“Vik.”
Our hands meet with a jolting clasp before I usher him over to the crates we’ve left open to show him exactly what he’s getting out of this deal.
“It’s all here?” he asks, eyeing the rows of stacked crates my guys meticulously went through this afternoon to ensure it was all accounted for.
“Ready to roll.”
He nods once. “Let’s not drag this out.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The place explodes into movement. Boots scrape against the concrete, crates groan under the four men it takes to lifteach box, and the dull thud of wood hitting metal comes quickly as the first load goes up into the box truck. My guys and his fall into a rhythm like they’ve done this a hundred times before.
We’ve never offloaded our merch to anyone other than the next buyer, but it’s better than it falling into the hands of a foe.
Chopper directs the load, calling out orders like a Marine Sergeant, barking at anyone who gets sloppy. Silas watches from my side, his keen eye making sure nothing gets left behind and keeping track of the time. He knows we need to get this out of here as quickly as possible. All of us in one place is asking for trouble.
“What about your supplier? Ain’t he going to be pissed you’re offloading this shit and not making a direct sale?”
I scoff. “Let’s just say he was very accommodating with the transfer.”
The moment his second got a bullet between the eyes from an unleashed Silas, his tone changed from refusing the adjustment in our arrangement to taking the offer and looking forward to an introduction with Steel. A solution where everyone wins.
Within twenty minutes, the truck’s packed tight and the warehouse floor is damn near empty. Doors slam shut, the sound deafening in the warehouse like the starting gun of a new beginning.
Steel steps up again, after giving orders to his men. He pulls a thick envelope from his cut, handing it over, with a look in his eye that tells me he’s ready to hit the road.
There’s no need to send it off with Silas to count. He’s one of the few out there I trust, and their compound might be a state over, but he knows better than to end this deal on the wrong foot.
“My guy will call you next time he’s ready to bring in a shipment.”
“He got a typical time frame between drops?” Steel asks.
“You’ve got a few weeks, at least. You should be good.”
He turns, calling to his last few men keeping guard, and within seconds, engines roar back to life. The truck pulls out first, bumping down the dirt road littered with potholes. The Covington Vipers fall in around it, until they’re gone, taillights fading into the dark, taking some of the tension I’ve had with them.
Silas claps once like a kindergarten teacher trying to round up a classroom of feral children. “Alright, let’s clean it up. I don’t want to see a damn splinter left behind.”
My guys move immediately, just as anxious to get out of here and start the new phase of what club life will look like for a while. They sweep fast, dragging leftover debris out back to the burn pile. Anything that could tie us here disappears within the hour.
The tiny office in the corner gets cleared, the perimeter checked twice over. By the time we’re done, the place looks like it hasn’t seen traffic in months. It’s just an old dilapidated warehouse again.
Chopper drags a hand over his beard, scanning the space one last time. “We’re good,” he confirms, having gotten the all-clear from our men around town watching the route out for the Covington crew, before sending most of our guys on their way.
“Yeah,” Silas agrees, rolling his shoulders. “Too good.”
I glance at him warily. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs, but his body’s stiffer than Bear when there’s a coyote lurking near his ladies. “I just got a feeling.”
There it is again. That same damn itch under my skin, Ithought was gone when the box truck pulled away. We need to get out of here, so I can get back home and see if pushing Josie tonight is worth the silence come morning.
Before I can respond, headlights flash across the far wall. Yet, the crunch of tires outside is too heavy to be a bike. Every muscle in my body locks.
“Don’t move,” I mutter to Silas and Chopper, stepping toward the shadows, but it’s too late to make it out the back door.
“Police! Hands where we can see them!” The shout rips through the warehouse, followed by a flood of movement as uniforms pour through the last open door, weapons drawn, voices overlapping.
