Crusher signals and I bring my bike to a stop. Tank pulls up alongside my bike and the rest of the club follows our lead. We kill our engines and climb off our bikes. We’ve been riding for five hours straight and we’re all eager to stretch our legs. I’m prepared for a long night, but I am eager to get back to Raven. My head is filled with thoughts of burying myself deep inside of her the entire ride.
I lean against my bike and pull out a pack of cigarettes, drawing one out and tipping the pack toward Tank. He takes one and we light up while some others do the same or take a piss in the woods. Hound shakes his dick dry and rounds up a smaller group to scout out the area up ahead where the heist will take place.
I recognize the look on Tank’s face, we’ve been brothers for a long time. “You got something to say, man?”
He takes a hard pull from his smoke and lets it out slow. “There’s a lot riding on this. Just checking you got your head in the game.”
I shoot him a sideways stare. “You should worry less about me and more about yourself.” He’s right, I have to shake these thoughts. I can’t afford the distraction. I want her something fierce, but I won’t allow my urges to distract me and put my club at risk ever again. Fucking her will have to wait.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tank stiffens his stance ready to fight. Tensions are high and now is not the time for us to be prodding at old wounds.
“It means if you found yourself a steady piece of ass you might not be such a dick about mine.”
“Not me, man. Been there, done that. Besides, I’ve got expensive taste.”
“Is that what gets you off these days? Expensive whores,” Axel pipes in breaking the tension hanging between us.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.” Tank smirks, tossing his smoke to the ground.
I know exactly who he’s thinking of. His gilded princess living high in her ivory tower. Tank never fit in that world. He thinks he has nothing to offer her, but if you ask me, he’s held on to that hurt far too long.
Two and a half hours pass while we shoot the shit and smoke our cigarettes until Cobra lowers his binoculars and motions to us, he’s spotted the truck. I drop my cigarette to the ground, crushing it with the heel of my boot before mounting my bike. We fire up our rides and make our way to the meeting spot where we will secure the guns. A loud explosion drowns out the sound of our bikes. The distraction Diablo promised to cut the truck off from any dirty agents following behind. We need to move fast before the driver of the truck gets wind of trouble heading his way.
When we reach the location, Hound has the road blocked in front of the truck. Twisting the throttle, we close the distance between us and them. We approach from the rear of the truck. Tank and I split off, riding along opposite sides while the others wait in the rear. We dismount our bikes and I unwrap the chain from my handlebars, twisting the ends around my fists. The driver is inexperienced, or he wouldn’t be riding alone. He’s no match for the number of bikers surrounding him. Holding the chains tight, I yank open the driver’s side door and pull him out of the cab by his shirt. He lands on the ground with a hard thud, crawling to his hands and knees, sniveling like a pansy bitch. “Please don’t kill me. I have a wife and children.”
Cobra cuts the lock on the back with bolt cutters and confirms the cargo is inside.
“Do you know what you’re hauling and for who?”
When he shakes his head, I twist the chain around his neck. “I hate fucking repeating myself.” I growl.
The driver pisses himself, shaking and sobbing. “Ok. Yes. They’re guns. You can have them just please don’t kill me.”
I stare him dead in the eye, loosening my grip on the chain around his neck. His eyes grow wide with hope. When I nod my head, Cobra fires, hitting the poor bastard in the back of the head.
“Bury him.” I order, wiping the blood splatter off my face with the back of my hand. He should have known what was coming. We don’t leave witnesses. It’s his own fault for working with dirty agents and transporting stolen property. Property with a hundred-thousand-dollar price tag that my club will not foot the bill for.
Thrasher tosses the Prospects shovels. “Dig deep boys.”
The Prospects drag the lifeless body off the road, grumbling the whole time. When they reach a spot far enough away, they dig a hole large enough to hold the body. The two toss the driver in the grave and fill it back up. Covered in dirt and sweat, they return to the van, securing the shovels in the back before climbing behind the wheel of the truck and our van.
Revving up our bikes, we pull onto the road. The club surrounds the truck and leads it to the designated meeting spot. When the job is completed, we can wipe our hands of this debt. Still, there’s an unease in me that won’t allow me to look ahead that far. Something doesn’t feel right. The winding roads are empty, allowing us to make up for lost time. We make our descent down the last hill and round the corner to where the Demon Sons should have a guy waiting for us. I scan the road ahead, searching for their location but find nothing but darkness. We slow our bikes, moving forward at a cautious pace when high beams light up the dark, blinding us. I swerve to the right, nearly missing a collision with Tank. We pull off to the side of the road and park the bikes. The lights go out, plunging us into darkness. When my vision clears, I spot two members of the Demon Sons heading toward us. It’s hard to make them out in the dark, but one appears to be a prospect and the other I’ve never seen before. I don’t care who Diablo sent. I want to get the fuck out of here and back to Raven.
I whistle for our Prospect, who approaches from behind my bike and hands me the keys to the truck. I toss them to one of the approaching men, “Cargo’s in the back. We’re done.”
Extending my arm straight up, I signal for the club to ride out. We make a large swing, circling back the way we came and within seconds all hell breaks loose. A gunshot rings out from behind us. From over my shoulder, I watch as the driver’s body falls to the ground before the other man opens fire on us. Tires squeal as bullets fly our way and bikes go down. Those still upright drop our bikes and we dodge to the tree line for cover. I pull my gun from under my cut and take aim at the son of a bitch trying to execute my club. We return fire. A bullet ricochets off the truck and snips the shooter in the back of the leg. He drops to a knee, screaming in pain as three more men step out of the shadows, firing in our direction.
“Those were warning shots. Don’t fuck with Ward,” one man yells.
“This is a kill shot,” I yell back, aiming my gun and firing between his eyes. “Don’t fuck with my club.”
A hail of bullets continues to fly from both directions, but only one side stops shooting. When the last man drops, I stalk my way to the bodies with my brothers close behind me.
“I’ve seen this fucker before,” Gunner says from over my shoulder as I approach the man from the truck, “He was in our clubhouse with Ward.”
“Dammit.” I curse, dragging my fingers through my goatee. “Gunner get the guns. Reaper throw the bodies in the truck and set that bitch on fire. Tank...” A heaviness settles on my chest, feeling like the pressure has stopped my heart from beating. Everyone suddenly moving in slow motion, sound no longer registering in my ears as I scan the area around me for Tank. When my eyes zero in on his bike, I see it. Tank on the ground underneath it. I bolt toward him, the others following me as they realize what I just noticed. Tank, our VP, our brother is in trouble. The air is thick with the smell of blood and burned rubber melted to the asphalt. Adrenaline pumps through my body as I close in on him. His groans grow louder as I get closer. I haul the bike off his body and crouch down by his side.
“Don’t get up fucker, I got this.” Despite the joke on the surface, my insides are raging as I study Tank for injuries. “Are you hurt?”
