“Dad, huh?”
King grinned. “Yeah, thought I’d make it official before the brat staged a full mutiny.”
“You mean like the summer paintball free-for-all you barely survived?”
King grumbled, “Shut up, Gator.”
I laughed heartily. It was well known in the biker world that Cameron Hobbs, apparently now Montclair, was a force to be reckoned with. When that kid wanted something, he stopped at nothing to get it. Even claiming the president of a biker club as his father.
“Well, since yer here, you plannin’ on taking possession of the shipment? Finally located it, and my boys are securing it now.”
“Yeah. I’ll send some of the brothers over to the scrapyard tomorrow morning to pick it up. Thanks for getting me one so fast.”
“No problem.” I said then asked, “Speaking of which. How are things over at the track?”
King groaned, “Ansel’s being an ass. Trip is threatening to quit, and C.C. is giving Trip the runaround.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say that more than the bride and groom got together at the wedding.”
Shaking my head, I groaned, “Better not let Romeo find out. That’s his baby sister.”
“Already one step ahead of you. Fiona’s never been to New Orleans, so I’ve asked Romeo to show her around.”
“The doc’s little sister?”
“Yeah,” King muttered. “She wanted to come and, well, I couldn’t tell her no.”
“Well, I’m sure Romeo will show her a good time.”
“BOYS!” I heard mymômanyell. “Time to eat!”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Your mom isn’t happy the boys missed dinner,” I muttered, rummaging through the box of goodies Marabella had given me for the trip home. Picking out a deviled egg, I shoved it in my mouth and moaned. “Dear God, Wade, your mom sure can cook.”
And when I finished my third barbequed rib, that’s when I realized Wade hadn’t said a word since we left. Wiping my hands and face, I looked over at him and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t reach the boys,” he said through gritted teeth as he tried calling one of them. “See if you can reach Donut.”
Getting my phone out of my bag, I dialed Donut’s number, only for his phone to go straight to voicemail.
“Voicemail,” I said, trying Juju.
Nothing.
“Shit!” Wade roared, slamming his hand down on the wheel before handing me his phone. “Click the worm on the home screen. It’s the security app for the scrapyard. Go through the cameras and tell me what you see.”
Scrolling through the security app, I tapped on the camera feed for the scrapyard. The first few angles showed nothing out of the ordinary, just rows of rusting metal and stacks of tires silhouetted against the fading daylight. But as I switched to the camera facing the back entrance, my stomach dropped.
“Wade,” I whispered, my voice taut with unease. “There’s a black van parked behind the dumpsters.”
He shot me a sharp glance before his eyes darted back to the road. “Can you see the license plate?”
Zooming in on the feed, I tried to focus on the blurry numbers, but the angle made it impossible to make out. “I can’t see it clearly.”
“Try the other cameras,” Wade urged, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as the van disappeared from the next feed.
