The thought rattled around in my skull as I rode straight for the first truck. Tumbleweed’s front tire chewed up dust, the grit settling over my helmet, mixing with the sweat dripping down my forehead. It would be my fucking luck if it slid down my sunglasses, blinding me.Why the fuck couldn’t this have happened in the winter?
The Saint’s Outlaws had always played by our own rules, but we hadn’t updated with the times. Our reputation preceded us, but I was wondering if there was a better way. We still traded favors for information, banking on actually being sold the truth. There were no fancy gadgets or computers. Just sheer aggression.
If I don’t fucking get crunched between Tumbleweed and the truck, she’s buying me dinner. Steak.
This was it, and I made sure my right hand gripped the middle of my handlebars to control the bike. Crooking my left elbow, I held it out, hoping Tumbleweed was fucking paying attention. I didn’t feel like flying headfirst over my bike, landing in some prickly green shit along the side of the narrow road. I wouldn’t be able to dig myself out, and then the brothers would never let me live it down.
This was supposed to be the easiest part of the week—no drugs, no guns, just cargo. Grab the money, get paid and celebrate with a few fucks. Yet, we were preparing for battle, and I desperately wanted to pound my fists into something or someone. I didn’t care which at the moment, as long as I could feel the sting as my knuckles broke open. It wouldn’t release the anger increasingly rising within me, but it sure sounded like fun. My fingers curled in against my palm, my fist forming.
The trucks hadn’t decreased their speed, and I could see the driver of the first one yelling from the inside.I don’t get paid enough for this fucking shit.It wasn’t hard to guess he was swearing up a storm, his hands directly pointing in our direction. If I weren’t in the middle of saving his ass, I’d pull my piece and pop his tires, and then maybe he would learn a little respect. The first driver in the caravan was always the most experienced one. If he was panicking, I could only imagine how the second driver was fucking coming apart at the seams.
I was a bike length from the front when I stuck my fist directly out, sliding towards the left. Tumbleweed did the same, taking the right. He was actually paying the fuck attention.
I rode as close as I could to the side of the truck, not wanting to be dragged underneath. It wasn’t ideal, but I also didn’t need the bikes following the trucks to have a clear view of me either. I didn’t analyze how we were going to get out of this scenario. We always worked better on the fly, making shit up as we went.
I passed the back of the first truck, but when I looked up into the cab, the second driver had both hands threaded in his hair, pulling at the roots to make it stand up on end. I couldn’t decide whether he was angry or scared. His lips moved, but it might have been in prayer. The two of them had clearly lost the plot, forgetting who their saviors were.
I’m too old for this fucking shit.
Sliding towards the edge of the narrow road, I scanned the surrounding area, looking for the bikers. Tumbleweed had said they were there, but I didn’t see a fucking thing. No clouds of dust heading my way. No obnoxious engine sounds besides ours and the truck’s.What the fuck is going on?
If Tumbleweed got this wrong, he was going to be the one to feel my fists. I’d be gentle, focusing only on sprains, not breaks. As long as he could still get it up, the club bunnies would take pity.
Think Roxy will play naughty nurse?
A shot rang out, hitting the brush next to me. Another shot ricocheted off the top of the truck, bouncing off the right side, but I didn’t hear any screams, so it must not have hit. I was a little disappointed Tumbleweed had gotten this right. I’d been looking forward to pounding his flesh.
Someone had been following the trucks, and instead of calling for backup, the drivers had pretended they didn’t exist. There’d be hell to fucking pay when we got out of this. They had to have known they were being followed.
A bullet hit the cactus I had just passed, and I slid closer to the side of the truck. I wasn’t afraid to die, just didn’t want to call it too fucking early. I couldn’t be worried about the brothers behind me. They should have been paying attention, and if they ran each other over, we’d replace them. Problem fucking solved.
It wasn’t until I reached the back of the second truck that I saw the crotch rockets. There were four of them, two in the front and two in the back. Pulling my piece from the back of my jeans, I waited.
Shots rang out, but I didn’t bother firing back. I was too far away, and the chances of actually hitting something from this angle were slim to none. If I fired and missed, it would just give them a better target to nail my ass.
Clearing the back of the truck, I aligned my bike with the back left corner of the overhead door. It was creating a nasty crosswind, but I was an experienced rider. It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle, more annoying than anything else. As I moved in the opposite direction, it died down, and I could focus on the bikes directly in front of me. Tumbleweed caught my eye as he maneuvered next to meon the right. The rest of the brothers would line up behind us once they passed the truck.
Tumbleweed made sure I was watching as he raised his hand. He had two fingers stuck together, and then he split them apart. It wasn’t a bad plan. He wanted us to ride straight towards them, and when we were close enough, split. Easy if it worked, bloody if we missed our opportunity. If we could surround them, we might have a chance of heading home unscathed. We had the numbers, and they wouldn’t be so fucking lucky if we pulled this off.
We rode forward, clocking the distance until the split. My mind was racing.Why hadn’t they sped up?They were still riding at the same, even pace as when we’d first seen them.They’re still in formation?It would have been easier for them to play chicken with us. Yet they stayed, making it easier for us to see our next move.
Tumbleweed nodded at me, seeing the same strategy I had. There were two crotch rockets in each line, but they’d left the middle wide open. There was plenty of room for him and me to split them, cutting off any communication they had. As long as the other brothers took the outside, this was a better plan.
Multiple shots rang out, but once I stopped clutching my ass cheeks, it was easier to see they had orders to carry out. They weren’t looking to clear us, and it made me even more suspicious. Their shots continued to ring out, one right after another, but they never aimed directly at us. In fact, they were shredding cacti along the roadside—prickly plant pieces flying everywhere. They needed a new strategy if they thought this was going to shake us.
Two bike lengths.
I held my left arm out, letting the brothers behind me know to take the outside.Don’t fuck this up.
One bike length to go.
I hauled ass to get in front of Tumbleweed. I could feel him, his bike pounding the lane behind me. The exhilaration threaded up and down my spine, but everything else seemed to slow down. The lane didn’t close, and I rode in between the first two crotch rockets.
Kicking the front tire of the biker to my left, I waited to see what would happen. A kick wouldn’t have done anything to an experienced rider. They might have wobbled a little, but nothing serious. The biker I kicked laid his bike down in the dirt. It was so sudden, his buddy behind him couldn’t avoid the mess and ran over his legs. The bike trapped his upper body.
There was no fucking chance in hell I was going to nail the second biker. I passed him, looking for somewhere to turn around. As I scanned my right side, thinking I could pull around the last biker in a wide swoop, Tumbleweed kicked his front tire. It wasn’t really a kick. He used his foot as a lever, continually putting pressure on the tire until the rider couldn’t maintain control. He rode off into the brush, and one brother on the right went after him.
I cleared the mess, but when I turned around, I couldn’t help but laugh. Whatever this fucking was, it was obvious we’d won. Two of my brothers pinned the rider who had run over his buddy’s legs to the ground. His bike was on its side, and there was no way he was going to move it without breaking a body part. On the right side, a brother held a gun to the last biker’s head. No one flinched. We were used to this, but I couldn’t help but wonder how much longer until my time fucking ran out.
