Page 21

There Will Be Blood

G rizz

We were sitting towards the back of the gas station’s parking lot when I heard motorcycles approaching. I watched as they stopped at a red light.

Before I could say anything, Sabre’s voice echoed in my helmet. “I don’t want to stop, so the three of you should just fall into formation. Once the cartel sees or hears us, I doubt they’re going to stay. They would have already walked into the office if they were planning on taking Aunt E.”

“A scare tactic,” I said. I was tired of chasing dead leads, and I knew Sabre was, too. It was just a matter of time before we struck back for maximum effect.

“Maybe.” Sabre passed me, and I fell in line right behind him with Count on my left. Grease was a few rows down next to Slate.

I saw the office rapidly approaching on the right, and there was a black SUV with dark tinted windows parked right behind one of our club cars.

The red light forced us to stop, only giving me more time to picture all the ways I wanted to tear apart the cartel soldiers in the vehicle.

My blood boiled with the thoughts of mass destruction.

They wouldn’t know anything, but it would make me feel better, like we were getting closer to making this all go away.

Sabre revved his engine, as if it wasn’t loud enough already, and the rest of us followed through the light.

Peeling into the far side of the parking lot, we watched as the SUV pulled out and sped off.

Sabre had called it. They hadn’t stuck around to face us.

I didn’t know where Twig and Berry were, but we’d hear from them later.

Sabre took charge. “Let’s pull to the end of the lot, and I’ll go in and grab them. Once they’re situated, the car will be in the middle of formation.”

We’d always had this unspoken rule. When he was present, he was in charge. I wouldn’t say anything, nor would I question his decisions, unless I thought there was a better opportunity. Since I was the face that most people dealt with outside of the clubhouse, I didn’t mind.

I sat on my bike, watching as he removed his helmet and headed into the office. My eyes didn’t leave his back until the office door closed behind him. I didn’t think there were more cartel soldiers in the area, but I didn’t let myself get comfortable.

I had been on high alert ever since the cartel had entered our lives, and I didn’t know if it was a habit by now, but when I heard the police sirens down the street, it gave me pause.

I checked our surroundings, not seeing anything, but it didn’t ease my anxiety.

The sirens were closer, becoming louder as each second passed.

They couldn’t have been for us. We had done nothing besides pull into the parking lot outside the physical therapy office.

“Anyone with an unregistered gun needs to go now,” I said through my helmet. I wasn’t taking any chances that a brother would get wrapped up in a bogus gun possession charge.

No one left.

“We’ve done nothing. Hell, Sabre even made us stop at all the red lights. Maybe they’re making a coffee run or something,” Count speculated.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.” I hadn’t been in this situation in a long time, and while I wasn’t worried, I found it highly suspicious timing.

The local sheriff had never gotten involved with the club.

He wouldn’t have been able to make a case stick without inter-departmental help, so he hadn’t bothered.

By the time the sheriff had retired, we were out of the game.

The new sheriff had taken office, tried twice to jam a few brothers up, but when nothing had stuck, he too gave up. “Don’t be suspicious.”

I saw Sabre at the front door of the office and shook my head emphatically. I wasn’t sure if he could hear the sirens, but he backed away, and I saw a large shadow near the front window.

“They’re coming,” I said. “You know the deal. Don’t answer questions, but don’t be an asshole.”

“You don’t really think they’re looking for us, do you, VP?” Slate asked.

I didn’t have time to respond before the sirens were right on top of us. They appeared down the street, and we all turned to watch three squad cars blow through the red light.

“That’s not a co-inky dink,” I heard a brother say in my helmet.

The first squad car skidded on two wheels as the cop made the tight turn into the parking lot. He pulled right behind our club car and stopped, waiting for the other two to form a line behind him.

“We could outrun them, but they would just show up at the clubhouse.”

“Yeah, asshole. That’s not a good plan.”

Time slowed down as they each threw open their driver’s side doors, cocked their weapons, and pointed them right at us.

“Get the fuck on the ground.”

