DISCLAIMER: Fastlane is the property of Fox and Jerry Bruckheimer. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

In Too Deep
By trancer


Chapter One

"Goddammit!" Billie jerked at her restraints. Ignored the bite of pain from hard metal digging into her wrists, the strained pull on her shoulders as the toes of her boots barely scraped the floor. Drugged, beaten and strung-up like meat in some unmemorable place Billie was certain even the Devil himself would not venture into.

She heard the creak of a door, the metal grinding across the stone floor. She jerked her body, trying to crane her head towards the sound of footsteps casually approaching. But all she could see were shadows and silhouettes.

"Don't move." She felt Sara behind her, warm and comforting against Billie's back. Felt familiar hands sliding over the swell of her hips, circling around to caress her stomach, gently exploring upwards.

"Sara," she licked her lips.

"Billie," Sara purred back.

"We don't have time for this."

"Are you sure?" Her fingers played against the skin just under the waist of Billie's pants. The low-slung ones, so low that, already, Sara's fingers were tickling sensitive skin, causing low flutters in Billie's stomach.

"Sara," Billie groaned, eyes fluttering closed, hips arching into Sara's touch. "Don't.."

Sara thread her free hand through Billie's hair, pulled her head back and ran her tongue over Billie's lips. "Don't what?"

"Don't," lips parted, tasting the warm breath spilling into her mouth. "Stop."


Southeast New Mexico - The Middle of Nowhere

"Federal Marshals!"

The air crackled like fire crackers in a tin can. Loud and sharp and menacing, the threat of death with every pop, every ting of a ricochet. Mixed and muddied with the shouts that echoed off the walls.

Sara had only two options - fight or flee. She chose flee. Ran as bullets sang through the air, whizzing by her, chipping up cement and rocks around her feet. Eyes blurred and teary, throat burning from the smoke grenades fogging the air, covered the chokes with a balled and wrinkled bandana.

Her companions had chosen to fight, and flee. From the corner of her eye, she could see Lupe. Teeth bared in a feral grin. Her body flung backwards, a shot tearing into her shoulder, tumbling backwards into boxes and detritus scattered about the warehouse floor.

She ran towards her injured companion. Yanked a kerchief from her back pocket, pressing against the wound to staunch the blood flow. "Where's JJ?"

"I don't know," she winced.

"I'm getting you out of here."

"No!" Lupe grabbed Sara's jacket with her free hand. "Your job is to protect JJ. Forget about me."

"Sorry," she grabbed Lupe's arm and pulled it over her shoulder. "No can do."

"Freeze!" His look was pure biker - leather pants, vest, black boots, bandana around his head. His demeanor all cop. The stock pressed against his shoulder, eyes hard and menacing as they gazed down the barrel. "This one's for Reggie."



Los Angeles

It was the perfect California day. The kind people write songs about. Temperately warm temperatures. A pacific breeze that kept the air cool but not cold. And blue skies, scrubbed clean of the typical choking smog from an early morning rain.

Billie drove down Ventura. Top down, 80's cock-rock blasting on the stereo, one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding a fruity concoction that seemed to be all the rage these days. A drink that promised to Rejuvenate! Revitalize! And Re-energize. A slogan Billie blithely ignored because it tasted really, really good.

The flash of lights in her rear-view mirror caught her attention. Lights quickly followed by the shrill pierce of its siren. Billie pulled over to allow the vehicle to pass only to realize the siren wasn't for some crime somewhere else in the city but for Billie.

And one cop car was soon joined by a second, then a third. Officers spilled out of their cars, guns drawn and aimed directly at Billie. And she was stepping out of her car, hands behind her head, dropping to her knees, swarmed by Officers.

"Wilhelmina Chambers."

Billie cringed. Not at the sound of her full name, but from the speaker. Roland Hill smirked oily at her as he read from the file in his hands. Followed into the tiny, cramped Interrogation Room by another man. Roland stepped into her line of vision, wanting to make sure he had her full attention. He leaned down, all confidence and snake charmer smile. "But, your friends call you Billie."

