Bound by Lies (God's Reapers MC Book 3) by Kara Parker Page A

anymore, so even if we had enough money, we still couldn’t actually buy anything. Honestly, I’ve been thinking that after everything that’s happened I don’t know if that’s the road we should travel down.”
     
    “Spit it out, Creely,” a voice called out. “You think you can disband us? That just because you’re screwing some cop you have any power over us?”
     
    David winced at the harsh tone but pushed forward. “No! I’m not saying we disband; I’m saying the exact opposite. We need each other more than ever now. I’m saying that we use this place as it was intended to be used.”
     
    “A whorehouse?” an older member called out.
     
    “No,” David scolded, glancing at Olivia out of the corner of his eyes and seeing the questioning look on her face. “I mean as a garage. We all know everything there is to know about cars and bikes. We could get a real business going as mechanics; we could make good money doing it.” The men began to grumble around him, their voices growing louder and louder.
     
    “Things change,” David yelled into the crowd, silencing everyone. “When this gang started, they didn’t have anything to do with drugs. They offered protection to the people of this town when the cops and the law couldn't help them. Then, it turned into what we know the gang as, why can’t it go back? Why can’t it change? If we keep going the way we were, we’re all gonna wind up in prison. We don’t have enough members to continue the business…we just don’t. So I guess we could all go out and be guns for hire for whoever would have us, or we could work for ourselves and offer our brothers work when they get out. I don’t know the future; I’ve never been good at guessing what comes next. But cars are gonna break and people will need them fixed—and we can do that.”
     
    “What do you think, Mike?” a member called out, and all the heads swiveled in Mike’s direction.
     
    Mike stood there, as if he was in a deep meditation. His eyes were focused on the floor, and his arms were crossed. Finally, as the members called his name, he looked up and sighed before he began to speak. “David is right,” he said, “we don’t have enough members to keep up the old business. The cops cleaned us out, and we’ve got men in the joint who need money for legal fees. David has offered one way to keep the business going, does anyone else have any other ideas?”
     
    “Yeah!” a younger member piped up. “I say we cross the border and go looking for some people to sell to us. It’s not like Mexico is running out of drugs.”
     
    “And then what?” David asked. “How do you get it past the border? Rick’s guys used trucks and vans and hid their product in cat toys and candles; he had over seventeen different vehicles. You think you’re really going to get through the border with heroin taped to your abdomen? It’s unfeasible; there’s no way to make it work. And is that really what we want? Drugs mean drug cartels and cops and junkies—and we won’t have the means to protect ourselves. We’ll spend the rest of our lives on the run, constantly looking over our shoulders.” David shook his head. “I don’t know that I want to go back to that kind of life.”
     
    “I’ve worked in a garage before,” another member said. “Gerry’s down on Tenth Street. It was good work, a little hard, but none harder than riding through the desert all night. Definitely not as bad as getting sent to the clink.”
     
    “My daughter just got her carburetor replaced, and they charged her three hundred dollars for installation. I could install one of those in under an hour. That’s not a bad profit margin,” another said.
     
    “And we don’t even need to buy much. We already have all the tools and machinery we need.”
     
    “I know I could do it,” Mike said, “and it’s like David said, we don’t know what the future will bring. Maybe we’ll go back to the old ways, maybe we’ll