“I’ll start now.”
It wasn’tuntil ten days later that shit went sideways.
The third day, as the official boss, and I found myself staring at a container with no paperwork, destination, or owner. The guys joked around, saying it was a freebie and claiming finder, keepers, as I frown at the shipping manifest.
“Well, someone in China clearly fucked up. What time is it in Hong Kong?” I do the math in my head, knowing they’re thirteen hours ahead of us.
“Fuck, it’s only five in the morning there. Ok, you guys clear out. I’ll hang around for the next few hours until their offices open and straighten this shit out.” They all say goodbye and clock out as the evening security detail arrives.
I go up to my office and start clearing up some paperwork while draining my fifth cup of coffee of the day.
Hours later, the roar of motorcycles draws my attention, and I go over to my windows to see what’s going on. I watch the guards at the gate let in six guys wearing biker cuts and frown. Glancing at the clock, then at the employee schedule, I think either these guys are four hours late to work, or something is going on. I grab my walkie and radio down to the guard, but he doesn’t answer me.
“What the fuck is going on?” I grab my vest and, out of years of precaution, my gun.
I take the back way out of my office and come around the side of the building out of sight of the guard, ignoring my radio call. My gut is telling me this has something to do with that container, so I make my way to it. Sure enough, I find six Harleys parked a few feet away.
A loud bang followed by yelling and cries had me quickening my steps in time to see two of the bikers cut the lock and open the container, which was full of women. I’m about to draw my gun when I feel the unmistakable cold of one on the back of my neck.
“Nah, I wouldn’t, Joel.” I turn, as if I have no training at all, and stare at my friend Vincenzo.
“It’s not what you think.” Are the only words he says before I’m hit on the head and knocked out.
4
JOEL
Iwoke up in a run-down warehouse, handcuffed to the rusted metal rails of a staircase, with rats running around like they were the only tenants in the past fifty years.
My head was pounding, and my mouth was drier than the desert I ran around in on my last deployment. I shook my legs in an effort to move the rats away, but they just blinked their beady little black eyes at me.
Something slammed open at the top of the stairs, and I wrenched my neck to look up, but all I saw was a silhouette in the bright light coming through the doorway. Loud music and chatter filled the room until the door closed behind Vincenzo and another name I’d never seen before.
“You fucking dick.” I glare at the man I used to call a friend.
“Hey, you weren’t supposed to be there.” I pulled at the cuffs, praying the metal would give, but goddamn, they were stronger than they looked.
“Oh, that makes it better! Tell me, did you send me to Freddy for that job, hoping I’d turn a blind eye to your criminal activity on my fucking docks? You trafficking women now? Is that the legacy the great Lombardi family is gonna go by now? Maddymust be rolling in her grave!” I spit in his face, and then I have no way of blocking the right hook he gives me.
“Don’t you ever bring my grandma into this! I don’t fucking traffic women. We were there to set them free before the assholes who took them showed up. If you wanna look at anybody’s family sideways, you better start looking at your own.” Hitting me again would have hurt less.
“What?” I shake my head as my legs give out.
If I didn’t have a concussion before, I think I might now. The room is spinning, and my ears are ringing as his words echo through my poor brain.
“Your father was taking bribes to look the other way. Every few months, an extra container showed up along with a few grand in his account. We ain’t sure if he knew what was inside, but Freddy did and still kept doing it.” The stranger talks to me in a careful tone, and I look at him as I sway.
“Who the fuck are you?” My words are slurring, and I know I’ve got about two minutes before I pass out again.
“That’s up to you. Right now, I’m your jailor, jury, and executioner if need be. However, if you’re wise, you’ll call me President.” Ok, how did this turn political?
“Listen, I’ve taken two blows to my head, so pretend I’m stupid and dumb it down, buddy.” I glare at Vincezo because I’m in this mess ‘cause of him.
“Name’s Jameson, National President of the Royal Bastards’ Motorcycle Club. And this here is your interview for recruitment.” I try to stand and reluctantly accept Vincenzo’s help to do so.
“What if I don’t want to be in your little gang?” Jameson snorts.
“I’m sorry, I thought I made myself clear before. I wasn’t giving you the choice to say no. You’re taking the job because, in order to stop the assholes bringing in these girls, I need thedocks under our control. Your other option is a bullet in the head so that I can put Twister here in your place.” Who?