"My friends do," she snapped back, Roland feigning a wound and sliding into the chair across from her. "What the Hell am I doing here, Roland?" She hadn't worked for the Candy Store in a year. Hadn't worked for ANYONE. Twelve blissful unemployed months where she didn't have to answer to anyone, and no one had to answer to you. No nights spent wondering if she was doing the right thing, with silent prayers hoping no one was killed.

"Wilhelmina," Roland gestured to the man next to him. "This is Special Agent..."

Billie snapped, cutting him off. "What do you want?"

"Wilhelmina," Agent Nameless spoke.

"Chambers," she snapped back. "Only my mother calls me Wilhelmina and only my friends call me Billie."

"Chambers," he sighed the sigh of a man not quite certain of what he'd just walked into and wanting nothing more than getting his job done so he could get the Hell out of it. "Do you know of a Brash Davis?"

"Who doesn't? He's the leader of the Wolverines, a splinter gang from the Hell's Angels. Serving a lifetime sentence last I heard."

Roland nudged the Agent's shoulder. "See, I told you she knew how to read."

Agent Nameless squinted, brushing something off the bridge of his nose, probably annoyance. "Brash has two younger siblings, a brother named Eric who's serving as de facto leader while Brash is in prison, and a half-sister named," he thumbed through the file before him. "Josephine Jacobs, aka, JJ."

"What does any of this have to do with me."

"JJ," the Agent continued as if he hadn't heard her. "For whatever reasons, left a life of reasonable prosperity and joined her brother's motorcycle gang. She formed a smaller group, an all female gang known as Satan's Whores. They were mostly small potatoes, nickel and dime stuff. But, JJ quickly solidified her place as Brash's other right hand man, and her role has increased. Nothing we can pin her on, drug running and stolen arms. We believe JJ responsible for the theft of a military armory in San Obispo."

"This is all very interesting but, like I said, what does this have to do with me?"

"We had two insiders working the case. One within the general ranks of the Wolverines," he pulled out a photo and slid it towards Billie. A crime scene photo, the man in biker gear flat on his back, a chalk outline surrounding the body. Billie tried not to react. She'd seen too many dead cops for one lifetime. "This happened in New Mexico about a month ago."

"Let me get this straight, you arrest me on bogus charges, throw me in here for hours on end, and now you want me to WORK for you because your people at the brain trust sent a man to infiltrate an all-female biker gang?" Her gaze shot bitterly towards Roland. "And you say I'm the slow one."

"Agent DuPree died a month ago. Our other agent has neither been seen nor heard from for three weeks."

Roland cut in, "We figured since this was your specialty, you know - bikes, guns and women, it'd be right up your alley."

"And why would you want to help me?" Billie smiled venomously, folded her arms over each other and leaned forward. "Last time we saw each other, the last words out of your mouth were, hrmm, let me think. Oh yeah, Junkie Whore. So why the Hell would I want to help you?"

"That was always your problem, Wilhelmina. Always too busy thinking about what you're going to say next. Never waiting to see the big picture. I believe Agent Price stated there were two informants. The now dead Agent DuPree," Roland pulled another photo from the pile, sliding it across the table towards Billie. "And her, I believe you two know each other."

Something twisted in Billie's gut. It had been over a year since she'd been a cop. Almost twice as long since she'd seen her. It had been Billie's idea to place Sara into the Program.

"You son of a bitch!" Billie leapt across the table, grabbing Roland by the collar, the momentum pushing him backwards in his chair. She fell atop him, straddling his hips, fist slamming repeatedly against his jaw.

If she'd bothered to look, she would have noted the pleasurable smirk on Agent Nameless' lips, or the fact that he took just a little too long to stop Billie's liberal use of whoop ass on the now bloodied Roland.

"All right, that's enough!" He held her in a tight bear hug. "Mr. Hill, would you please leave us alone."

"My pleasure," he spat angrily, wiping the blood oozing from his mouth with a kerchief. He jabbed an angry finger at Billie. "This isn't over."

"Any time, any place."

They both waited until Roland closed the door behind him, Billie not waiting for the Agent to placate her. "I want the Candy Store back."


"And I want Van and Deaq back."


"And I don't EVER want to see that jackass again."


Billie gaped at him. Eyes squinted slightly. "There's a 'but' coming, isn't there?"


