Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 61042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
I stepped away from the truck and scanned the scene. The Yukon sat in the ditch, the engine dead, driver moaning where he’d landed. The box truck was open and emptied of the unwilling passengers. The rest of the club members riding with us watched the road, their weapons ready, guarding our backs.
“Gunnar, help the girls to the Bronco.” Knuckles and Tiny both backed off to give the women space. Both of the men were hella big and both women looked more than a little wary of them.
I paced the length of the box truck, checking for traps or hidden spaces. Nothing. At the front of the cargo area, I found a small, battered duffel, zipped shut. Inside were a burner phone, a roll of cash, and a thick envelope with a strip of blue tape sealing the flap. I pulled the tape, opened the envelope. Inside was an index card reading:
DELIVERY: 2
CONDITION: UNMARKED
BUYER: I
Inferno came around the front, dragging the wounded driver by the collar and tossed the guy face-down in the mud. The man didn’t even protest, just curled up and shivered.
I heard a shriek from the Bronco. No doubt the traumatized women had had all they could take. Gunnar climbed in after them with sandwiches and drinks we’d hastily tossed into the vehicle before we left, and the noise faded to the occasional muffled question followed by Gunnar’s soft, gentle replies.
“That wasn’t our target,” I said.
“Figured,” Tiny replied. “Decoy?”
“Or distraction. Or they’re running more than one shipment tonight.” I glanced back at the box truck. “We need to go.”
“Torch the vehicles,” Knuckles said. “If this was a diversion, I’ll send my own fuckin’ message.”
Tiny nodded, already reaching for the gas can from the back of the Bronco. The fire caught fast, black smoke coiling up in the blue wash of the salvage yard floods. When we pulled away, the Bronco with the two rescued women followed at the center of our formation, the motorcycles closing ranks.
Somewhere behind us, Tiny and Chains secured the Steel Serpent member in the second cage we’d brought and would meet us at the designated meetup. We’d take better stock of the women to make sure they were good until we could get them back to the compound. We’d have some time before Knight gave us the all clear to head back to the compound. Last thing we wanted to do was lead anyone straight back to our doorstep. But once we got the Serpent where we could question him, we’d see what the bastard knew.
The night thinned around us as we put miles between the salvage yard and whatever fallout came next. I kept my eyes on the road and my surroundings, knowing better than to let my attention waver.
We rolled to a stop at the rendezvous. Situated under an abandoned section of highway, the overpass crumbled in sections. The concrete drainage system underneath the overpass rested hidden from the road leading to it, so it was a good spot to wait for the OK to head home. And to get some answers from our prisoner.
Tiny brought the Steel Serpent member from the bed of the F-250 where he’d been stashed on our departure. The bed had a top with a lock so the guy hadn’t had a chance to escape. The prospect bled steadily from his thigh. Looked like a through-and-through, but Pain could decide that. Assuming the guy made it long enough to matter.
Tiny shoved the guy to the ground none too gently. I squatted beside him. He was younger than I’d thought, no more than twenty-one or twenty-two. His eyes were slicked over with panic, lips a dirty pink. He stank of Jägerbombs and sweat. And how the fuck anyone could drink that fucking stuff was beyond me. Guy deserved whatever his fate was for that alone.
“You want a quick death?” I asked him, deadpan. “Tell me who called in the shipment.”
He shook his head, then nodded, then shook again. “I don’t… They just told me to drive. Guy in the Yukon had the details. Iron doesn’t trust prospects with the playbook.” Interesting Iron would send a prospect for this kind of run.
“Who’s Iron got helping him?”
He hesitated. Tiny wrapped one huge hand over the guy’s mouth before taking his knife and plunging it into the guy’s calf. The kid screamed behind Tiny’s restraining hand, eyes rolling in pain and fear.
When he finally stopped screaming, Tiny removed his hand from the guy’s mouth. “Ratchet and Lou! Fuckin’-- maybe that guy in the mask, but I never saw a face or heard a fuckin’ name!”
I held up the duffel bag I’d pulled from the cab. “What’s in the phone?” I asked.
The prospect planned on lying. I could see it in the way he looked away, then back. “Just burner texts, man. No numbers, no addresses. All coded.”