Chapter One
ESMEE
“What?” I gasp while anger flows hot through my veins. “You’re shitting me, right? I did what needed to be done, and you know it. I saved that little baby. There’s no such thing as following protocol when bullets start to fly. I was wearing a vest, he was wearing a vest. The little freaking baby I was holding wasn’t; I needed him to cover her front. And if I didn’t pull him in front of me, he would have a bullet in his head he never even saw coming. But he makes it seem as if none of it matters because he felt the need to write a report about my incapability? We don’t even do reports. We don’t follow any damn rules, what the hell, Dad?”
This cannot be happening. Broken Deeds MC—my father’s motorcycle club—solves cold cases or high-profile cases the government can’t seem to close themselves. All the bikers of Broken Deeds MC are skilled and trained and will go above and beyond to solve each case we take. Everything is off the record while this country is fully aware who they need to contact to get things done.
“This is about me, isn’t it? It’s because I don’t have actual balls to show them I’m a part of this MC. I’m not a biker who wears a leather cut. I’m just the president’s daughter who rides a bike for show. Yeah….am I even a part of it?” I sneer.
I know very well this isn’t about being the only woman taking on assignments in this MC—because I’m highly qualified to do so—but I am beyond pissed to be accused of being incapable by some asshole who doesn’t even know me.
“Watch your mouth, young lady,” my father snaps.
My shoulders sag and I let myself drop into the chair. I was hovering over his desk, firing off my anger at him for calling me into his office to confront me about the fact some asshole filed a report about my incapability, liability, whatever…the point is, this report is going to cause problems for this MC, and all eyes are on me—or so it feels like it.
My dad places his elbows on his desk and rubs his temples. “Look, here’s the thing. I’ve been expecting it for a while. Broken Deeds MC has been taking cases well before you were born. Sometimes the ones sweeping things under the rug come to check out the mess underneath and I think that’s what’s happening now. I had a conference call with Jackson Cole and Mark Dixon from Cole Security Forces right before you walked into my office. On their side everything seemed official and there was a last-minute contract initiated by someone from the CIA which demanded Cullen Dixon to be present, yet it was only to observe. They didn’t question it since Cullen is Mark’s son so he was included in the hostage extraction.”
He releases a deep breath, contemplates his words and finally continues, “What I’m trying to explain here is how all of this might be a coincidence or some screwed-up timing. We’ve lost other brothers in the line of fire, which I think is due to the government agencies fuck-ups and they damn well know it. They just want to point fingers to wash the blood sticking to their hands. Though, I also think this pencil-pecker who wrote the report was put in this position by someone higher up. But all of this will be handled, don’t worry about it, Princess.”
Princess. The nickname all bikers of Broken Deeds MC call me. And even if I thought it was cute when I was eight, with each passing year I came to find it degrading. And I know my dad is using it to calm my nerves, but all it does is flare up more anger. Because it’s not as simple as he makes it seem.
“When Abe and I ran into those guys during the extraction, they all seemed military. But I smelled something fishy right before things went apeshit. Even more when the guy got in my face the second we extracted the hostage. This Cullen guy, whose name is linked to the report lying in front of you, isn’t just some pencil-pecker, Pres.” I make sure to mock his title because if I’m pissed, he should be too instead of taking this lightly. “It’s the name of the asshole who was wearing military gear along with the rest of his unit, and like you said, he wasn’t exactly part of the unit from Cole Security Forces. Not to mention the fact they shouldn’t have even been there in the first place, or that he’s pissed at me because I needed him to catch the bullets I didn’t want hitting the freaking baby. Yet, he’s the freaking baby, whining about my incompetence. He got shot in the arm, so what? I took bullets too; it happens when an extraction goes to shit.” I point at my bandaged arm where they took out the bullet and at my cheek. Though the one in my face was a ricochet but I’m fairly sure it’s going to leave a scar.
I’m not complaining about the need to keep my face pretty, I’m not like any other girl; I’m just trying to prove a point. I’m not whining but buckling up to do what I have to in an effort to get everyone out alive. I guess I did fail at some point since my friend Abe was killed in the line of fire.
The hostage situation was risky to say the least. It involved a few week old baby that was supposedly kidnapped by the father. Since the father had diplomatic immunity and had ties with a drug cartel where he got a few guys from as backup, we needed to proceed with caution.
We were already on the scene but a unit of Cole Security Forces was sent in at the exact same time. Neither of us were aware of each other and this is something that needs to be investigated; why the government thought it was smart to send them in while Abe and I were already handling it.
Sure, we fly under the radar and don’t have to write a thick report about everything we do, but once we actually jump into action? We always call it in; the government knew we were in there. It’s safe to say there was a damn mix-up on their side because I called it in myself, so why send the others and not let either of us know?
I can still vividly recall the moment Abe was killed. We collided with the unit. Guns drawn, adrenaline pumping, while I was holding onto a mere few weeks old baby. It’s all in the blink of a freaking eye we have, and not like we can have a long discussion, flash a badge or anything. Hell, I don’t even have a badge to flash.
Besides, we rarely go into a situation dressed as civilians. And this was a coordinated hostage extraction, so we were wearing uniforms. This is the reason the unit quickly assessed we were friendly, but the moment Abe said, “We need to move. Now,” that’s when the bullets started to fly and Abe was instantly killed.
A deep breath rushes out before my father says, “I know he’s not a pencil-pecker, nor an asshole, Esmee, because he was doing his job; he’s CIA. But he for sure as shit didn’t need to be there, even if Cole Security Forces has it all official in black and white. We didn’t fuck up. I’m pretty sure the unit didn’t fuck up either because they didn’t shoot the two of you. I’m not entirely sure this unit knew the one who attacked you, and killed Abe, had diplomatic immunity. Anyway…something higher up the chain went wrong, and that’s all I’m going to say. What I need you to do now is to take a few weeks off while I’m handling this, and then we’re going to—”
“You’re benching me?” I huff, stand, and throw my arms into the air. “I can’t believe this.”
My father smacks his hand on a pile of files on the desk and winces due to an old injury. “I don’t need this right now, Esmee. I have other shit to deal with. Like the fact we just buried one of our own. You were right there, you two were close and you sure as fuck need to process it too; no matter how damn strong I know you are.”