"What is it?"

The town of Marion, Arizona had seen better days. When those days were, not even the oldest of residents could say. It was a holdover from days gone by, when gold, miners and settlers seeking their fortunes out West ruled the day. A town holding desperately onto its past because there was no place for it in the future.

Marion was dying. And yet, for one week out of the year, it was the center of the universe. A town with a population that normally scraped the 200 mark, exploded in the thousands. Tents, campers dotted the surrounding flats in clusters of color.

The days of yore became the now. Except, the horses these outlaws rode had wheels instead of hooves.

Billie parked in the middle of a row of bikes that stretched beyond the perimeter of Marion's main street in both directions. Unzipped her red biker jacket, inhaled deeply as the warm air cooled her skin.

"You look like you could use some company." He was tall with a footballer's build. Head wrapped in a bandana. Eyes hidden behind mirror shades. The perfect model of faux yuppie badass.

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Are you sure?" He grabbed her by the arm. Breath, even from a pace away, smelling of beer, hot dogs and stale cigarettes.

"You heard the lady."

Billie shivered at the raspy voice behind her.

"She said she's fine."

She turned towards Sara. Gone was the LA chic she last remembered, replaced with leather pants and matching vest, held together by a small chain and wishful thinking. Black lightening streaked from her left shoulder to her wrist, the remainder hidden behind black leather gloves. She smiled at Billie with something of a malevolent smirk, whether it was meant for Billie or the man standing next to her, Billie wasn't certain.

"Hello, Billie."

Billie curled her hand into a fist and struck Sara right across the jaw. "Bitch!"

Sara stumbled back several steps. Brought a hand to her wounded cheek. "So, it's like that is it?"

"Yeah, it's like that."

"Well then, don't say I didn't warn you."

Billie missed the first fist aimed towards her face. What she didn't miss was the backhand as that same first curled back swung around.

It was on. A blur of flying fists, swinging legs, that turned into a tangle of grappling bodies rolling around on the dusty ground. The crowd, smelling a fight and not wanting to miss a moment, circled around them.

An elbow smacked against Billie's jaw. Hard. Flipped onto her back, Sara straddling her hips, her hands pinning Billie's wrists to the ground.

"Is there a problem?"

The crowd seemed to part, like a flock of leather clad birds. A woman with long dark hair and blue eyes, flanked by several leather-clad and very tough looking women, stood just on the edge of the circle.

"No problem," Sara tightened her grip on Billie's wrists. "Billie, this is JJ. JJ, this is Billie, the girlfriend."


"So you say," Sara tauntingly wiggled her hips. "And, like a cat in heat, here you are scratching at my front door again."

"I didn't know you'd be here."

"She looks like trouble," JJ knelt down close to Sara. "Get rid of her."

"You said we weren't riding out until tomorrow. At least, give me some time to," she paused, licking her lips as she gazed down at Billie. "Reminisce."


Sara rose to her feet, jerking Billie up with her. She wrapped an arm around Billie's waist, securing her position with a vice-like grip on Billie's belt. "C'mon."

"Where are we going?"

Sara pressed her nose to Billie's ear. "To reminisce."

The hotel door burst open. Billie and Sara, connected by lips and swaths of skin. Sara pulled out of the kiss. Eyes scanned about the room. At the half dozen or so couples filling the room. "Leave," she barked ferociously. "NOW!"

They scattered like cockroaches, rushing out of the room in a fearful hurry. Sara slammed the door after the last occupant. Grabbed Billie by a fistful of jacket and tossed her backwards onto the bed, pouncing like an attacking cat.

"Sara," Billie mumbled through the lips hard pressed against her own.

"Billie," Sara answered back. Hands hurriedly working on the button of Billie's pants.

Billie licked her lips. This was going to be harder than she realized. She placed her hands on Sara's shoulders, politely pushing the woman backwards. Sara grabbed Billie by the wrists, pinning her arms to the mattress. She leaned down. Ran her tongue up Billie's neck before nuzzling next to her ear.

"There are rats in the walls," Sara whispered low and throaty. "And they're always listening."

Twice in one day, Billie had found herself pinned underneath Sara. This time -

She offered no resistance.

To Be Continued

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