Reign (Sin City Outlaws #1)(8)

“No!” she responds quickly. Reaching into my pant pocket, I pull out some latex gloves, protecting myself. She is clearly a drug user, and I don’t want to chance coming across a needle or open wound while searching her.

I pat her top and caress along her sides, but feel nothing. “Oh, baby, why don’t you go a little lower, take this to the next level.” She laughs.

I step back and look down at her… flippers, and see something glint against the street lights. Dipping down to get a better look, I find a small baggy and pull it from the flipper. It’s meth. We were taught about drugs in the academy, and meth is hard to miss.

I toss it onto the hood right in front of her, and her back rises with a sharp breath.

“That’s not mine.” They always say that. You’d be surprised how many people say the drugs we find on them, or evidence of a crime, is not theirs. At some point, it just gets ridiculous.

“It was in your flipper,” I state.

“These aren’t my flippers.” She begins to laugh, and Lieutenant Oaks starts to chuckle.

I read the woman her Miranda rights then put her in the back of the cruiser. The whole time, she is cursing me and my existence.

“5Paul69, status check,” the radio asks, checking in to make sure we’ve handled the situation and don’t need assistance.

“5Paul69, clear,” I inform, clarifying that I have everything under control. If I don’t, they send backup very quickly. There will be cops, sheriffs, security—you name it, they show up in a flash. It’s nice to know we all work together and have each other’s backs.

“Copy that.”

“Let me out of here, you bitch!” the woman from the back yells, her flippers stomping into the floorboard. I exhale a large breath and buckle my seat belt. Finding random people who are high and disturbing the peace happens several times a night. Between the city police and us, we still can’t keep up.

“Do you know how you could have handled that better?”

I turn my head toward Lieutenant Oaks and scowl. I’m not sure if he’s just an ass, or knows I’m capable of better.

“You bitch. You’re a bitch, of a bitch, who was a bitch!” the woman screams from the back, not making any sense, jumping her boney body around.

I raise my eyebrows. “I shouldn’t have been a bitch, born from a bitch?”

He scowls, not seeing my humor. I turn my head quickly to hide my smile and put the car in drive.

“5Paul69?”

Coming into the city was a bad idea; they always send us to calls within the city limits. Sheriffs deal with the county, and police handle the city. We can take calls within the city, we can work both if we want, but the police are strictly city.

“5Paul69, copy.”

“Witness called, said a group of bikers were becoming physical at The Gold Bana Casino. We believe it’s the Sin City Outlaws, be advised.” My spine runs cold hearing the name of the most infamous outlaw motorcycle club in the area. They are one-percenters, meaning they don’t obey the law.

They think they are the law.

There was an entire course on them alone when I was in the academy. They kill our kind without remorse and pave the road of anarchy. Each member of the club has a record that needs its own filing cabinet. Rape, murder, theft, possession. I knew I would come face-to-face with them one day when I took this job, I just didn’t realize how soon.

“5Paul69, en route.”

“Damn it,” Lieutenant Oaks hisses.

“What?”

He turns his head, his face tight. “They’re bad news is all.”

I turn the wheel heading down the main strip. The Gold Bana is a newer casino that just had a grand opening two weeks ago. Knowing the Sin City Outlaws, they’re probably letting them know who runs this city, and what casino runs the strip. The Outlaws are a tight knit community, with family members holding top positions. Zevin Deluca is the president of the motorcycle club, but his uncle, Frank Deluca, runs the casino at the end of the strip. You can’t miss it; it’s bigger than any of the other casinos or hotels. The building is made of a mirror-like material and it has red lights that beam off the glass, illuminating the menacing color of sex and sin from its structure.

I look back at the female we picked up, noticing she has been quiet, and find her passed out snoring, drool dripping off her chin.

“Classy,” I mutter, turning back in my seat.

“I don’t need to warn you about the Sin City Outlaws, do I?”

I huff. “No, I learned everything I need to know about them. They are what they say they are—outlaws.”

“Exactly, but just stay clear of them, Jillian. Let the city police deal with them. I know the president of the club, and he’s dangerous.” He flicks his gaze to me, and little wrinkles form between his brows.

“Understood,” I reply, but really I don’t understand. What am I supposed to do when I get a call similar to this and I’m by myself, ignore it? I have been on plenty of shifts the last few weeks, and every time someone called in an incident of the Sin City Outlaws, it went overlooked. Seems everyone around here fears the Outlaws, and it pisses me off. We are the law, we reign over Vegas, yet my fellow officers yield the path of mayhem the Outlaws have paved. It makes me wonder what the hell they’ve done to earn such fear and respect.