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Wilde
Cook’s head bobbed.
“Talk to me, man,” I prompted.
He shook his head, rolled down the window, and reached over to crank the AC. “Been a long two days since the AX3 and Rex showed up at Celt’s and the shit all started,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
It had to be after three in the morning. I’d spent weeks poking around northern Mexico to find my old man, but within two days and with the help of the AX3, Cook had landed in the same goddamn spot. Maybe I should have just stayed in The Ridge and waited. At least I’d have been there to protect Bou. Now, I just needed to get back to Bou—soon. I better fucking be there before....
If Rex had harmed a hair on her head, I’d find every last torture method in the book and spend days, no fucking weeks making the fucker regret every breath he had ever breathed.
“How far now?” I asked, placing a hand on my twitching thigh. I didn’t want to think about what we’d find when we made it back to The Ridge, but images that made my blood boil consumed my thoughts.
“We’re only about an hour out. Make sure all the guns are loaded and ready. Hopefully, we can sneak in the back. If we can get guns in Celt’s and Bou’s hands, that’ll help.”
Hot rage boiled in my chest, and the goddamn protective monster inside reared his ugly head. If I hadn’t left, none of this would have fucking happened and Bou wouldn’t have to protect herself. She could. She was a goddamned spitfire and could shoot a quarter off a fence post at a hundred yards away, but that didn’t mean I liked leaving her vulnerable. “Was that your entire goddamned plan? The two of us, Celt, and Bou? Four people against The Ridge MC and the devil only knows how many from the AX3?”
He glanced at me sideways, and I read the answer in his uncertain look. Yup. That was his insane plan.
“Let me get this straight.” I twist in the passenger seat to look him dead-on. “You’re half asleep. We don’t know what situation Celt and Bou are in, only that they’re locked up somewhere in Celt’s house. We don’t know how many of the men in your town are playing the loyal little sheep to this Rex-fucker. We don’t know if Paola is still there or how many of her men she left behind. We’re carrying a fucking time-bomb in the back of this truck, and you’re just going to sneak in the back door like some fucking schoolboy trying to get pussy?”
Cook’s eyes shifted between the road lit by his high beams and me. “You got a better plan?”
After several long, purposeful breaths, I leveled my voice and said, “Just drive straight through. Keep to the highway on the east side of Park Ridge. Don’t fucking turn off to go to Celt’s. My second and the rest of Diablo will meet us at Bou’s.”
I left it at that and climbed into the back to fish out the guns. When I moved the tarp, El-fucking-Griego grunted. I pulled the tarp back and looked into icy clear blue eyes—my fucking blue eyes. Cyd’s nostrils flared and where nothingness had been there in his soul before, right then, I saw the fucking devil’s wrath boiling white hot.
I yanked him upright.
He bucked, mumbling against the gag.
I grabbed onto his shirt and turned him around. “Not time yet, motherfucker,” and I clocked him on the back of the skull where Cook had done so before.
He went limp.
I gathered the guns and placed them within reach of the passenger seat then climbed back over.
“Ammo’s in the glove box.” Cook pointed.
I palmed a piece, released the clip, grabbed a replacement, and slid it home just as Cook crested one of the few hills in the desert. Five single headlights and a rumble of motorcycle tailpipes greeted us.
“Fuck!” Cook yelled. “Hang on.”
“Just drive on by like nothin’s doin.” I said, seeing no need to act guilty.
“If there’s anyone on this stretch of road, you can bet your ass that Rex is the one who authorized it.”
“Fuck,” I echoed his sentiment and unlocked the safety. “Just try to pass ’em by.”
Distance in the desert is always an illusion; this time was no different. It seemed to take ages to narrow the gap between us and the lights. When we were close, time dragged even more until I realized they were stopped.
Waiting.
“Shit, duck,” Cook barked.
“Your side?”
“Yeah,” he said slinking down in the driver’s seat.
