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Prologue
Sydney, Australia
Smoke rose in narrow columns from the smoldering debris. The news footage showed detectives in cheap suits in a huddle, waving flies from their sweat-glistened faces and looking serious. Uniformed police acted as security guards, letting forensics in and keeping the media at a distance.
‘Police say the fire was deliberately lit, and although they are yet to conduct a thorough search, there appears to be no fatalities at The Devils clubhouse. A spokesperson for Taskforce Ricochet—’
Zep hit mute on the remote, shaking his head. ‘Fucking fire was deliberately lit by the cops,’ he muttered. ‘Not that they’ll ever admit to it.’
The president of The Devils OMC stood, hitching his belted jeans, and walked over to the window. The sound of waves crashing against the shore replaced the reporter’s voice. It was supposed to be relaxing, staying near the beach. But Zep hated it. He missed the roar of 131-foot pounds of torque and the horsepower of the Milwaukee-Eight big twin engines as they came and went from the clubhouse.
The Devils were keeping a low profile so there were no bikes coming and going from here. The cops were still looking for them. Wanted to question them over the undercover cops he would’ve put a bullet in if the fire hadn’t interrupted his plans.Fucking pigs.
He smoothed his thumb and forefinger over his handlebar mustache, lost in thought. The cops were off-limits, for now. Pay-back for infiltrating their ranks and burning down the clubhouse would have to wait. So would finding a replacement clubhouse. Zep’s number one priority was finding his enforcer. Where the fuck was Alex Riley? He was the key to all of this bullshit.
It had been almost three days, and there wasn’t a single trace of him. It made no sense. Hollywood had no family, and no friends outside of the club. Fuck, he was born into this club. Zep couldn’t believe he’d turn dog - an informant for the cops.
If a rival club had him, they would have sent him back in pieces by now. Not that Alex was stupid enough to get taken by another club.
Can’t be a woman. Alex ‘Hollywood’ Riley was the love ‘em and leave ‘em type, and he always answered his phone. Except…
‘Connor!’ Zep raised his voice loud enough to be heard in the kitchen, where the oldest member of The Devils had gone to make a sandwich.
A moment later, the heavy-set, gray-haired man appeared in the doorway, sandwich in hand. ‘Yeah?’
‘That chick Hollywood was seeing last year, what’s her name?’
Connor licked his lips, his chest rising and falling with the lungful of air he drew in. ‘Sarah Darcy.’
‘Yeah,’ said Zep. ‘She still in London?’
‘Last I checked.’
Zep rolled his eyes. ‘How about you check now? Make sure she’s where she’s supposed to be and hasn’t had any visitors from Australia in the last day or so?’
Connor nodded, turning back towards the kitchen.
‘And send Ray in,’ Zep called.
The old man had too much of a soft spot for Hollywood sometimes. He’d been mates with his father; a nasty piece of work but an effective enforcer for the club back in the day. Took it upon himself to look out for Alex, as a kid and even now.
He stroked his mustache, a plan forming. It’s not that he didn’t trust Connor; and Zep knew he’d kept tabs on Sarah Darcy - before and after she left the country. But it wouldn’t hurt to send his own men over, just make sure she didn’t know where her former boyfriend was.
‘You wanted something, Zep?’ asked Ray.
‘Yeah.’ He motioned Ray inside the living room. ‘Organize yourself and Brodie some fake passports. I need you to go and pay Sarah Darcy a visit.’
ChapterOne
‘Sarah, walk with me.’
Marisa Mackay was Universal Music and everything Sarah Darcy hoped to become when it came to her own fledgling career in marketing and the international music scene. Sarah planted both hands on her desk as she leapt from her chair to avoid tripping over her own feet. Her stiletto boots were on trend, but not exactly practical when it came to keeping up with Marisa. If sprinting in six-inch heels was an Olympic sport, Marisa would be a gold medalist.
‘Your internship comes to an end next month,’ said Marisa when Sarah drew close enough to hear.
Sarah’s stomach turned to mush. She wanted the full-time position more than anything. ‘Yes, it does.’
Marisa pulled the door to the executive suite of Universal Music’s London office open, tilting her head by way of invitation.
