Page 88 of Last Mile

Pulling me against him, Bishop nuzzled my neck. “Yeah, but you like it.”

I gave a resigned sigh. “God forgive me, but I do.”

He gave my bottom a resounding smack. “Let’s get this fine ass of yours in the shower.”

We got on the road at a little after six in the morning. After stopping for a quick breakfast at seven, we continued on our way. Just before we reached Chattanooga, we pulled off at an exit.

I was wondering if it was for a pee break or gas until we topped the hill, and I was momentarily blinded by the gleaming chrome coming off a multitude of bikes. They were parked in a rest stop for truckers.

After we turned in, I noticed that while the men and women were wearing cuts, they were all different. There wasn’t a unified chapter like at the party in Virginia. Several of them had armbands that read BACA.

Instead of turning off the engines and getting off the bikes, Rev and Bishop just pulled into the back of the group. A man at the head of the line waved to them. He then did a count of the bikes and nodded. Once he got on his bike, the others around us started up their

engines.

“What’s going on?” I shouted over the roar of the pipes.

“You’ll see,” Bishop replied cryptically.

I didn’t have a chance to try to get any more information out of him because we started out of the parking lot in a two-by-two formation. After getting back on the interstate, we traveled a few miles before taking another exit. I couldn’t imagine what was going on.

Was it some kind of hit to be staged on an MC, and all these men were unified together? If anything illegal went down, I was in deep shit with the bureau for not letting them know what I was doing.

Even if they were aware, it was bad news for agents to be caught up in illegal action. At least I had my cell phone on me with a direct link to Peterson in case things went south.

As we roared into a residential neighborhood, both my curiosity and my worry reached a fever pitch. I was pretty sure the last thing the residents wanted at eight in the morning was a bunch of noisy Harleys. After winding around a few streets, we came to a stop outside a small frame house with a well- kept yard.

Bishop eased down his kickstand and then cut off the engine. Slowly, I took off my helmet as I eyed Bishop’s back. In a low voice,I asked, “Are you guys about to do a hit on some unknowing biker?”

Whirling around, Bishop stared wide- eyed at me. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

With a bark of a laugh, Bishop replied, “No, Sam, we’re not here to kill anyone. For fuck’s sake, I told you we were going legitimate.

I’m not sure how a club could be legitimate one minute and then killing someone the next.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know what all these other guys were up to.”

“I can promise you it isn’t murder.”

“Then what is really going on?”

“You’ll see,” he once again replied.

I grunted in frustration as I hopped off the bike. Rev motioned for us to follow him. He led us over to a walkway where some of the other men and women were forming a line. I wondered if it was some high- ranking biker we were waiting on, or the leader of a gang. It was obviously someone who garnered a lot of respect.

When the front door creaked open, I stood up on my tiptoes to get a good look at who was coming out. A young girl with flowing blond hair appeared in the doorway. Her black- and- white Converse sneakers carried her out onto the porch. When she raised her head to see all of us, she bit down on her lip and nervously tugged at her black- and- white- checked dress. When her parents appeared at her side, I looked from her to Bishop. “Okay, just what the hell is going on here?”

Before he could answer, Rev placed a hand on my shoulder. “The little girl’s name is Ansley. She has to be in court this morning to testify against the man who raped her.”

I widened my eyes in horror. “She can’t be more than seven or eight.”

“She’s eight,” Rev said.

“But she’s just a baby to have been through something so horrible!”

“I agree. That’s why we’re all here. The men and women here belong to BACA or Bikers Against Child Abuse. We come to lend moral support and physical strength to children who have suffered physical, emotional, and sexual abuse. Sometimes they need someone to walk them home from school, and other times they need someone to go along with them to court. That’s why we’re here today.”