Chapter Two

 

RYAN

 

Fuck helmets. I never use them, because if I'm going to die, well—I'm not going to. But if some son of a bitch decided to smash his God damned Escape into my ride, then he'll learn real quick why he shouldn't have done that.

I felt the smooth, hard leather beneath my ass, not even moving yet and already starting to get the rush of riding, the enjoyment of the wind in my hair, pushing it back and tousling it deliciously.

I kicked the bike to life, hefting the not-inconsiderable weight vertical, and waited while Spider did the same. I can't stand the fucking names these people choose.

What are they, five? They can't even have real fuckin' cool names. But then again, what exactly did I expect? After all, they were the sort of people who gave themselves names like 'Spider.'

They probably didn't know any God damned better, and those were the kind of people who were hiring on, so I took what I could get.

I nodded to Spider and started the bike moving, pulling out onto the Arizona highway and enjoying the heat and the wind. Just like I knew that I would, when I got up into the saddle.

Just like I had the first time I'd ever ridden. Just like I would every time I rode. Arizona wasn't just a perfect choice because it was the right place.

It wasn't just smart because this is where the mules brought drugs across the border, which meant that they needed guns more than anyone. It wasn't even the right place because the drug cartels paid off the border patrol guys for us.

Really, it's the right place because I can ride every God damned day, and the bike never had to go away. Nothing like back in Ohio, where the weather was shit half the year, and the other half it was raining.

Sure, you could move guns anywhere. I know that, and I have made it work more places than most. But I can't ride anywhere else, so that means that of all the places in the country, this one is by far the best.

The other stuff, though, it doesn't exactly hurt. The Diablos bring in drugs, we buy them. All it costs us is the shipment of guns we were already hoping to move.

Then you get the guys out on the streets, moving the product. It's an easy business, and it's easy to make money doing it. They should teach the shit in schools. but then again, if they did that, then I would be out of a job.

I took in a deep breath and then dipped my knee close to the ground, the bike's own power bringing it straight. The Deuce was just as empty as it always was.

People steered clear of the Deuce, and they did it for a good damned reason.

I'm only half-owner, but I still have the right to tell anyone who I want to fuck off, and I want most people to fuck off. It's not as if I need the fucking business, right?

I already have a nice easy way to make money, and unless my people tell me very wrong, I don't have to worry about the damned A.T.F. or D.E.A. breathing down my neck. Not this far south.

It's too close to Mexico, they figure. I could be south of the border in the better part of thirty minutes, which means that I could avoid the cops for less than a day trip. This far south…

I pulled a glass out of the fridge and poured a cold one, enjoying the frosting on the mug as I drink it down. Spider comes in after, his knuckles tatted up like some kind of pretentious asshole.

"You need me for anything else, Boss?"

"Not today, Spider," I growl, giving him the look that says 'and I don't want you sticking around.'

He nods and pulls his goggles back down, heading out the door, his tattoos catching the light on the way out and showing all up and down his arms.

What kind of fucking crew did I have? One guy controlling most of it, and he was the kind of fucking idiot who took his name from a goddamn tattoo on his elbow, and had 'Hell' and 'Yeah' tattooed on his fingers.

I thought, not for the first time, about getting out. About getting myself a new set of boys a few miles down the border. It wouldn't be that hard to move to El Paso and find a few motivated young men.

Something always stopped me, and as usual, something stopped me this time, too.

Specifically, the something that stopped me was a woman, walking into my bar. I could already feel the words 'We're closed' coming to my lips when I saw her closer.

Jet black hair and broad hips, the kind of hips that wrapped around a man's waist. The kind of body that was made for pleasure.

"You open?"

She sounded like she was from out of town, a sure sign that I should leave her the hell alone. I didn't.

"Just about, yeah," I answered, reaching down to grab another frozen glass. "What can I get for you?"

"I'm looking for someone," she said, her dark aviator-style glasses giving her a strange air of mixed appearances. She looked like a cop, but the way that she walked told him that wasn't quite right.

"Well, I'm the only one here most nights."

"Most nights?"

"It's a family-owned place. My brothers and I. We rent it out sometimes, but it's pretty rare. Most of the time, it's just the three of us."

"So you're Ryan Beauchamp, then?"

I didn't like the way she asked the question.

"Now I didn't say that."

She didn't like the way I answered it.

"Well that's a damn shame, because I'm looking for Ryan Beauchamp, and if you were him…"

She leaned over, showing too much of her luxurious chest for me to resist.

"What did you need Ryan for?"

"Well, if you were Ryan Beauchamp, I'd tell you that I had heard all about the work you were doing, and between you and me, I'd say that I found that sort of thing very attractive."

"What work would that be?"

The woman continued as if I hadn't spoken. "And I was just thinking that you were so… intoxicating-looking, it would be nice if you were him."

I could feel myself growing harder, between the way that she was putting herself on display for me and the way that her deep, husky voice implied what was going to come soon, even as she didn't quite ever say what she was planning.

There wasn't any question in my mind.

"I know Ryan. He's a good guy. What did you want to tell him?"

She leaned across the bar, practically spilling out of the shirt, an attractive and convenient-looking woman. She pressed a kiss against my lips, a kiss that didn't leave any questions about where it would lead if it continued.

It didn't. She pulled away, breathless, her heavy breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath.

"Is that what I'm supposed to tell him?"

"I'm not stupid, Ryan. Just admit who you are."

"Alright, say I am him—"

The woman ducked her head and spoke into her tits. "That's it, we've got him."

The entire place exploded with a rush of activity, and by the time it was still again, I had three separate knees pressing me into the floor. My beer was already poured out on the floor.

As one of the uniforms pulled me up by my arm roughly, cuffs holding it in an uncomfortable position behind my back, I growled at the redhead, who was buttoning her blouse and straightening herself up.

"Oh, don't look so angry. You were never going to get away for long."