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Lucky nods, but his anger is still simmering and ready to blow.
“Do we know what the shipment is?”
“Fuck, yeah, we know.”
I nod. It could be drugs, guns, or something legit. Something a trucker with an entrepreneurial spirit might find the perfect load to steal.But Cassidy’s not that stupid. She knows we’d kill her.
“Okay,” I say when I power up my phone and find Cassidy’s name. “Shit. Is there something in that truck the law might seize?”
“That’s subjective,” he answers in a perfect non-answer that tells me nothing.
I call her about six times straight, but the phone rings and rings. “Cass, it’s me. Call me back. It’s important.” Each message is a variation of that, asking, pleading, and demanding that she call me back.
There’s no answer, but instead of being pissed off like Lucky, I’m worried. Sure, there’s a strong possibility that Cassidy just ghosted me and stole our shit, but on the second day of calling her, the voicemail is full.
“Fuck,” I growl and tap her number every few minutes, hoping she’s gonna pick up the fucking phone, but she doesn’t. She never does.
I know Cassidy didn’t take the load, and I know she didn’t ghost me. She’s a straightforward chick who would at least tell me to fuck off.
Banger flashes a sympathetic smile “Happens to the best of us, man.” That’s supposed to make me feel better, I guess, but it only pisses me off.
“That’s not what’s happening here,” I growl. “She’s too smart to just stop communicating if she stole from us. She knows there’s no way we’d stop hunting her for what she owes us, so at the very least, she’d call and tell me to fuck off.”
She had plenty of time in the few days she was in Angel Harbor.
Banger shrugs. “If you say so.”
“For another thing…” I say and freeze as the words play in my head.
“For another what thing?” Banger asks.
“Why didn’t I think of this before? Her load has a tracker on it.” Before Banger can ask any more stupid questions, I leave Morgan International early because I have questions and only one brother can answer them.
Wild Man.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Cassidy
I wake up groggy. My arms feel heavy and slightly sore. That’s because they’re bound behind me. So, I try to move my legs, but they’re folded under me in an uncomfortable position that I know I didn’t choose. It’s pitch black, and I have no clue where I am.
“Son of a bitch,” I whisper to myself as I sit up painfully and squint in the endless dark for some clues about this place.
I re-adjust my body and unfold my legs, biting back a groan as my muscles protest. Almost instantly, my disorientation fades. I’m fully alert, completely awake. I remember yesterday in full color. I remember the not-a-cop car that pulled me over by Castaic, firing my gun and fighting with that guy. Is he the one they called Ghost? Or the asshole with the scar on his face?
Where the fuck am I?
I hear a noise and freeze, straining my head toward the door as the sound of distinct male voices draws closer. “What thefuck are we gonna do with this bitch, Ghost?” The voice sounds young, under thirty, for sure.
Ghost. There’s that name again. Who are these people?
“The longer we keep her, the more likely some shit goes wrong,” he adds.
“Only if you don’t think you can handle it. You said you could handle it, Tiny. Were you lying to me?” The threat in his voice is crystal clear, even through the darkness.
“N-n-no, of course. I don’t fuckin’ lie, man. Me and Sho-gun can handle it. Promise.”
“Good.”
