The Sins Of The Biker : Sub Rosa MC - Book 1 by J.A. Collard

Author:J.A. Collard [Collard, J.A. & Collard, J.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-05-09T16:00:00+00:00

***

A few days pass when Stanford finally comes back to me with some information on the men who shot at us at the motel.

Stanford had come to me earlier this morning, saying he had some intel about what happened that night. I told him to tell us all together, so I called church.

This time when I take my seat, I sit at the head of the table. I still can’t believe they voted me in as president, but it’s what the boys want, so they must trust me.

Placing the gavel down, I look at Wave, then my other brothers.

“Stanford has some intel on the shooting at the motel. Stanford, want to tell everyone here what you’ve found?”

“Sure, Prez,” Stanford states with his laptop is open in front of him. “On the night they killed Prez, there was gunfire from a black van outside the motel. The surveillance cameras kept working, even though bullets were fired around them. I talked to the admin girl at the motel, and she told me the police had already taken the tape. Fortunately, we have ties with the police, so Jack from the New York Bureau was kind enough to email me the footage.” He grins. “Care to take a guess what it uncovered?”

“What?” I ask, curious to know the answer.

“We got a plate. There were three of the fuckers. They stepped out of the van and shot head-on.”

“Give me the laptop,” I demand.

Stanford gets up from his seat and walks around the table to me. “Here you go, Prez. I’ll play it for you.” The video starts, and the van races around the corner to our van and stops in front of our motel room.

Three figures exit, and I pause it to zoom in. Even though they don’t have masks on, I don’t recognize any of them, so I press play again.

The shooting happens, and the spray of bullets is unbelievable. When they’re done, they jump back into the van and speed off. However, Stanford hits pause as they take off, and the plate comes into view. It’s a New York license plate.

Facing Stanford, I ask. “Did you run them?”

He smirks. “Yeah, Prez, and I got a name for you.”

“Good man.”

Stanford presses something on the laptop, and immediately, headshots come up.

“The van belongs to this man right here.”

I focus on his name. Pedro St. Andrews.

I read the detailed description provided—weight, height, and below that is his address, date of birth, and phone number. My eyes focus on his address. The asshole lives in New York.

I face my men. “Looks like we’re heading to New York, boys. Let’s see if we can find these fuckers!”

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