Hard Rider (Bad Boy Bikers Book 1) (26 page)

“Shit,” he grunted. “I'm sorry, babe. I didn't mean to do that.”

“I know,” she said, clearly annoyed. “I know. I'm just...I'm fucking
turned on
, but honestly, if we don't fix this and my Dad sees it, we're boned in the worst way.”

Ram only had a desire to be boned in the
best
way—with June—and so set to helping her.

––––––––

T
hey began to straighten the cabinets back up, which was easy enough as long as they worked in order from the first to the last. As they did, June saw that there had been much force built up by the succession of strikes that the ones at the end—the ones nearest her father’s desk—had popped open from their locks. There was a heavy dent at the top where the edge of the cabinet had struck into it.

“Do you think you can put your hand in there,” said June, “and try and pop out the metal? You’re stronger than I am.”

He grabbed her ass, lifting her up into the air just with the one hand. “I’m stronger than you know, wild girl.”

Just like that, she wanted to fuck him again. To hear the grunts and masculine groans he made as he came, to watch his eyes as he filled her up and told her...

...
told me that he loves me?

She swallowed, trying not to linger on the thought. They had too much to take care of in here. Her pussy was wet with need—but they had to get out of there. They were already greatly pushing their luck. It was some kind of miracle that no one had heard the crashing of the cabinets.

The romantic in her wanted that lack of intrusion to mean that their fucking was
supposed
to happen, that they were supposed to go crazy like that...they were supposed to tell each other what they felt. She felt an urge—sharp and undeniable—to go down on him then and there and suck him off until he was begging to push inside of her pussy again.

“Hey,” said Ram, frowning. “There’s something here.”

In a moment, he had it—a small brown package loaded with tapes. The package was unmarked, the tapes designated only by date. She recognized her father’s big blocky handwriting on the numbers written on the tapes.

They exchanged a look, curiosity clearly working on both of them. A hidden package filled with tapes—what was it?

“Just one?” suggested Ram.

There was a tape player right there on his desk. They spread the tapes out, looking at the various dates. There were dozens of them.

“I can’t believe he’s still using tapes,” said June. “He never wanted to catch up to the 21st century, did he?”

“Maybe what he’s got on here is too sensitive to keep on a computer,” said Ram, popping the latest tape. “Doesn’t want anyone to hack in and find it.”

The tape began to play. Right away June recognized her father’s voice.

“What the hell was that mess at
The Hammerin’ Nail
? I told you to keep it quiet. Goad them into a fight when you could, but then clear out when it gets going so my boys could swoop in and arrest them.”

“It got more complicated than that,” said a heavy Hispanic voice.

“Acero,” Ram whispered. “That’s Acero.”

“Beretta and him,” Acero continued, “they got issues longer than the fucking Great Wall. I can't stop them from fighting.”

“Then maybe I oughta talk to Beretta and knock some sense in him?”

“You can try if you like. Nobody else can.” He laughed. “Don't talk to him. He won't understand why a cop isn't arresting him. He'll ask questions. I want him in the dark for a little while longer, at least until the Crew is taking care of.”

“The fact remains, one of my deputies is shot in the head. I know my boys didn't do it.”

“It wasn't us,” said Acero.

“How do you know? You were shooting guns, weren't you? You were shooting guns at the police?”

Acero was quiet for several moments. “...it wasn't us,” he said again. “Listen, Colt. We’re paying you a lot of money to work with us, and if you don’t want it at any time, you just let us know. I don’t care—”

“
I
don’t care if you pay me twice what you’re paying me now. You keep fucking up and I’ll toss you in jail for any number of offenses I’ve called you on, all right?”

“Sure, okay. And then, when I get my lawyer to contact federal officials, maybe they like to hear what kind of deal you make, huh?”

“Is that a threat? Are you threatening me? Let me tell you something, you pissant shit. You wouldn’t be
half
of what you are today—”

June pressed stop on the tape. She and Ram exchanged looks.

