Fuck, they heard.
Rick freezes, like a deer caught in the headlights.
I know what’s coming next. He’s gonna panic. My fuckin’ best friend in the whole world is gonna get himself killed if someone doesn’t hold him still.
. I jump into action before my brain fully catches up. Working my way around to him, I grab the back of his jacket, hauling him back and dragging him down hard. I press him flat against the dirt with one hand. He sucks in a surprised breath, but he doesn’t fight me because he knows he fucked up.
Taking my hand off him, we wait to see if they are gonna come running out. Sure enough, a man stumbles out in a panic. He doesn’t notice us until he’s almost on top of us, which gives me an element of surprise. I catch him mid-step, one hand closing around his neck, and I drive him down to the ground. He hits the dirt hard and gasps, the sound knocked out of him in a sharp burst. I keep him down with my knee firmly between his shoulder blades.
“Don’t fucking move or say a damn word,” I warn when he tries to push up.
Having a huge biker holding him down takes all the fight right out of him.
Suddenly I hear the sound of motorcycle engines. Thank fuck for that, the cavalry has arrived.
The whole encampment erupts with shouts and the sound of footsteps pounding. The Legion doesn’t mess around.
Siege’s voice cuts through the chaos, “Drop your weapons. You’re outnumbered and outgunned.”
Of course, the stupid pricks don’t listen, and it makes for a nasty, prolonged fight. One of the interlopers opens the nozzle on the gas canister, lights it up, and rolls it towards Rigs, who’s grappling with one of them on the ground. Thankfully, Patch shows up outta nowhere and kicks it away. It rolls away and catches some dry scrub on fire.
Rider dives into the shed doorway a heartbeat later and comes out dragging a skinhead who looks scared half to death. Guess they aren’t so tough after all.
Rick’s beside me, shame radiating off him in waves. I jerk my chin at him as more brothers come running into the clearing.
“Sorry,” he whispers.
“We’ll talk later,” I tell him quietly.
This is par for the course with Rick. He’s a good and loyal friend, but he can’t ever seem to just chill out, stay focused, and get the job done. It’s why he’s been prospecting twice as long as me. I hate that for him, I really do. Today, his slip-up triggered the conflict before all our club brothers were in place, and that added an element of danger that wouldn’t have otherwise been there.
With the additional reinforcements, it doesn’t take our club brothers long to wrangle up the other men. Apparently, there was a total of seven men intent upon turning Las Salinas into meth central.
Grabbing the last of them, I pull out a zip tie and restrain his hands behind his back. “Move!” I tell him, as I drag him over to the others.
He staggers, trying to keep up as I guide him forward, one hand locked around the back of his neck, the other already in a fist in case he decides to cause trouble. His eyes dart around, taking in our cuts and how thoroughly outnumbered they are.
Right before I drop him onto the dusty ground, I check him for weapons. This stupid fucker has a goddamn arsenal stored on his body. Even though his weapons are old and shitty, he’s got a lot of them. In the end, I pull three guns, a hunting knife, a set of five throwing knives, a pair of brass knuckles, and a goddamn throwing star off him. Holding it up to his face, I ask, “What are you, twelve?”
Rigs snorts a laugh, as do several other club brothers. Unfortunately, apparently Siege is not amused by anything to do with this situation.
I can see over a dozen club brothers have shown up. Several are milling around inspecting their setup.
From what I can tell, their setup is a total cluster fuck. Tank and Dutch pull back a long metal part of the shed wall so Siege can see what they’ve been up to without breathing in any of the toxic shit they’re cooking.
I’ve helped destroy several meth labs, and this one is dangerously sloppy. Containers open and mislabeled. The burner turned too high, causing a sick burnt smell. They spilled chemicals everywhere. One spark in the wrong place and the whole thing would have gone up, burning untold acres with it.
Siege and Rider move to give the place a walkthrough, looking as grim as I feel.
“Get their goddamn phones.”
“Phones,” Rider barks. The brothers have to pull them off the bound men. They all have cheap, cracked burner phones. Rider tosses them all into a bag Dutch holds open, all while the owners of those phones shut the fuck up and pay attention. They’re beginning to understand the gravity of their situation now. With any luck, they regret picking Las Salinas as their final destination about now.
Siege jerks his chin at Tank. “Disable the vehicles.” Tank steps over to the van and slashes the van’s tires in clean, efficient motions with his long hunting knife. He also pulls up the hood and pulls something from each vehicle and crams it in his pocket.
“I see you’re not from around here,” Siege tells them.
One of them shakes his head. “No. We were just trying to find a place to set up shop.”
