Biker's Betrayal
Even before the sirens began wailing , Sandy knew she’d been overzealous with the gas pedal. Swearing under her breath, she pulled over and waited patiently for the cops to come over and question her, praying for them to just give her a speeding ticket and send her on her way. The officer approached the window and Sandy obligingly rolled it down, looking up with a pleasant smile.
“Is there a problem, Officer?” she asked, innocently.
“Turn off the engine and put the keys on the dashboard,” the officer ordered her gruffly, “then show me your license and registration.”
Sandy quietly did as she was told, not wanting to antagonize the officer. She handed the officer her ID and sat waiting while he read it.
“So, where are you heading, Ms Harper?”
“I’m driving up from Vegas to see my boyfriend,” Sandy replied, giving an answer that was at least half-true.
“You must be in a hurry to be going ten mph over the speed limit,” the officer noted, handing Sandy back her ID.
“We’re in the middle of the desert, Officer,” Sandy pointed out, a tinge of annoyance creeping into her voice, “and yours is the first car I’ve seen for miles. Do you seriously care if I was going a little faster than the law says I can?”
“Even so, do you mind if I look in your trunk quickly?” the officer asked.
“Why do you want to?” Sandy flinched, suppressing her nervousness.
“I’m just curious.” the officer shrugged, “I mean, I can’t force you if you don’t want me to look, but then I’d have to ask ‘why not?’”
“Fine,” said Sandy, trying to sound like she had nothing to hide, “take a look.”
The officer went round to the back of the car and started fiddling with the trunk. Sandy seized her chance and snatched the keys off the dashboard, turning it in the ignition. However, at the crucial moment, the engine stalled. She frantically turned the key in the ignition, but to no avail, and slapped the wheel in fury.
The officer couldn’t fail to notice Sandy’s failed attempt to escape, and when he popped the trunk and saw what was inside it became obvious why.
***
Sandy was read her rights and placed under arrest before being driven to the nearest police station. She scowled for her mug shot and kept up a tough appearance for the security camera as she was left to wait in the interrogation room, but inside, she was panicking.
Half a million dollars worth of guns and ammunition had been seized from her car trunk, and it was only a matter of time before they found out who she was working for. The best she could hope for was a plea bargain, which would involve betraying her fellow Seraphim to the cops to shave at most a decade off her probable sentence. Either way, she was a dead woman.
Sandy turned to look at her reflection in the two-way mirror. Her hair wasn’t sandy at all; she’d dyed her hair red a long time ago, shortly before adding a nose piercing and the Speeding Seraphim tattoo on her lower back. She was pretty damn hot. Once she went to prison, however, that wouldn’t last. The women’s sections of the state prison system were brutal; if the stories were true, she wouldn’t last longer than a month in there. Sandy hung her head in hopelessness. She could either sell out her fellow bikers in the Speeding Seraphim, or she could consign herself to a quarter of a century in a desert hellhole.
***
The jet-black hummer pulled up outside the police station. Out of the vehicle stepped a man and a woman wearing ATF jackets and shades to keep the glaring desert sun at bay. A local police officer came rushing out to meet them.
“I’m Officer Vasquez, we’ve been expecting you.” The officer offered his hand.
“I’m Agent McMahon and this is Agent Philips,” the male agent replied gruffly, ignoring the attempted handshake. “Why are we here?”
“A few hours
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