. “Seems we’re going to win this one.” Shifting, he held out his hand. “I’m Wrath.”

  She glanced at the leather vest, or cut, as she knew motorcycle clubs called them, noticing a patch confirming his club name was Wrath. Below it she saw one stating President. A tense moment passed between them before she accepted his hand.

  “Cara Mortensen.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Cara.” Holding her hand an instant longer than necessary, he loosened his grip, resting his arm on the bar.

  Cara took another sip of her drink, looking at him over the rim of the glass. “Are you with the Eternal Brethren or another gang?”

  “We’re a motorcycle club, not a gang. And yes, I’m with the Brethren.”

  Swallowing the last of her drink, Cara set the glass down, preparing to leave. “Nice to meet you, Wrath, but it’s time for me to take off.”

  He wanted to know more about her, learn what Mike already knew. Instead, he gave her a two-finger salute. “Drive safe.”

  Cara gave him an odd stare, as if she couldn’t quite believe his disinterest. “You, too.”

  Wrath didn’t watch as the door closed behind her. Waiting a few moments, he stepped outside, searching the parking lot. He didn’t have to wait long before hearing the roar of an engine—a motorcycle engine.

  Hiding in the shadows,
he waited until a black Harley appeared. A slim figure perched on the seat wearing a black leather jacket, blonde hair peeking from under the half-helmet. He felt a grin tip up the corners of his mouth.

  Cara Mortensen.

  Oh yeah. He would definitely find a way to get to know the stunning young woman better…and soon.

  Wrath still couldn’t get his mind off Cara as he nursed his drink, and couldn’t understand his immediate attraction. He had a high school girlfriend, then a short relationship with a civilian government employee at one of his duty stations, and a more intense relationship with a woman in the Navy. Other than those three, he made it a rule to have one-and-done relationships, and the women knew this going in.

  Over the years, nights of sex followed by empty mornings had become tedious. Cara had been the first woman in years who grabbed his attention. Which didn’t make sense. She was several inches shorter and more slender than most women who caught his eye. Wrath scratched his chin, tossing back the last of his drink.

  Standing, he joined Ghost and Rock at the pool table, leaning against a wall, waiting for them to finish their game.

  “Are you out of here, Prez?” Ghost asked, taking another shot to sink a ball into a corner pocket.

  “Yep. It’ll be a long day tomorrow. I’m planning to see you two early.” Pulling keys from a pocket, he saluted, disappearing outside.

  Taking a long look around, a habit that had saved him on more than one occasion, he swung a leg over his Harley, firing it up. In twenty minutes, he’d be inside his house with plans to take a cold shower before warming up leftover enchiladas, a meal he’d brought home from the family ranch the previous Sunday. He truly missed his mother’s cooking. Being seventy miles away, he no longer had enough time to visit as often as they all wanted.

  Ten minutes into the trip, he spotted a bike lying on its side just off the road. The rider stared down at it while brushing dirt off the leather jacket. As he got closer, the rider removed the helmet, blonde hair spilling down the shoulders and back.