A Perfect Chance

A PERFECT
CHANCE

Copyright © 2016 by BECCA LEE

All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of Becca Lee, except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Editing & Interior Design by
Hot Tree Editing

Cover Design: ZH Designs

ISBN: (eBook)

Dedication

Donna, the Jo to my Ella.

Contents

Dedication

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by Becca Lee

Coming Soon

Prologue

MACE

Four Years Earlier

"Mace, get your head outta your arse and get over here, now." It took all the willpower I had not to throw my phone against the brick wall of the piece-of-shit house in front of me.

I was itching to get inside. I would have hauled my arse in there too, but going in blind was a mistake I would not be repeating. Never a-fucking-gain. At the thought of the last raid that got completely fucked, almost a year earlier, I bit back my string of curses. I'd lost her because of one move that should never have happened in the first place.

Everything had gone wrong that day resulting in a loss from which I never expected to recover. I still wasn't sure if it was bad intel, a mole in the force, or just a heap of bad luck. But my instinct debated the first two. So instead of forcing myself in, guns blazing and with no backup, I learned from my past mistake and pulled away, heading down the street, the pipes of my Harley rumbling loudly and echoing in the still evening.

Fifteen minutes later, I rode into the underground parking area and headed in the direction of the waiting car. A large figure leaned against the hood, smoking a cigarette. Switching off the engine, I removed my helmet and stood, taking the couple of strides needed to be in front of Enfield.

"Where the hell were you?"

I folded my arms across my chest and shrugged non-committally.

"Shit, Mace." He took a final drag and threw the stub to the ground, stamping it out. A flippant remark about littering and fines danced on my tongue, but I didn't need to piss Enfield off any more than he already was. "You were there again, weren't you?"

I held his gaze, unflinching against his piercing stare. After working with his team for the last four years, I knew his tells, knew when to shove and when to keep my mouth shut. The latter was the best course of action right then. I wouldn't lie to him. He knew exactly where I'd been.

He sighed, a deep sound that was loud in the enclosed space. It sounded defeated, as well as completely pissed off. "You need to stop. It's not healthy. Not right. Damn, Mace, I can't even begin to"—he lowered his head and looked at the ground before he continued—"you know, but it has to stop. You're chasing a ghost."

Clenching my fists and my jaw at his words, I tilted my neck, feeling the satisfying crack as I released some of the tension.

"I can't." It really was that simple. I couldn't rest, couldn't stop, not until I caught all the bastards responsible and put them to ground. The thought alone filled me with exhaustion. I couldn't remember the last time over the past year when I'd slept for longer than two hours straight.

"You can and you will." Enfield took a step towards me, his tone turning hard. "You're putting your team in an impossible position. You know that, right? O'Leary keeps covering for you, but you're going to drag him down with you."

I knew he was watching out for me, but on this, I couldn't listen. When I'd finished my training and probation period for the police force, I'd been recruited into a special strike force team, targeting outlaw motorcycle gangs, or OMCGs, on the Sunshine Coast. OMCGs had been running riot in the state for the last few years, dealing in drugs, firearms, and women. We'd been battling with them ever since. Every time we were that much closer to winning, it appeared another gang was ready to merge in and take over the reins.

And these
were
gangs, criminals we needed to get off the street. When I was first recruited, I’d naïvely thought it was motorcycle clubs we were targeting. It didn't take long for me to have my eyes ripped wide open and to see the obvious differences.

There was one club, Deadwood, that I'd become particularly friendly with, despite me being a cop and all. They'd welcomed me with open arms, not only because of my sweet ride, but I'd opened up to their pres, telling him who I worked for and what I did. At the time, I half expected him to pull out a Glock and shoot my arse right then. He didn't. Much to my relief, he joined forces with me and my team, wanting to get the outlaws off the street. They were screwing things up for all the clubs, making life hard, and making the ability to ride with colours impossible.

Enfield clamped his hand on my shoulder. "You need to know I was told to report another incident if you were caught straying." He squeezed me lightly before dropping his hand, pity evident in his voice.

I shrugged. "You do what you need to do." I meant it. I didn't want O'Leary or any of my squad being affected any more by me than they already were.

Groaning, he shook his head. "Don't be this guy, Mace. You're a good cop. You know that. You also know that Nox went down." I moved to talk, but Enfield stopped me. "Yeah, I know there were others involved, but you know how this works. You're going to get yourself fired or killed if you carry on."

He was right. We both knew it, but with what happened, even after all this time, I couldn't rest. I was exhausted, but I was on the verge of risking it all. That was something else we both knew. I was getting no closer to the truth, though. I should have shared what little intel I had, but I'd bypassed that road too many moons ago. No longer was I the good cop, the one who went by the book. While I still had a kick-arse arrest rate, my reputation was beginning to precede me, and I knew better than any that I was becoming a liability. Scrap that. I was a liability, because I no longer gave a shit.

"We done here?" I asked dismissively. There was nothing he could say that would make me stray from my mission to take down every fucker who had a part to play in the set-up, the one that destroyed my world by taking Abigail from me. I clenched my jaw, waiting for his answer.

Enfield sighed, a trait that was becoming his normal response to me. "Just keep the fuck away from Riots. Got it?"

I didn't commit to a answer. I looked at him hard, put on my helmet, nodded my goodbye, and accelerated away.

I headed out to see the Deadwoods. I needed to blow off some steam in a place where I could safely get obliterated without having to watch my back. It was no secret that the Riots had a hard-on for me and were looking for any excuse to get me out of the picture. I kept bringing the heat to their door, and even though Nox was serving time, he still had a heap of power over them. One of his plays was to make my life as difficult as possible, and the new prez, Rebel, seemed happy enough to take on that task.

Did I give a fuck? Screw that. I would take every last one of the gang members on.

Diesel, Deadwood's pres, greeted me with a chin lift when I entered the club bar and pulled a stool next to his. I still thought it comical that I'd become an honorary member of his club, but we'd earned each other's respect several times over, and I knew he was someone I could trust.

"You good?"

I reached out and took hold of the bottle of beer that was placed in front to me. "Thanks." I nodded at Julie, one of their bar staff. She winked at me before heading away. I looked at Diesel, who had angled his head in my direction. "Yeah." I lifted the bottle to my lips and took a hard pull. "Same old shit."

He didn't respond, nor did his gaze waver as he waited for me to continue.

"I think it's about time I left this shit behind." It was the first time I'd voiced the words I'd been debating over the last six months or so, even though vocalising it hit me with the sense of betrayal. While I'd been on my search for justice by taking down as many of the Riots gang as I could, I'd reached that point where there were too many eyes on me, just waiting for me to step all the way over the line. Enfield had turned a blind eye too many times to count; hell, most of my team had, but I knew the powers-that-be were waiting for me to screw up so badly the cuffs would end up on my wrists.

My words out, a heavy weight lifted off my chest, despite the internal battle going on. Maybe it was time to stop. I was far from over losing Abigail, but I'd hit so many dead ends about what went wrong that day, that I had no idea if I had the strength to continue for much longer. I was drifting into the darkness, and if I wasn't careful, I didn't know if I'd come back from it.

I rubbed a hand over my face, weary of everything. My thoughts just a short while earlier with Enfield were so different to the exhausting ones rushing through me as I sat nursing my beer.

With my relief came the onslaught of guilt. Letting go would mean letting go of her, something I’d promised myself I'd never do.
Fuck.
Everything was so screwed.

"To do what?" Diesel interrupted my thoughts. There was no judgement in his voice, no sympathy, just an honest question.