Throwing my leg over my bike, I was preparing to interrogate our prisoners when the truck drivers stormed up the road, guns pointing. They had stopped their trucks further up, and now they thought they were going to be two badasses. I didn’t even bother to raise my gun. If they’d been thinking straight, they should have taken off, letting us catch up to them.
“You imbeciles,” the first one screamed, waving his gun in the air. These weren’t cartel pros, just frightened men who were clinging onto a paycheck they would never see if they didn’t deliver. “They’re supposed to protect us.” An icy chill slid down my spine. It didn’t come from fear, no, it came from how goddamn dumb they were.
I motioned for a few of the brothers to work their way behind the truck drivers. They were so focused on me, they didn’t see we were caging them in.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked. There was no hint in my tone that something was amiss.
“They were supposed to protect us. Now, who’s going to make sure we’re safe?” He flung his hands around, the gun flailing. “I don’t get paid enough for you to rob us.”
“If you thought we were going to rob you, you should have kept driving, and we would have caught up. Put the fucking gun down.” I didn’t need to take a stray bullet. He didn’t move quickly enough. The brothers standing behind him disarmed both of them, forcing them into the dirt. I wasn’t worried about fucking around with the cartel. They cared more about the cargo than the drivers. If something happened to these two, there would be two more to replace them.
“Sit on him, and hold his head up,” I commanded, but when I saw the driver’s squinty eyes, I kicked a little dirt in his face. He coughed, cornered. “What the fuck is going on?”
They remained silent.
“Look, unless you can come up with some reasonable explanation, we’re going to take your cargo and leave your body out here to rot.” I wasn’t just threatening them. That was exactly what was going to happen. I kicked a little more dirt when he didn’t start talking right away.
“We followed the instructions. Picked up the cargo and drove it through the border. No one stopped us on the way here, but they showed up about ten miles back. They said to meet bikers. Figured they were you.” After all the years riding with the Saints, I was an excellent judge of character. The trucker was telling the truth, even though he hadn’t thought this through in the moment.
“You’re not new to this. They never let the new guy in the first truck, so you had to have known we wear club cuts. We don’t have full-shield helmets, and most of us would rather die than ride a crotch rocket. Pay attention the next time you pick up stragglers.” I kicked more dirt just to be an asshole.
“Cactus,” Tumbleweed called, waving his hand to get my attention. “Come here.”
I headed in his direction. He was standing over the rider buried underneath his bike, probably paralyzed.
“They’re all dead. Must have taken some sort of pill. There’s foam in his mouth, so I’m not bothering with the rest, but we searched for IDs.” Tumbleweed kicked the man’s wrist. “The only identifying marks they have are these tattoos. It’s a phoenix, but no one recognizes the significance. I took a picture.It’s in the same spot, on the inner wrist, for all of them. Club? Gang? Who the fuck knows.”
I shook my head, knowing we wouldn’t piece this together. “The driver said they crossed the border, and these four pulled in from behind. They thought they were us,” I explained.
“Do you buy that shit?” Tumbleweed rubbed at his bottom lip, like he was some sleuth, cracking the case.
“Yeah, at least some of it. The drivers are just doing what they were told. They didn’t have a clue, which was why they were yelling at us when we rode towards them. Who the fuck knows what’s going on.”
“Should we still deliver? I don’t want to walk into a trap.”
“I don’t want to either, but I’m going to step away and call Scorpion. He needs to know what happened, and we’ll go from there.”
“Good luck.” Tumbleweed walked away as I pulled out my phone.
Dread coiled in my gut as I dialed Scorpion’s cell phone. My president needed to know what we were facing, but I wasn’t confident in his ability to lead. If he chose wrong, it was our lives on the line, not his.
Chapter eleven
Fucked And Not Kissed
Cactus
Heading towards the front of the first truck, I checked my signal. I had only two bars.Good enough.I dialed immediately, wanting to get this over with. Mesquite had still been president when I’d petitioned the Tombstone chapter for full-time patched-in status. He’d agreed, but knowing our history, he had made sure Scorpion and I were never on the same run. Mesquite had claimed someone had to stay back to protect Ang and Bri. Bullshit. He hadn’t trusted us not to kill each other.
A loud female moan sounded as the phone clicked. Pulling it away from my ear, I checked to make sure I’d actually dialed Scorpion’s number. No mistake.
It was this shit that fucking pissed me off. The brothers and I had risked our lives, taking care of club business, and our president was busy fucking some chick—a blonde because he never picked a brunette—whose name he’d forget as soon as she was warming another brother’s bed.
“Seriously? I’m standing in the middle of the goddamn fucking desert doing your dirty work, and you’re busy getting your dick wet.” I was livid.
“You could have stayed a nomad.”
“If you had taken care of your family, I would still be a nomad.” I aimed low, not quite striking as hard as I had planned. I could hear flesh smacking againstmore flesh. Repeatedly. There were moans and groans every so often, and I didn’t have to ask if I was on speaker. The sounds were too distinguishable for me not to be.
