~ 5 ~
That day, like most days in that town, was hot. The heat burned through my black leather vest like it was a sun magnet, and I could feel sweat trickling uncomfortably down my spine.
Semi was driving the truck, Crank was in the back of it with a shotgun in case shit went south, and Skate was riding about two miles ahead of us, ready to warn us of any trouble he spotted. I was hanging at the back about half a mile behind.
We were riding down I-94, heading for the Yellowstone River Inn, where we were meeting with our collector. We were on time, but that wasn’t good enough for any of us, since it was always best to be early so we had time to scope out the situation. Especially with ATF on our asses.
Twenty minutes later we pulled into the parking lot and Semi drove the truck around to the side of the building. The parking lot was busy—busier than I was expecting it to be. I slowed my bike and duckwalked it back into a space, pulling off my oven of a helmet and wiping the sweat away from my face. I kept the engine running as I hung my helmet and took a look around me.
“Thank fuck for that,” I muttered to myself, dragging my hair back from my face.
I looked over the low-level white building, checking every window for anything that didn’t look right. Despite the parking lot being full, the area was quiet. Too quiet for my liking. Something about the whole thing didn’t sit well with me, and I pulled out my cell to call Skate and let him know what I thought. He picked up on the first ring, like he’d had it in his hand, waiting for me to call.
“Yeah?”
“I’m not liking this,” I replied, my eyebrows pulling in. “Something feels off to me.”
“Yeah, something ain’t right,” he agreed, his voice distant.
“What do you wanna do? It’s your call, brother.”
“I’ll call Vin now, see how he wants to play it. It’s a lot of fucking cash to be walking away from if we’re wrong.”
“I hear you. But it’s a long fucking time to go down for if this is a play.”
“Yeah, agreed. Listen, Sketch, if shit goes bad, you get yourself back to the clubhouse.” Skate hung up without waiting for my reply, and I called Crank immediately, deciding he should know if something wasn’t right since he was stuck in the back of the damned truck. He took a little longer to answer, and each ring felt like another nail in the coffin.
My gaze moved from the building to the parked vehicles. Nothing seemed out of place, and yet everything seemed out of place. There was no noise, no screaming kids, no engines turning over, no women calling their husbands. Nothing but deathly silence filled the calm, hot afternoon air, like it was waiting for something, paused with bated breath for us to fall into the trap. As the seconds ticked by I was liking this shit less and less.
The throbbing in my chest wasn’t making me feel any better either. Always listened to my instincts, and that day was no different. Right then, my instincts were telling me to get us all the hell out of there.
Crank finally picked up. “What?”
“You fucking napping in there?” I snapped at him, and he chuckled. “Something smells bad, brother,” I said, and his chuckle died.
“What is it?”
“Not sure yet. It’s quiet, too quiet, but busy too, if you feel me.”
“Yeah,” he grunted. “What did Skate say?”
“He’s calling Vin. But if shit goes bad we get our asses back to the clubhouse.”
“Fuck that,” Crank snapped. “I’m not bailing on my brothers.”
“I hear you, and it might not come to that, but if it does, you get your ass out of there. Skate’s orders.” I saw movement in the hotel reception window. Couldn’t say what, but it didn’t fit with the rest of the picture and I froze, staring hard as I waited for it again. Someone was there, watching us. The glint of something as it caught the sun shone from the window again and my heart stuttered and kicked into gear.
“Sketch?” Crank asked hesitantly, and I wondered how many times he’d had to say my name to get my attention.
“Yeah, I’m here.” I shook my head as whatever was in the window glinted again. “Fuck this,” I muttered. “Crank, get the fuck out of there now!” I barked into the cell and hung up.
I slipped the cell into my cut and shoved my head back into my helmet just as the doors to the hotel opened and three ATF agents came charging out, guns raised.
“ATF! Get down!” they yelled.
One started toward me and the other two headed toward the truck. Fuck knew where Skate had gone, but as the agent drew close to me, I floored the gas and headed out of my spot. My bike screeched, hot tires skidding on even hotter tarmac. I pulled my gun from my waist and aimed it at the agent who was attempting to take a shot at me.
“I said ATF, get the fuck down!” he yelled, taking aim.
