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Lucky and I go through a few more shelves, and I laugh. “These motherfuckers are straight up crazy, but they have their drugs organized by shelves, only in a bunch of janky-ass bags. What the fuck?”
Lucky laughs. “Crackhead rationale?”
“Maybe, but it’s a safe bet they stole these drugs from the port. Looks like a whole container load.”
“Why wouldn’t they keep one of their guys here to protect it? Don’t you think it seems weird?” Lucky asks.
“Yeah, it does. But I have no idea what those guys think.”
“Hey, guys,” Coop yells across the room, his voice echoing off the walls. “We got some guys coming to transport this shit, so let’s get these bags and shit over to the door.”
It takes us nearly an hour to move the bags over to the exit and another thirty minutes to load them into the trucks with the help of a few prospects.
“Are we just leaving the place like this?” I ask.
Coop grins. “Ace said to torch the bitch when we’re done. We’re done, so go do your thing.”
He tosses a Zippo in my direction, and I catch it before it hits the cement floor. “I’ll be out here unless you need some help.”
“Nope. I got it,” I assure him. It takes fifteen minutes to walk the inside perimeter of the place and douse it with enough accelerants to make sure the structure is uninhabitable come sunrise.
“Feel better, pyro?” Coop says when I run outside.
“Fuck you,” I tell him and jump on my bike. We don’t even need to wait. By the time we make it back to the road, flames lick the outside of the building, and thick black smoke wafts up in the air.
About a mile down the road, a loud explosion rocks the building, and I smile, sure that this little bit of fuckery will bring Nogales from whatever hole he’s hiding in.
* * *
Our team drivesthe box truck to a very undisclosed location we own in the high desert while we ride back to the clubhouse.
After a quick shower to wash off the soot and accelerants, I grab a shot and a beer from the bar and look around the room at all my brothers gathered in one room.
Some of the guys snuggle up with their women while others play games and toss back the booze. It’s a relaxing night for all of us, and I plan to enjoy it since chances are good that more shit is about to hit the fan.
I head to a pool table and worry about something else I can’t control. Jordi and Devon. We haven’t heard from them in weeks. Hell, at this point, it’s been months, and we’ve had nothing but fucking radio silence.
From my perspective, they are either—one or both of them—moles or worse dead. I pull out my phone and call Devon first and then Jordi. Both calls go straight to full voicemail boxes, and I push end.
“You’re thinking awfully hard over here, considering this is a party.” Willow’s voice is a purr in my ear, and I turn with a smile at the sight of her in a short denim dress that shows off miles of legs, a tiny waist, and a big-ass that my hands are itching to grab. “Anything I can help with?”
I appreciate her willingness to help, but still, I find myself shaking my head. “Nothing specific, hell I can’t even help myself with some of this shit.”
Something about this chick makes me forget to keep my wall up, forget that we’re not the sharing secrets kind of fuck buddies.
“Poor baby,” she says in a playful tone, and I can’t tell if she’s mocking me or pitying me. “I find that the best thing to do,” she rubs the front of her body against mine and slips the pool stick out of my hand, “is focus on something else.”
“Something like you?”
“For starters.” She bends over to line up a shot that sends two balls into separate corner pockets. “Think of it like theHouseeffect. You know the TV show with the brilliant drugged-up doctor?”
“I don’t watch much TV. Never heard of it.”
“Well, he’s always doing something else, watching monster trucks or old movies when he’s stuck on a diagnosis, and that’s when he finally figures out what’s wrong with the patient.”
“Am I your patient, Willow?”
She shakes her head and runs her tongue across her bottom lip and then her top. “No, why? You wanna play doctor?”
