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“What?” Emilia asked, pausing on her way out the door.
“My little sister,” I clarified, my stomach sinking. “He was worried. He told me that she never showed up at school today.”
“Shit.” Emilia’s eyes closed as she took a deep breath. “Come on, we need to go tell Heather.”
Chapter 18
Otto
“Everybody clear ontheir parts?” Gramps asked, looking over the group.
We were lined up in row after row of bikes, waiting for the go-ahead to fire them up and head out. Micky was on my left and Rumi right in front of me, our dad closer to the front.
“Clear,” a couple of voices rang out.
I just nodded.
After Rumi had reminded me, yet again, that shitalwayswent sideways, my guts were a gurgling mass of gross. I’d already been to the bathroom once, but I knew with absolute certainty that I’d hear about it for the rest of my life if I tried to go back. It was time to get our fucking shipment back.
The Sons of Calgary assumed by creating a distraction, no one would notice them loading crates into a rental truck at the warehouse. Knowing that they’d never be able to make it anywhere near the clubhouse, they’d gone to my house instead. Esther’s little sister had talked. Whether she’d done so under duress was anyone’s guess, but Titus had been pretty fucking worried when he’d spoken to my dad.
I shook my head, trying to clear it. There was no way I could stay sharp if I was worrying about Esther or her baby sister.
“Let’s go,” Gramps ordered, climbing his old ass onto his bike.
Rumi looked over his shoulder at us, grinning maniacally as he threw up devil horns and started his bike.
The Sons of Calgary had made a singular massive mistake. They’d been right in creating a distraction, and it almost worked. But they’d assumed that it would be all hands on deck at my place and we rarely sent every single person out, even in an emergency. The prospect with his eyes on the warehouse didn’t stray from his post. He called in, reporting the movement. Someone else followed the truck from the warehouse to a storage unit they used to switch trucks.
That detour had cost them. There could’ve been a chance that we didn’t catch them before they stashed the crates again, but stopping had lost them valuable time. By the time we hit the pavement, they weren’t far away, and we knew the route they were taking. The idiots were too worried about the cops to take the interstate, which was really good news for us because back roads were much better for our purpose.
When it came down the line that the two Sons of Calgary trucks were in sight, Leo and Draco were already in place. As we got closer, like a fucking ballet, they pulled onto the road from each side, blocking it entirely with the garage’s tow truck and our unregistered box truck.
The next few minutes were filled with the grinding of gears, squealing tires, and yelling. If anyone had thought the militia group would go quietly, they were very wrong. Shots came from the cab of both trucks as we came to a stop behind them.
Rumi laughed like a lunatic as he jumped off his bike, throwing his helmet to the side.
“Let’s go, motherfuckers!”
Micky chuckled beside me as we ran down and around the corner, pulling the barricades Leo had stashed.
“You need a high-vis vest,” he joked as we threw the barricades up and lit a couple of flares.
“I look good in neon orange,” I agreed.
His laughter was tinged with surprise. We hustled back toward the group and found that one of the trucks had been cleared, but sporadic gunfire was still coming from the other.
“Stop,” my dad ordered, grabbing me by the vest as I worked to get closer. He shook his head. “Esther’s pop’s in the passenger seat.”
I’d agreed when she’d asked me not to kill him. I’d understood where she was coming from and even Rumi hadn’t said a word about it. There were a lot of things a relationship could survive, but none of us was sure that particular scenario was one of them.
None of that mattered, though, when I realized how close the man was. He’d kidnapped Esther and stashed her out in a house that was wired to blow. He’d sent his goons to kill us that morning.
“Fuck,” my dad barked as I shoved him out of the way.
Someone had already shot out the side mirror on the truck. It was simple to run up alongside unseen. If I would’ve thought it through, I probably would have been a bit more strategic about the whole thing, but I wasn’t exactly clear-headed at that point. Fueled by adrenaline and rage, I ripped open the passenger door and dragged his old ass out of the truck.
The rifle in his hand went flying, and the driver was distracted by the movement that someone had a chance to pull him out the other side. I didn’t care about any of that.