I held my hands out in front of me as I dismounted my bike, making sure the other brothers were doing the same thing.

“Get the fuck on the ground. I won’t ask you again.”

My knees cracked as they hit the pavement. I was getting too old for this shit.

***

If Slate didn’t stop tapping his boot on the concrete, I was going to kill him, and there would be no way to make that look like an accident in a holding cell.

I didn’t care how old he was, or if this brought back memories: brother needed to calm the fuck down.

We were all trapped in this fucking shit show together.

“If they put a scratch on my bike, I’m going to—“ How gritted out between his teeth.

We weren’t the only ones in the holding cell, and I shoved my elbow into his side.

These people weren’t our friends, and they could quickly become our enemies if they heard something they shouldn’t have.

We were easily recognizable. The police had left us with our club cuts, almost as if they wanted it known we were Iron Shield.

“You won’t do a damn thing. Grease will fix it for you once the new garage is ready,” I said, letting my eyes roam around the rest of the cell.

We occupied one corner, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, and that was a red flag if I ever saw one.

Our affiliation was clear, and yet the officers had left us together.

Their stupidity made my life easier, as I could keep a head count, but I was sure they had some bullshit policy about separating us.

If we really had committed a crime, they were giving us plenty of time to get our stories straight.

This was a sham, but I couldn’t prove it.

A teenager was curled up in the other corner, his knees pulled up to his chin as he rocked back and forth. Moaning, he asked any officer that walked by for the nurse.

I didn’t have a clue what the kid’s story was, and I made some assumptions as I watched him. His gaunt frame and sunken eyes resulted from drugs and malnutrition. His clothes hung off of his body, and while they were clean enough, they had seen better days.

“Man, I just need a hit. Something to get me through this,” he said each time.

I wanted to scare him straight, but I wasn’t copping a real charge playing Good Samaritan. The kid was going to have to learn on his own that there were better coping mechanisms than taking it up the nose.

“If he throws up, I’m going to spew. The sound gets me every time, and it makes my stomach curdle until I’m on the floor, too.” Grease was watching the kid, too.

“There’s only one urinal, so aim in a different direction,” Wreck commented drily.

“I thought bikers were fucking tougher than that.” There were three members of a wannabe street gang occupying the corner across from the kid.

Their leader was in his early twenties, and either he’d risen to power quickly, or was about to lose his territory.

It was hard to tell. He wore gold jewelry around his neck, but his jeans weren’t designer.

He had plain white sneakers on his feet.

I didn’t care either way as long as they didn’t challenge us.

We’d win, easily. There were eight of us, and Count was the equivalent of two or three more.

I really wanted to pace across the cell, but there were too many people. The movement would piss someone off, and they’d try to step up to me. The brothers would be obligated to have my back, and it would be another clusterfuck on top of the original shitshow.

“I wonder what they did with our bikes,” Slate whispered.

“Probably impounded them. When we get them back, I’ll do oil changes and repairs.” Grease locked his fingers together and raised them above his head, stretching.

An officer walked up to the cell with a clipboard. “Eric Hastings.”

I looked at How, and he met my gaze openly.

“Eric Hastings,” the officer called out again.

“Yeah,” How answered.

“Step up. You’re being brought in for questioning.” The officer shot How a look. “Don’t make this more difficult, son.”

“I’m afraid I’m not of your lineage,” How said, switching to a posh accent we’d only heard since Emily had arrived. She swore he had sounded like that when they were kids until the military had gotten ahold of him. “My family can trace their roots to the Revolutionary War. Can you say the same?”

“Approach. The detective doesn’t have time to play games with the likes of you.”

“The detective is going to be most disappointed. I fear I have nothing good to say about this establishment.”

My lips twitched, and Count had to disguise his laugh as a cough. How stood from the bench, made a show of stretching and then walked to the locked door.

“Turn around, wise guy.”

How raised an eyebrow before complying. The officer cuffed him, locked the cell, and then they disappeared down the hall.