Page 58 of Riot’s Thorn (Sons of Erebus: Reno, NV #4)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

RIOT

T he information Bart gave us was enough to get us to the right docks but not enough to tell us where she was being held. Every second of the ride to California was torture, knowing at any minute, whatever cargo ship she was on could leave. She must be so scared.

“Update me,” Rigger says, his phone on speaker as we climb off our bikes.

We left for Oakland early this morning. I wanted to go right after we got what we could from Bart, but my brothers stopped me, since the port was closed at night. All we’d get were trespassing charges if we tried to snoop around then.

“The guy’s a dock manager named Gary. He’s scheduled to work this morning, so he should be there.

You’ll know it’s him because he has a huge ass scar from his eyebrow down to his chin.

” Satyr stayed behind to do a deep dive into the dock managers.

“His bank account has been receiving monthly deposits of ten Gs for over a year now. The money is untraceable, so it has to be him.”

I was surprised to learn Bart wasn’t behind the trafficking.

He was just a human wholesaler who profited off the sales to his friends.

Anyone who lived through the parties was returned to him, and he then gave them back for money off the next batch.

It still makes him a piece of shit, but there’s a bigger piece of shit out there, we just don’t know who. Bart refused to give him up.

He’s lucky I don’t go back on my word because if I did, he’d be strung up in the basement for months. If I hadn’t been short on time, I would’ve kept him alive for much longer. It’d be hard to make him suffer like he’s making me, but I’d sure as shit try.

“Thank fuck it’s a small dock,” I say, discreetly tucking my nine into the back of my pants. We didn’t wear our cuts; we never do when we’re doing something questionable. No one wants to pick up gang charges.

“No shit.” Lucky removes his sunglasses and tucks them into his saddlebag.

I pull out Bart’s phone and call the number he had for the dock manager that was only to be used when he had women to return after he used them. The line rings three times before someone answers.

“Is there something wrong?” the voice is hushed.

“I have someone for you,” I say as we walk toward the docks, looking for anyone on a phone.

“No can do. It’s too late for this week. The boat is leaving in an hour.”

“Then I have an hour to get my shipment to you.”

“I can’t do it, not during the day. The only reason I was able to add the last one was because she came in the evening.” The last one? He must mean Parker. Fuck. We’re getting closer.

“Do you enjoy spending my money?” I ask, hoping it’s in character.

“The money I earn by providing a service? Yes, I do. But there has to be some discretion so neither of us gets caught. Just hold onto it and send it next week. I’m sure you can get a little more use out of it.”

It? Is that how he classifies human beings? Fucking sick. “Surely you wouldn’t disrespect me by saying no.”

“It’s not about respect. It’s about not spending the rest of my life in prison. Besides, if I lose this job, there won’t be any more transports.”

We spot a dude wearing a hard hat just beyond the fence. He has his phone to his ear and is visibly agitated, like the guy on the phone sounds.

“My guys are there right now. I need you to meet them. Show them where to take the shipment,” I say.

“You’ve lost your mind. How do you expect me to get them to the shipping container?”

“That sounds like a you problem. They’ll be at the gate in two minutes. I would show up if I were you.”

“Damn it!” He sighs. “Fine, but I want double this month.”

“Of course.” I hang up and look over at the prospect who followed us out here so we had a cage. Not knowing what shape Parker would be in, I wanted her to ride home comfortably. “Tobi, get over here.”

“What can I do?” the kid asks. He’s been a prospect for a while now, but he’s still too skinny and young to be voted in. Thankfully, that’ll work for what I need him for, especially since he’s been growing out his hair and keeping it in tight braids.

“Pull your hood up over your head, but let some of the braids hang out,” I say.

He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, but he does it. “Like that?”

“Yeah. Keep your head down and stand behind Lucky. His height makes everyone look short, and we need you to pass for a woman.”

“Shit. No one will believe I’m a woman.”

“Actually, you have classically feminine features. Your cheekbones are more prominent, and you have fuller lips and a softer jawline. You most likely grew a beard for that reason,” I say.

He grimaces. “Man, shut up. You didn’t need to clock my tea like that.”

Lucky smacks him upside the head. “Show some respect.”

“I don’t understand the reference. Why would tea need to be clocked?” I ask, genuinely confused.

“For fuck’s sake. Can we just do this please?” Rigger sounds exasperated.

We try to look as casual as a bunch of bikers can while walking up to a shipping dock. The man with the scar is talking to the guard, gesturing firmly while the guard just nods. Their conversation ends as we approach. Scar doesn’t look happy, but he opens the gate nonetheless.

“This is highly unusual, and I don’t like unusual,” he says, trying to glance behind Lucky at Tobi.

“Look, whatever you work out with the boss is on you. We’re just here to deliver.” Rigger folds his arms over his chest.

“Whatever. I got it from here.”

“I don’t think so,” Lucky says. “We’re making sure the cargo gets to the right place.”

