Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 121728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Not even a permanent one. Any tattoos he had, or would get in the future, were for him and him alone.
Thank fuck it was long-sleeve weather, so most of his body would be covered anyway. As long as this assignment ended before next spring when the weather got too warm, he’d be golden.
He only volunteered for this undercover work after Crew couldn’t find anyone else to do it for one reason or another. Plus, jumping on the opportunity to go under as a prospect got him out of doing surveillance or transcribing wiretaps.
Would he rather take an undercover assignment other than being a prospect for the Deadly Demons? Hell yes, but unfortunately, this was the only one currently available.
He didn’t mind the clothes. Or riding an older Harley not nearly as nice as his own. Or even getting into the habit of using sloppy English and biker slang. What he hated most about it was the untrimmed scruff on his face, and being unable to hit the gym five days a week to maintain his hard-earned physique.
His nostrils flared. Also, add in the unwashed stench mixed with weed filling the air. Not to mention, the filth in and around the farmhouse made his skin crawl.
He imagined his younger sister had ended up in plenty of dumps similar to this off-the-beaten-path farmhouse in her search for her next high. Probably surrounded by the same type of people, if not worse.
Joining the Tri-State Federal Drug Task Force had been a no-brainer when Crew threw the opportunity out there to him and his fellow Blue Avengers. He didn’t think twice about fighting the onslaught of drugs coming into the area, especially with an operation this large and this dangerous.
The task force was made up of three groups of fifteen members each. He belonged to group two that covered southwest Pennsylvania, while group one covered the mother club’s area in West Virginia and group three was handling the outlaw MC’s recently formed Ohio chapter.
To get his foot in the door as a potential prospect with the newer Uniontown chapter of the Deadly Demons, he had hooked up with a task force officer from group one to arrange a meet with the president.
This particular TFO had been undercover with the Moundsville chapter in WV for over a year now. He’d gone under as soon as the task force was formed and had only recently become a fully-patched member.
Group one actually had two TFOs undercover with the mother club. And if successful, Decker would be the first TFO from his group to go undercover with the Pennsylvania chapter.
If he was successful. The biggest issue was passing their scrutiny, despite being in his late thirties. An older prospect wasn’t completely unheard of, but it wasn’t the norm. Most bikers Decker’s age were past the point of wanting to be a bitch for an outlaw MC. And being a prospect meant just that.
To pass muster, he would need to do shit he most likely wouldn’t want to do. Worse, it could be illegal shit, whether selling drugs or even getting violent.
Basically, prospects were patched members’ slaves for about a year. They couldn’t say no, even to the stupidest shit, and if they did, they could be stripped of their prospect cut, if not worse.
Becoming a recruit for the Demons might be more difficult at this juncture since the members were overly paranoid. Rightly so, since the club was trafficking five kilos of uncut meth every month by picking it up from a Mexican cartel at the southern border and delivering four of those kilos all the way to La Cosa Nostra in Pittsburgh.
As payment, they took one kilo for themselves, then turned around and took that pure “ice,” broke it down by mixing it with filler, packaged it for street sales and made a killing for the club and its members.
It was quite the enterprise.
One the feds wanted to break up.
And, of course, the main reason Decker was currently standing on the unmaintained property out in the middle of Bumfuck doing his best to blend in.
He’d met with Fletch and Wilder to go over language and mannerisms, since they’d been undercover and living with the Dirty Angels MC for about a year now.
He held his hands, palms out, closer to the blazing bonfire, trying to warm his numb fingers. Riding a “sled” during a cold snap in late October was not his idea of fun. But then, most diehard bikers rode into the start of winter and some were crazy enough to ride all year round.
No fucking thanks. He preferred to keep his extremities and not lose any of them to frostbite.
While he rode the sled assigned to him by Crew to meet up with Rowdy, the undercover TFO—first to go over their story, before following him over to the party—he hoped like fuck Crew found him a four-wheeled ride with working heat before it truly turned into extreme blue ball weather.