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Chapter 6
Ares
“Prez!” Misfit says, hitting me on the shoulder.
“What is it,” I growl.
I’ve been sitting at the bar in the clubhouse, drinking a beer.
“What’s up with you today? I’ve been calling you. It’s like you’ve completely checked out,” Misfit frowns at me.
“Do I need to repeat myself?” I ask, gritting my teeth.
“Are you uptight about Willow Smith? I saw her coming out of your office last night,” Misfit dares.
When I turn around on the stool, my fists clenched, and the look on my face must give Misfit a hint that I’m not in the mood for questions.
“Yeah, fine whatever,” Misfit takes a step back, holding up his hands in surrender. “We have the intel on the car hauler that we needed.”
Silently, I wait for him to give me the full picture because the last thing I feel like doing right now is chit-chatting.
Misfit continues to frown at me and finally says, “okay, I’ll get our brothers together so we can intercept the driver.”
Swiveling back to the bar, I take a long swig of my beer. My mind has been playing my encounter with Willow on repeat. Her hot little body fits me like a glove, and I wanted a repeat ASAP. I’m not sure how I’d convince her, given that she got spooked at the end. It hardly mattered how I did it as long as the outcome was what I wanted. I wonder if a sweetbutt like Willow would catch feelings. Well, that was hardly my problem. She was a good challenge, and as long as she kept her mouth shut about her sister, we’d do fine together. Maybe I’d invite her to the clubhouse to hang out at one of our parties, get to know her a bit better, naked and on her knees. My smile was wide as I finished my beer.
“You look happy,” Cherry saunters up on the other side of the bar, taking my discarded bottle.
I don’t comment as I get up from the stool.
“How about I give you something to get you through tonight’s run,” she purrs.
I scan Cherry, and usually, her offering me head is welcome, but I can’t muster up any interest right now. I shake it off; it must be my mood.
“Another time,” I call as I walk to my bedroom.
***
My silver low rider glides effortlessly along the pavement as Cobra and Misfit ride beside me on their Fat Boys. QB and Trixter follow us in our Ford 150 pickup truck; we’re heading toward Amarillo, Texas. There is a rest stop just before the city proper the driver likes to frequent before continuing onto Dallas. Our recent intel suggests the Havoc Ryders are transporting six cars on this run.
We’re planning a simple truck jacking.
The driver isn’t with Havoc as they prefer to keep that part of things with an independent contractor. Sphinx and Prospect got to the rest stop a couple of hours ago in our black SUV to ensure we don’t miss our window. Trixter hacked into the State’s mainframe to put the cameras on a loop.
The highway is wide open at just after 2 am. The desert tells no lies and allows secrets to collect in the sands. Red Milburn is a son of a bitch who may start a war over what we’re about to do, but I can’t have him disrespecting my brothers or me. He needs to tell his bastards to stay the fuck out of our gambling endeavors. The Grim Saints have been more than fair over the years, keeping our nose out of their business. Now that Tyrant is gone, the motherfucker thinks he can worm into our scratch. Well, this situation should help him understand the ramifications of stealing from the Grim Saints.
When we arrive at the rest stop, we opt to park in a different section. Sphinx meets us with an update.
“Dude has been here about an hour. The lights in the cab went out about 20 minutes ago.”
I survey the space around us, and it’s quiet. Good, the illuminated solar sign Cobra got from his highway patrol contact shows the stop is closed, deterring any travelers.
“Was there any trouble getting the sign in place after the guy got here?”
“Nah, we got lucky as another car had just pulled away,” Sphinx confirms.
Sphinx and Prospect will run point on getting into the cab. The rest of us will surround the hauler. Once we get the driver secured, we’ll lock him in the building’s maintenance closet. Someone will find him there.
“Are we good to go?” I ask Trixter, who has been monitoring highway patrol transmissions.
He nods his head. The section of the truck lot is dark in the corner the driver picked to park. The only sound is the nocturnal exploits of the trees beyond the area. The night is illuminated in patches because the cloud cover has hindered the half-moon from shining too brightly.
We surround the truck, wearing gloves and ski masks, covered in black clothes to hide our identities. Prospect gets up on the rail a few seconds before Sphinx joins him on the driver’s side of the cab. He is eager, and when he tries the door handle, it opens with ease, which is surprising as we figured we’d have to break the window. A shot rings out, bursting the windshield. Sphinx is in the cab a second later, and another shot rings out, echoing in the still night.
“Fuck,” Sphinx yells out!
Prospect gets out of the truck cab and stumbles to the ground, breathing heavily on all fours. Trixter runs up to him, “are you hurt, man?”
Prospect shakes his head vigorously. It’s not until I haul myself up into the cab that I realize the driver is dead. Sphinx’s shot got him in the head. The driver had a pistol clutched in his hand. I start barking orders to salvage this night.