“That’s pretty damning stuff,” said Ram. “Beretta was right, I can't believe it.”

“He was right, what do you mean?” she asked. “I thought you two were enemies or something.”

“We were. We are.” He shook his head. “I don't know. But he told me he smelled a rat in the Flags.”

“You seem pretty mad he was right.”

“It's that kind of relationship. You know how it is.”

“I do.” She nodded. “We have to go public with this, don't we?”

“Really? That’s your Dad. I mean, that will ruin him. He’ll get jail time.”

“It’s the right thing to do,” she said. “You can’t have...you can’t have a fucking
Sheriff
colluding with the leader of an outlaw operation. That’s not what people elected him for. It’s dishonest. Who knows how deep this goes? God...” she shook her head. “There could be an investigation. I’m sure this isn’t the only bit of evidence on him. He keeps
everything
. Do you think—” she stopped, looking up at Ram. “Does it make me a bad daughter if I do this, Ram?”

“I don’t know how to answer that for you, June. I know you’re smart as hell. And I know you’ve got a much better moral compass than I do. Whatever you choose to do, it’ll be the right thing.”

Looking in his eyes, it was easy to believe him. She wished that she could think that way about herself.

––––––––

R
am had to get out of town for the night, and they had pressed their luck enough. They said their goodbyes, promising to contact each other often, and only just barely avoided one last goodbye fuck when they began trading kisses again. There just wasn't time—it was late, and someone could be coming home at any second now. A fuck wasn't worth their life...but only by a little. If they knew for certain they would die tomorrow, June was dead certain she would have been fucking him
still
.

It excited her, how hard it made him to call her his wife—how aroused he was by grinding himself against her body and whispering how much he wanted to fuck his wife rotten.

His wife
.

God, it still didn’t seem real. Wives had homes and schedules and
jobs
and responsibilities. She felt like his wife the way she felt like a college graduate. Yes, she had walked down the aisle and picked up her diploma. But that didn’t make it feel any more real.

Maybe it was one of those things that took time, like a new profession. You could only realize how perfectly you’d acclimated some six months or six years down the line.

The thought made her slightly giddy, being with Ram for six years.

She stuffed the tapes into her purse and exited her father’s office, wondering if the bulge was evident.

“June?”

It was her mother. June turned, quickly trying to assemble lies in her head.

“June, what were you doing in there?”

They approached each other in the entry, still in the darkness. The only light came from the lights in the kitchen down the hall.

“I came home to get...something for Theo,” she said. “And I thought I heard a noise in Dad's office. It must have been a squirrel outside or something.”

Even that much felt weak in June’s head.

Her mother raised a slow eyebrow. “You knew I was going to come back here tonight. I texted you. I could have picked it up for Theo. You didn’t have to go all the way back yourself.”

“To tell the truth, Mom, I wanted to. I needed a break from the hospital for just a little bit.”

“I expect you would.  He's looking bad. What did you get him?”

Change the subject, now. This was getting out of hand.

“Why are
you
here only getting home this late at night?” she asked.

Sheila huffed slightly. “I don’t answer to you, young lady.”

June crossed her arms. Sheila opened her mouth and closed it, finally shaking herself slightly, like there was a strong breeze.

“The secretary for the night officers at the station, Samantha, is having a baby. Working nights is difficult for pregnant women, and I go up there on the regular to ask if I can help her out some way. It’s not all about you, this town. Or don’t you remember?”

“Stop it,” said June. “You sound like Dad. I don’t think everything is about me, okay? I know that it is not. He should think that not everything is about him.”

Sheila smiled. “You’d have better luck convincing a bull that not every waving flag is asking to be gored.”

“Mom...”

She wanted to tell her about the tapes—about all of it. But some presence in her mind stopped her, some guilt or sympathy. It took her a moment to find out what it was.

