“It was worth it.” Images of missing children assaulted Garrick’s mind’s eye and brought up a growl. “The CBI hadn’t had any success getting an agent into this club and keeping him or her there for any length of time. Then they came across me--a hotshot all high on some success I had working an undercover operation as part of my job with the San Diego police department. I already knew cars and bikes inside and out from being half raised by my Uncle Chris, and that was a good way for me to nudge my way into the club. The CBI thought I was a good combination of raw and focused and could get the job done for them. They couldn’t afford to have another failure, and we all agreed to go balls-to-the-wall to make it a success.”
Devlin met Garrick’s gaze again, while his fingers traced an exact pattern the tattoo artists had put on Gradyn all those years ago. “Still...”
“This club was running some nasty shit.” Heat burned straight through Garrick as he remembered, and his hands curled into bone-crushing tight fists at his sides. “Forget the drugs, chop shops, and weapons you would normally associate with organized illegal activity--although they did that too. These guys were going into Mexico and other Central and South American countries and working as coyotes. They would take the money from desperate families and transport illegals over the border, only to kill the adults and sell the young ones. They made money off them twice, first from the families for entry into the US, and then trafficking the children into brothels here in the United States and Canada as well as other parts of the world.”
The color fled from Devlin’s face. “Shit.”
“Yeah. You don’t say no to that, and you don’t refuse any weapon that might sell your character and help get you inside the club. The tattoos were part of that weaponry.” Garrick’s lips twisted into a frown. “I hate that word ‘club.’ Makes it seem like a weekend social where you discuss your favorite books or movies rather than an organization neck-deep in illegal activities. Anyway, that’s why I agreed to the tattoos. I was willing to live with them forever, if I had to. I was already bulked up from the work I’d done on the San Diego job, and shaving my head wasn’t a big deal.” Garrick scratched his fingers through the overlong, dark stuff on his head now, and the reality of living with yet another new facade--this one for the rest of his life--settled an oppressive weight on his chest. He sought Devlin, met his gaze, and some of the tightness went away. “You got to see the outer shell of another person, but everything else I gave you that weekend, including my name, was the real me.”
“You must have succeeded in bringing down the biker club or I never would have met you in a gay bar that weekend.” Devlin’s voice was hushed. “Am I right?”
Garrick nodded. “We’d already busted the head guys. The CBI pulled me out so they could grumble about my ‘escaping’ arrest. They were busy rounding up the few remaining lieutenants when I got my weekend of freedom. I was prepared to have to go back undercover, or at the very least testify at trials but, in a race to save themselves, these guys turned on each other faster than I’ve ever seen.” A dry laugh escaped Garrick. “The CBI had one hell of a closer, and when the biker club lieutenants found out the death penalty was on the table, they tripped over themselves trying to be the one making a deal to stay off death row.” Garrick clenched his teeth so hard he could hear his jaw clicking. “Thinking about those kids, and the horror these monsters sold them into, made everyone involved real motivated to do their jobs. I didn’t have to do anything other than make my statement and sign off on the record of my time inside the club.” With an audible exhale, Garrick then rolled his eyes heavenward. “Then, the FBI came knocking on my door, and I was primed and ready for plucking.”
Devlin’s brows pulled inward, and he cocked his head to the side. “What does that mean?”
“They tapped me to work a tight-knit family organization out of Indianapolis, believe it or not.” Garrick nodded at Devlin’s comic disbelief. “Yeah, I swear. Close-knit clan of Irish descent, which because of my own heritage--my mother and uncle being very proud Irish folk--I also knew something about. The FBI had a man and a woman inside, but they weren’t sure the guy would make it the duration without breaking. They gave me the laundry list of illegal shit these people were involved in, and as I’m reading it, there’s a healthy amount of my ego being stroked that the fucking FBI want me to be the one inside on their behalf.”
Garrick owned his youthful conceit, along with a healthy bit of cynicism for the government officials who could spot the mix of intelligence and brash ego in its recruits and use it to their advantage. “There is an incredible adrenaline high that comes from taking down the bad guys, and when you’re in your twenties, like I was at the time, feeling invincible and important, and you’ve had success, you think you’ve got the world by the tail, and you’re David defeating Goliath. You don’t say no. Hell, you don’t want to say no.” Garrick reached up and brushed his thumb across the fullness of Devlin’s lush mouth. “Even if you’ve just met the most amazing guy and think you might be half in love with him.”
“That’s why you broke up with me,” Devlin murmured, his body going still. “Because you went undercover again.”
Garrick flattened his lips into a hard line, but forced out a nod. “It
