Shaking my head, I eased the blonde gently off my lap and onto her plastic heels. I took a few breaths to ensure that I could respond without alienating Ghost and his men. “That’s kind of you, Ghost, but when it comes to Breakneck’s daughter, I’m afraid we don’t have any time to waste.”

Ghost gave me a grim smile. “I get it, brother. I was just trying to make what I had to tell you a little easier to take.”

My brows rose in suspicion. “You mean the news about Sarah is worse than we thought?”

He nodded. “Come on, let’s go somewhere we can talk.”

After Bishop reluctantly released his girl, we fell in step behind Undertaker and Chulo and made our way through the tables to the back of the club. Another hulking biker stood guard at the door. He jerked his chin at Ghost, and then stepped aside for us.

We followed Ghost down the dimly lit hallway to the last door on the left. When we got inside, I found an impressive mahogany table with ten chairs that must have worked well for short-notice meetings. After taking a seat across from Ghost, I began rapping my knuckles anxiously on the table.

“After hearing from you the other day, I immediately put out some feelers for our informants with ties to the Henchmen.”

From inside his cut, Ghost produced a manila folder. He took out a glossy black-and-white picture and then shoved it across the table at me. I sucked in a breath. It was of Sarah. She was at some college bar, having drinks with friends. Across from her on a stool at the bar was a guy in a cut. I would’ve needed a magnifying glass to prove it for certain, but I was sure he was a Henchman. Apparently she had been on their radar if they had taken the time to photograph her.

After I flashed the picture at Bishop, he asked, “Can we use the picture to trace the guy?”

Ghost shook his head. “While it was one of the Henchmen who took her, she’s no longer with them.”

I leaned forward in my chair. “What do you mean she’s not with them? They’re demanding ransom money from Breakneck for her return.”

“The Henchmen don’t make it their usual business to deal in human trafficking. But they have been known to abduct a girl or two to sell when they get into a bind with a rival club.”

“Which club?”

Ghost winced. “The Diablos.”

“Jesus Christ,” I spat. It was one thing for Sarah to have been taken by the Henchmen. Although they were dangerous, they were still a low-ranking club in membership and without many allies. The Diablos, however, were in a whole other fucking realm.

Out of the top five mega clubs in the world, the Diablos were up there in the ranks with the Hells Angels and the Mongols. They were considered dangerous, not just by the FBI and the ATF—the department of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives—but by other clubs as well. They drew their strength from their ties to some of the most powerful drug cartels in Mexico. They got off on the most extreme forms of torture, and they didn’t give a shit if they had to take out women or kids to get what they wanted.

This was a game changer of epic proportions. “Are you absolutely sure she’s with the Diablos?” I asked.

Undertaker nodded. “I have a contact at the border check. He confirmed that a girl matching Sarah’s description was taken into Juárez yesterday morning.”

Ghost took out another photograph and slid it across the table. “We received this photo earlier this afternoon.”

Once again, Sarah’s black-and-white image appeared before me. But this photo showed a shadow of the girl who had been talking and laughing in the other photo. Her eyes were cast down to her lap where her hands were clasped. Even through the photograph, her fear was palpable.

“But I thought the cartels were trafficking girls out of Mexico, not into it,” Bishop said.

“This is the part you’re not going to like,” Ghost answered.

I grunted before telling him, “There’s not one fucking thing about any of this that I like.”

Ghost nodded at Chulo.

“It appears that upper-class white girls have become a growing commodity with high-ranking cartel members. The Diablos’ El Paso chapter has been targeting college bars and campuses. Somewhere outside of Juárez, they have a camp where they house the girls before selling them to the highest bidder,” Chulo said.

“Who owns the camp?” Bishop asked.

Chulo took a long swig of beer before replying. “Guy named Mendoza. He’s one of the Rodriguez cartel’s lugartenientes.” At Bishop’s and my blank expressions, he winked. “That’s ‘lieutenant’ for you gringos.”

I furrowed my brow in confusion. “Wait—so he’s one of their soldiers?”

Shaking his head, Chulo explained, “Being lugarteniente makes him the second-highest position in the cartel. He supervises the lower levels like the hit men.”

My mind whirling with questions, I couldn’t help asking, “So if he’s some second-in-command in the drug world, where does selling girls come into this?”

“Because of the recent crackdowns on the narcotic trade, human trafficking has become an easy way to supplement their income,” Chulo replied.

As I digested this new information about Sarah’s capture, I momentarily had to cradle my head in my hands. This was way beyond anything I had ever experienced as a club member, least of all as president. Not even Preacher Man or Case had ever come up against one of the cartels. They’d rationalized that the risks outweighed the benefits and steered clear of anything involving drugs.

“So we’re pretty much fucked, huh?” Bishop said beside me.

Raising my head, I shot a hard glare at Bishop. “Maybe for the moment, but we’re not letting Breakneck down.”

“Glad to hear you say that,” Undertaker replied.

I cut my gaze over to him. “What do you mean?”

With a wicked gleam in his eyes, Undertaker replied, “I mean, we’re going to help you guys go in and get your girl.”

I cocked my brows at him. “You’re serious?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Shaking my head, I replied, “While we appreciate it, we can’t ask you to do that.”

Chulo snorted. “And we’re not asking for your approval. Besides, we have our own reasons.”

“He’s right,” Ghost said before I could argue any further.

“What reason could you all possibly have for going up against the Diablos and the Rodriguez cartel?” I countered.

Ghost eased back in his seat. “For the last six months, the Diablos have been putting the heat on clubs throughout Texas and Louisiana to patch in with them.”

“I guess I can assume that you all don’t want to patch in,” I said.

Ghost’s blue eyes narrowed at me. “We would die first before we wore any other patch but the Raiders.”

“Trust me, I can understand. But at the same time, I have to remind you what you’re committing to.”

“We’re fucking aware,” Undertaker replied.

I surveyed the stalwart expressions on the faces of the three men, and I realized then there was nothing I could do or say that was going to change their minds. Finally, I smiled at them. “Then I have to say I’m very grateful for your help.”

Beside me, Bishop shifted in his chair. “Since Rev and I are fucking clueless about what to do, I sure as hell hope you guys have a plan as to how we’re going to get into Mexico and go up against some second-in-command cartel lord.”

Ghost chuckled. “Yeah, we have a plan.”

“It better be some old-school A-Team or SEAL type of shit,” Bishop countered, his expression saying he wasn’t convinced of the El Paso Raiders’ abilities.

Rising from his seat, Ghost narrowed his eyes at Bishop. “Trust us. We have a fucking plan.”

TWO

ANNABEL

TWO MONTHS EARLIER