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Riding Free

Page 55

by Hayley Faiman

I hate admitting that out loud, even though it’s true and Brock doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with it, probably only because we found one another again, which wouldn’t have happened had I not fallen flat on my ass and come back to Boulder City.

“I’ve only been in town a little over a week,” I say. “I couldn’t believe it when Brock was there. We spent a week together a year ago. I couldn’t believe it was him.”

Alex clears his throat, and I shift my gaze to meet his. “Babe, we’re going to need the whole-ass story.”

I bite my bottom lip and worry the skin there, wondering if I should tell them the whole story. I’m not trying to hide anything. I’m not embarrassed by what I’ve done. Being with Brock was the best decision of my entire life, but also, I spent a week with a man I didn’t even know making a baby… so maybe I should be embarrassed.

“Why don’t we tell you our stories first?” Elodie suggests. “We don’t know one another, and this will be a good way to all get to know each other.”

And that’s how the morning turns into the afternoon, and how I meet four people who have zero judgment about my life. They don’t tell me I did anything wrong. They don’t warn me away from this new life.

In fact, they’re excited for my future. Excited to know me and beyond thrilled to have a new friend and a new baby in the group. I’ve never felt so at home and at peace in my life. Maybe this whole thing wasn’t just about Brock. Maybe it was about finding them, too.

CHAPTER

FORTY-TWO

HOUND

“We’re here,” Hippie’s voice calls out as we pull up to a large building surrounded by a gate.

We’re in an industrial area on the outskirts of town. It’s raining, though I hear that’s usual for here. At least that’s what I’ve seen on television and shit. There’s a clearly marked entrance and a guard shack, much like at the airport.

The box truck idles as we wait for the guard to make his way out of the shack. I sit up, blinking a few times in an attempt to wake myself up a bit. I had been nodding off while Hippie finished the tail end of the drive, but I’m fully awake now and ready for whatever the fuck is coming our way.

The door to the shack opens, and I watch as he walks out. He’s wearing a suit, his hair combed back and a scowl on his face that appears to be semi-permanent. Hippie rolls down his window, throwing his arm over the side as he leans down.

“Here for a delivery,” Hippie states.

The man looks up at him, then shifts his gaze from Hippie to the length of the box truck and back to Hippie. I wait for him to speak, but instead, he flicks his gaze to the patches on Hippie’s cut, then jerks his chin before meeting his eyes again.

“You are the Iron Flame, yes?” he asks in a thick Russian accent.

“Yes,” Hippie confirms.

He hums. “And you come from?”

“Nevada,” Hippie replies.

He hums. “Yes, good. A car will come to the gate and guide you.”

Without another word, he spins around and walks back into his shack. “Well,” I murmur, “this is fucking weird.”

Hippie snorts. “My guess is it’s going to get a lot fucking weirder with the cargo we have back there.”

He’s right about that. I can’t even imagine what the process is for this shit, a whole fucking box truck full of women in tight short dresses and high heels. But I guess it’s time to find out.

Slowly, the gate opens, and an SUV pulls up to us, then turns around. Hippie shifts the truck into Drive and begins to move forward through the open gate, following the SUV.

Hippie rolls slowly, crawling behind the SUV, which gives me time to take in my surroundings. If any shit goes down, we need to have an exit strategy. There are buildings stacked in rows, with just enough room between them for a truck this size to drive through, but nothing bigger.

When the SUV reaches the end of the buildings, he turns left down the last row. It’s dark. Not a single fucking light illuminates the way, aside from our headlights. I’m sure it’s by design, no doubt to hide what we’re doing beneath the shroud of darkness.

The SUV stops at the very end of the row where there is an open bay. Turning my head to look, I am surprised to see that there are at least four large passenger vans pulled into the bay, double stacked and side by side.

The passenger and driver’s doors open on the two vans closest, and four men unfold from the vehicles. Hippie shifts the truck into Park before turning the engine off. He jerks his chin toward me.

“You ready?”