“Absolutely not. You don’t have the clearance, and my superintendent is here.”

“Better come up with a real good story then,” Rigger says.

“Fuck.” Scar stomps his foot like a child. “Fine. But only one of you.”

Rigger flashes me a look. This is one of the things I’ve learned since joining the club.

During situations like this, a lot is said just by quick glances, and I have to go against my natural instinct to avoid eye contact whenever emotions are high.

It’s extremely uncomfortable but necessary when it’s life or death. I give him a slight nod.

“Okay. Riot will go.” Rigger lifts his chin in my direction.

I grip Tobi’s bicep roughly and pull him along, careful to keep him slightly behind me.

I have to give the kid credit, because he keeps his face shadowed well with his hood.

Following Scar, we weave through hundreds, if not thousands, of steel containers until we reach the cargo ship.

The size of the thing is nearly indescribable.

I’ve only seen them from a distance on the shore or in pictures, none of which accurately depict the sheer magnitude of this thing.

Immediately, my mind is flooded with a million questions.

How many people stay on board while it’s at sea?

What do their quarters look like? How much fuel do they use in a day?

How much does it cost to fill up? How long does it take to fill up?

What’s the max speed? How many containers can it carry?

What kind of backup systems does the vessel have in case of engine failure?

How do they ensure a balanced load? And on and on.

It makes it hard for me to think about why I’m here and run through plans.

“The container is already on the ship.” He stops at a booth outside the vessel and hands me two helmets and reflective vests. “Put these on.”

I put my own on before slapping a helmet on Tobi and helping him into the vest. “Done.”

“She needs to lose the hood. It’ll look suspicious.”

Fuck. If he sees Tobi is a full-grown man, the only type of human who wouldn’t be trafficked, this will all be for nothing. “If she pulled down the hood, it’d look even more suspicious. The last customer she serviced was a little hands-on. It’s not pretty.”

“Jesus. The last one Bart sent was in a similar condition. You do realize my contact on the other side has to make money off these shipments, right?”

The last one? He has to mean Parker. My blood boils, and my Glock burns the skin of my back, begging me to put a hole in this guy, but I breathe deeply and push away the black at the edge of my vision. Killing him won’t do me any good right now.

“Bitch to someone else. We already told you, we just deliver,” I say.

His head tips back. “I’m gonna lose my job, and my wife is gonna kill me.”

“That’s a problem for future you. All you need to worry about right now is staying alive long enough for her to kill you because your immediate threat is me.”

“Fuck. Okay, just keep her between us so she’s mostly hidden.”

That works. Scar doesn’t want to raise any flags, so he keeps his eyes forward, not even stealing a side glance at Tobi, and I keep my head up, acting as though I’ve been here a million times.

“Right back here.”

“The lashing rods are already in place. Give me a minute.” It takes him at least five minutes to release the rods keeping the container secured to the others.

It fills my mind with a million more questions.

I already know that once this is over and Parker is home safely, I’ll be doing a deep dive into container ships.

He lifts the steel bar locking the container and pulls it open.

At first, I don’t see anything. After the first couple of rows of boxes, it’s pitch black.

But then, the dirty face of a small Mexican girl pops into the light, wide-eyed and frightened, followed by an older Mexican girl, a thin white girl with blonde hair, and a small Black girl who looks incredibly sad. But no Parker.

“Hurry. Get her in. These containers aren’t supposed to be fucked with once they’re in place,” Scar says.

“Is it just the four of you?” I ask, the pit in my stomach growing. “There’s not another woman with curly blonde hair? She might’ve been injured when she got here.”

“Riot?” a voice croaks, echoing off the inside of the container seconds before the four girls part, leaving room for Parker to walk out. I’ve never felt such conflicting emotions, and I don’t know what to do first: kill Scarface over there or take my broken girl into my arms.

Her lips are split in multiple places, leaving splotches of blood around them. Her face is bruised and swollen. She’s clutching at her side as if her ribs pain her, and she’s fucking limping. What the hell happened to her?

“What the fuck? Who are you?” Scar asks, growing nervous.

“I’m the man here to rescue these innocent girls, you fuckin’ asshole.” I pull out my gun. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Tobi flips back his hood and pulls out his own Glock. “I’ll cover you. Get the girls.”

The second the piece is tucked back in my pants, Parker flings herself at me. She groans in pain, and I gently put some distance between us. “You’re hurt.”

She nods, tears brimming in her eyes and her little nose turning pink. “I am, but I don’t care. I just need you.”

“Shit, Little Thorn.” I open my arms, allowing her to wrap around me again. What I give her in return could hardly be considered a touch. My arms and hands barely graze her shoulders—it would kill me to be the cause of more pain.

“Your heart is pounding so hard, I can feel it.”

“I don’t know why,” I say.

“You’re relieved.”

“Good. I thought I was having a heart attack.”

She tips her head back and whispers, “I knew you’d come.”

“Of course I did. You’re mine.”