I squeezed the trigger, hitting him in the right shoulder. He called out as the bullet slammed into him, and he dropped his gun and fell backwards. I looked back as the door to the truck slid up and Crank stood there, shotgun in hand, looking every bit the fierce motherfucker I knew he was. He cocked the gun and fired, taking out one of the agents with a blast to the chest.
The agent fell to the ground soundlessly, blood splattering beneath him. The sound of sirens in the distance grew louder as Crank aimed his shotgun again. A shot flew past him as he took aim and shot at the other agent.
Shit was going bad real quick. The truck roared to life and I sped my bike across the parking lot toward Crank, screeching to a sliding halt in front of the truck long enough for Crank to drag the door down and jump out of the truck and climb onto my bike.
“’Bout fuckin’ time, brother,” he laughed.
Semi started to pull the truck away, and I sped in the opposite direction of him. Still had no idea where Skate was parked, but I hoped he’d gotten himself the hell out of there before it had all blown up.
I screeched out of the parking lot, taking a right as Semi turned left. Splitting up was the best thing we could do right then. I picked up speed and kept on driving, knowing and trusting Crank to have my back. This had been one hell of a shitstorm and we were all going down for it if we didn’t shake the heat from us quickly.
We passed a pathetic roadblock on our way and I took another right, dodging the cops and heading out across the Yellowstone River doing ninety as I swerved between vehicles. Cops were on our tail as Crank fired behind us, taking out a tire of another car and causing them to fishtail as they tried in vain to regain control of their vehicle. It wasn’t happening anytime soon though, and the front end of their car clipped an SUV and it flipped through the air and crashed back down in a series of loud groans and ripping metal.
Screams filled the air and the acrid smell of gunfire filled my nose. I snarled and kept up my speed, swerving between vehicles until I found an easy path cutting across both lanes and onto the opposite side of the highway. I cut across traffic, ignoring the sounds of horns as I found my way bumping over the grass verges and onto a different road heading in the same direction but on a different path. The road arced to the right, and I swerved around the hairpin curve, finally slowing when I could no longer hear the police behind us.
I called back to Crank. “How you doing? Anything on us?”
“Nothing. But I think I got hit,” he replied.
“Fuck. Is it bad?”
“Don’t think so. Hard to tell though, bleeding bad though.”
“Double fuck.” I sped back up. “Hang on, I’ll get us back to the clubhouse as quick as I can.”
“It’s all good, brother. Can’t be too bad or I wouldn’t have been able to hold on after your shit stunt driving,” he joked.
“Always the fucking comedian,” I called back, purposefully swerving so he’d have to hold on tighter.
He winced, and I laughed loudly, the wind rushing past me.
An hour later I pulled us into the clubhouse. The adrenalin was still pumping through me, but with nowhere to go it was just making me feel grumpy and anxious. I pulled the bike to a stop, taking a quick glance around the lot and seeing that neither the truck or Skate’s bike were there. Mason and Jase jogged straight over to us and as I got off, dragging my helmet off and handing it to Jase, who got straight on, automatically speeding my bike out of the clubhouse grounds to somewhere safer.
Mason threw an arm under Crank and helped me drag him inside.
He was right. He’d been hit, and blood trailed down his front, soaking his shirt and cut, leaving a trail of blood behind us. His complexion was pale but his eyes were focused, so I figured it couldn’t have been too bad.
We got inside, the shade of the clubhouse more than welcoming, and Mason took Crank off to be patched up.
“Thanks,” Crank called back to me as Vin came over, his expression dark.
“Just stay alive. I haven’t finished my tattoos yet,” I replied.
He laughed darkly as he walked further down the hallway.
“What the fuck happened out there?” Vin barked out, frustration and anger vibrating from him.
“It was a shit show, Prez. A setup, for sure. Semi and Skate back yet?” I asked, pulling off my cut and shirt. They were both covered in Crank’s blood and I needed to get them, and myself, clean before ATF turned up, which would be anytime now, no doubt.
“Semi is back, but I haven’t seen Skate yet. He’s not answering his cell either.” Vin looked worried, and you knew it was bad if the prez was worried.
“Could be driving?” I suggested
“Could be.”
“We got company,” Jase replied breathlessly as he jogged inside.
“Go wash up, quickly,” Vin ordered, and I didn’t need to be asked twice.