Dedication
Kah-nee-ta
Those were the best of times. So many memories.
Chapter 1
Paco
1992
A knock came to the door of the meeting room inside the Tarkio Motorcycle Club clubhouse. Paco pushed away from the table, frustrated at the added delay. They were supposed to be on the road and heading toward Blackfoot Casino and Resort.
"Wyatt, get rid of whoever the hell that is interrupting us." Priest, the president, sprawled his hand on the map covering the end of the table and waited until the door shut again. "Since the last time we were in the casino, there have been some changes. This corridor is unusable now."
Paco watched Priest, knowing the reason why the Casino would close off that area. Tarkio raided the place, killing one man associated with the sex trafficking ring.
Priest straightened. "That means, we can only have one man—"
"I'll do it," said Paco.
"We also need a man on the outside." Priest looked around the table, nodded, and said, "Curley will be Paco's point of contact. The rest of us will wait out on Pelham Road, far enough from the reservation border, they won't notice. You've got an hour to get in and out. If you're not back in that time, we're going to come in with guns blazing, and it better be for a good fucking reason, because we'll all be marching in chains straight to the penitentiary for breaching the boundary. Today is not a good fucking day to get hauled away. Keep that in your head as we go out."
Paco reached behind his back and reassured himself that his pistol remained on him. He had another one tucked inside the top of his boot with two extra clips in his vest pocket, in case he runs into trouble.
Priest shoved a piece of paper toward Paco. "Take another look at the girls. We can't make any mistakes."
He stared at the paper. For the last two weeks, all he could see when he closed his eyes were the faces of the three, now four, young ladies whose only mistake was being at the wrong place at the wrong time or trusting someone they shouldn't.
They were young ladies who had their whole life in front of them. The paper crumbled in his hand. He gritted his teeth, wanting to lead the men away from the clubhouse and toward the casino, and knowing he had to take orders from Priest.
He'd spent the last two months looking for the missing Missoula girls in his free time. Because of his past knowledge of knowing a lot of shady shit went down at the casino, the trail often led there with no proof. Three local girls and Missoula Police wouldn't step foot onto Blackfoot land.
It was bullshit.
Now, a fourth girl disappeared, and no one was even missing her. Because he'd found out that she was from the reservation prior to living in Missoula, he'd contacted the tribal police by phone to question them. They pretended she never existed, which raised a red flag.
Likewise, the Missoula police wouldn't look for her because a family member hadn't stepped forward to make a report.
The only reason Tarkio suspected the fourth girl ended up like the other young ladies that were missing was because she hadn't shown up for work at Banks' Body Shop, a Tarkio Motorcycle Club owned business.
It'd taken him less than four hours to go through Josie Browning's apartment and find out she'd collected every news article on the disappearance of the other girls. But it wasn't until he found her notebook and read her diary—if that's what she'd call it—had he learned who she suspected kidnapped women and sold them in the sex trade business.
From her writings, he needed to know more about the girl he'd only seen once or twice when he went to talk to his MC brothers at work.
He'd taken her journal home and spent eight straight hours reading every word. Even though he had never spoken to her before or remembered much about her from his visits to the body shop, learning about her past from her writings, he became attached.
Her past would've broken any other woman and most men.
What she'd described happening to her brought out many questions, and he wanted the answers.
From the glimpses into her dark secrets, he'd become obsessed.
She couldn't see her own strength, but he'd witnessed it in the pages unfolding in front of him. He wanted to know how a woman who had her ass kicked throughout her life had come out ahead, still believing in other people, in love, and maintain the gift to keep going, day after day.
"I'd suggest if you have your old lady in the clubhouse waiting for you to come back, you take a few minutes and make sure you tell her goodbye. The rest of you guys, use the phone in the hallway and make a call home." Priest hesitated. "Then, we roll."
Paco, not having anyone to see or call, walked out of the meeting room and went outside to his Harley. Risks came with being a member of Tarkio, but today's job carried more dangers.
If the other Tarkio members stepped onto Blackfoot land, the tribal police would hand them over to the Feds the first chance they got. Even more dangerous was messing with those in charge of running the casino. It was known on and outside the reservation that people disappeared when tangling with them. They held themselves higher than those living off the reservation. An organized mob, they kept those living on the reservation in constant fear. They were above the tribal police. Above everyone.
Having money made them dangerous. Everyone had a price, and everyone could be paid to stay quiet.
That's why he had to go in alone.
He wasn't coming back without Josie.
Checking his gas tank, his duffle, his weapons, and ammo, he sat on the bike and waited for the others. As the one going inside, he needed to keep his head. He couldn't make a mistake.
He'd asked Banks and Chrischris to trust him. Josie worked for them at Bank's Body Shop. They knew her better, but they hadn't read her journal. They hadn't seen inside her soul.
That information was his.
Josie belonged to him, and yet he'd never given her more than a nod as he walked through the building to see his MC brothers. That would change after he rescued her.
Priest walked out of the building, his face set in stone. Nicole, his president's woman, was nowhere around. He fleetingly wondered if Priest had told his old lady how risky tonight's run would be for the eighteen members going to Blackfoot land. That there was a chance, they wouldn't come back.
Priest stopped beside him and widened his stance. "If you get in trouble inside, I want you to get your ass out of the casino. Don't risk it for some girl."
His back molars gritted together. "She's not a stranger."
"She's nobody to you, brother." Priest leaned forward and slapped his patch on his chest. "The men out there, protecting your back, are your brothers. Most of them have a woman, a family, and they're out there risking their lives for your ass. Remember, don't go in there flying solo."
He dipped his chin. No one needed to remind him of the consequences. He understood what would happen.
"Nicole's pregnant." Priest straightened. "I have a damn good reason to get home."
Keeping his congratulations for another time, Paco started the engine of his Harley. Each one of them had something at risk, except him. The single members had relatives. Most men had an old lady at home or a kid here or there.