It was regret. She wouldn’t regret exposing her father, but she
would
regret what it did to her mother. And even though it was her father who was in the wrong, even though he had done all these horrible deals and no one else, her mother would blame June for exposing it all.

Her mother would blame June for destroying the happy peace that the world had agreed upon.

Did June have it in her to do that to her mother, even if it was the right thing?

“What is it, dear?”

“Do you ever...” she winced, trying to force some form of the question out. “Dad’s been scaring me lately. He’s becoming...obsessed.”

“You’ve scared him, dear. You with that...fiancé...of yours. How is he, by the way? Any word?”

The question was curt and polite, not meant to actually probe for information. June’s expected answer was given as her mother’s society dictated.

“I don't know, Mom. I expect he's hiding somewhere. One cop already tried to murder him at home.”

“Mm.”

This was the sound her mother made when she didn't want to start an argument. Fine by June.

“I’m asking about...before that. Has Dad been stressed? Acting strange?”

Sheila shrugged. “This has been a difficult year for him. All this gang activity. He’s doing his best to put it under control, but it’s taking its toll.”

“I don't know, Mom. He's a little more exaggerated lately, sure, but he's always been this way. How long can you put up with stress like that?”

“What are you implying?” said Sheila. “We're not going to stop supporting each other, young lady.”

“No matter what happens? No matter what he might have done?”

“It's a marriage, dear. Of course. No matter what.”

That sealed it for June. Her mother was beyond hope.

June wanted to press further—has he had more money? Has he had a raise? How much has been paid for that you thought was unusual? Did you ever think it was strange that a Sheriff, a government employee, could pay for what he does?

He has a boat, Mom. He has a boat and a nice house and lots of land, and he came from
no money
at all, and
you
don't have a
job
. Did you ever think there was more under the surface? Were you smart enough to notice it, or were you smart enough to notice it and
ignore it
, to just let it slide?

When June had fights with her mother, there was often no resolution. They would blow up at each other in the car—her mother disparaging June’s driving, for instance, and June disparaging her mother in return. Then, after fifteen minutes of silence, her mother would ask what June wanted for dinner that evening like nothing had happened.

Conflicts were buried with Sheila Colt and never spoken of again, often forgotten if not forgiven, like underground coal fires burning their way to the ocean.

If her mother knew about what her father had been doing, June wasn’t sure if she wanted to know. She headed for the door.

“I have to go to bed, Mom—I’ll talk to you later.”

––––––––

I
t was easy to settle on a time when to broach the subject of corruption with her father. June woke up to a phone call from her father telling her to meet her at the police station.

Not requesting, not asking—but telling.

Such was John Colt.

She made it to the police station at about ten am, surprised to see the buzz of activity around the normally sanguine station. The cops worked in shifts, and on a normal day, about half of them were off-duty. But she saw so many in the parking lot, hallways, and offices that all the city's cops must have been present—more than four hundred in all swarming across the station like busy ants.

After working through the crowd for close to ten minutes, seeing many cops she knew by face if not by name, she found her father near his office, flanked by four officers on either side. His face lit up slightly at seeing her.

“I was just about to call you, honeybear. Come with me.”

Hoping to speak with him as well, June complied easily. She followed him back into the building, not looking forward to whatever double-team he had planned between himself and her mother. But to her surprise, he led her on the other side of the building toward the armory.

The armory was locked behind a heavy vault door. Inside were all the arrangements of an army base: flak jackets, gas masks, heavy assault rifles with laser scopes and drum magazines, grenades, grenade launchers, riot shields, and camouflage uniforms.

She knew where it all came from, had read the stories like anybody interested in the law. Police departments all over the nation were essentially donated this kind of equipment from the federal government when the weapon companies supplying the military had new upgrades for the military. So, the military got the new weapons, police departments got the military’s old weaponry, and weapons companies got more money than ever. It was why there were three Armored Personnel Carriers in the back lot of the station for a small city the size of Marlowe.