Thrash
“You sure about this, Thrash?”
Riot gives me the kind of sideways look that tells me he’s right on the edge of advising me that I am one-hundred-percent insane. And maybe I am. But I can’t let this second shipment get by me, and I sure as hell can’t let my MC fall further behind the Reaper’s Sons.
I nod and keep my eyes on the road in front of me. This is no time for doubt. We’re parked on the shoulder of a long curve just before a big old stretch of straightaway before the mountain road into Crescent Falls. We can see for miles. Our target should be here soon.
“Thrash?” Riot says again.
“Yes, Riot, I’m sure. Creole’s information is good — I saw that woman leave the Reaper’s Sons’ auto yard this morning. I’ve been checking traffic all damn day, and, except for the usual shitstorm around Los Angeles, the traffic is fine. She’ll be by here around the same time as the last time, and then we’ll pull her over.”
Riot gestures to the set of tools strapped to my bike.
“And the wrenches? What the hell are those for?”
“She didn’t believe me last time. I’m going to make sure she takes me seriously.”
“You have a gun, you know,” he says, patting his shoulder where his pistol is holstered. “That’s pretty fucking serious, too.”
“I’m not going to shoot her, man. This is different. It’s about principle.”
“Principle? Since when do you give a fuck about what some woman thinks? Especially a drug-runner for the Reaper’s Sons?” The tone in his voice edges even closer to that breaking point of calling my bullshit out.
“Since they throw spicy salsa into my fucking eyes. That makes it a special kind of personal.”
“You’re fucking nuts,” he says.
“Maybe I am.” I look over at him, completely serious. “But I’ve got a plan to turn this into an even bigger score than we were thinking. We’re going to take the Reaper’s Sons for all their fucking worth if this pans out. Not just one carload. Now, are you going to have my back here or are you going to keep second-guessing me? Otherwise, you can leave at any time, you know. I can handle this myself.”
“Fuck that. You’re practically blood, no way I’m leaving. But that doesn’t mean I can’t tell you when you’re full of shit.”
An hour passes by while we wait.
The sun drops down below the horizon, turning into a blood-orange ball of fire. Riot and I reminisce about our younger days, about women we’ve fucked, about fights we’ve had, and what we’d buy if we’d won the mother of all lotteries and money were no object.
Riot would buy himself a high-end Ducati concept bike, the kind of bike you take out once a month to go faster than you’ve ever gone in your life — so fast you fucking piss yourself — and then you spend the rest of the time obsessing over and protecting because it’s so damn expensive.
There isn’t much I would buy. Sure, I’d probably renovate my house a bit, maybe upgrade the bike, and I’d probably throw a big party and hook up a foursome, but that’s it.
“That’s it?” Riot says when I tell him my plan. “Group sex and a new kitchen?”
“That’s it. Most of it, I’d put away. Invest it. Get a fucking Roth IRA,” I say.
“What the fuck does a terrorist group in Ireland have to do with this? Who are you, man?”
“Absolutely nothing. Not that kind of IRA. A fucking retirement account. When I’m old, I don’t want to have to depend on anyone. Not the club or whatever handouts or kickbacks they give, and I am sure as fuck not depending on my family.”
My family — deadbeats and drunks that they are — are nothing more than some ink on my fucking birth certificate.
A car comes into view in the distance.
I’m sure it’s her.
Riot and I leave the shoulder once she gets close enough and move to intercept her. I take my pistol out and fire a warning shot to let her know not to try any shit and then direct her to the curb.
This time, she cooperates.
We come to a stop next to the driver’s side door and she rolls down her window. There’s an exasperated look on her pretty face and not a single bit of fear in her voice as she glares at Riot and me. This is just business to her, and we’re just an annoyance standing in the way of her getting paid.
I respect that.
“You again? You know, I have more tacos. I even bought extra, so there’s enough for your friend, too,” she says.
“Shut up. Get out of the car,” I say.
She shakes her head. “We went through this the last time. Go. Fuck. Yourself.”
“I’m not going to steal it from you,” I say.
Riot looks at me sideways. “You’re not? What the fuck are we doing here then, man?”
“I told you, this is personal,” I say to him. Then I turn back to her. “Look, keep the keys, we’ll put our guns away, we are not taking your car. I promise. I just want to show you something.”
She shakes her head, defiant.
“I’m not an idiot. Don’t just put your guns away — give me one.”
Riot scoffs, but I nod my head. “Fine. Riot, give her your gun.”
“Seriously?” He says.
“Trust me,” I reply. “Now, Ms. Genius, get out of the car, stand on the shoulder over there, and watch.”
She does as she’s told and stands on the gravel shoulder with her arms crossed while looking like this whole thing was her idea in the first place.
Fuck, it’s infuriating.
And fucking hot the way her perky tits stand out even more against her crossed arms. The way her lips get fuller as she purses them in exasperation.
Why does she have to be working for the enemy?
I push my thoughts as far into the background as I can and I throw open her door. With my tools on the ground beside me, I proceed to dismantle the panel of her driver side door. After a bit of work and some sexy-yet-infuriating scoffs and backtalk from Ms. Genius, I get the panel off and find a small compartment welded into the structure of the door.
Jackpot.
Reaching in, I pull out the cargo and toss it onto the ground in front of her. It’s a packet of pills — ecstasy, probably — with a street value of maybe two or three grand, depending on its quality. I’m sure if I dug through the rest of the car, I’d find other drugs with an even higher value. Cocaine and heroin, most definitely, knowing where she just came from.
“What do you think of that?” I say, grinning triumphantly.
She just shrugs and looks as unperturbed as if I had told her she had a scratch on her bumper. “I’m not shocked. But you look proud of yourself. Are you proud?”
“Do you believe me, now? How does it feel to be a drug mule?”
“I believe you’re a dick. How does that feel?”
“You’re transporting drugs across the border. That’s a serious felony. You get caught with this, you’ll go away for life. Now, why don’t you give me those keys and let me take this car off your hands.”
I hold out my hand for her to toss me the keys.
She just looks at me, very much not amused.
“If I do that, what are you going to do with them?” She says.
“What do you think? They’ll be sold.”
“Seriously, keep up, woman,” Riot says. “This isn’t fucking rocket science.”
She nods. “Ok. Time for a little thought experiment. If I give this car to you, the drugs get sold. But, in that case, I don’t get any money for them and I risk pissing off the dangerous guy in charge of this drug operation. But, if I keep the car and do the job, I get paid, and the drugs still get sold. See where I’m going here? Or would you like it in simpler terms? Maybe I could draw some pictures for you? Do you have any crayons?”
“You know, I find it a little surprising a woman like you would be ok with this,” I say.
“A woman like me? Don’t fucking patronize me. You don’t know who I am. I’m ok with it because I have to be. I don’t like it. But I don’t have any other options, and if I fail, it’s going to be really, really bad for me and for people that mean a lot to me. I like the thought of that even less,” she says, closing her hands around the keys and gesturing towards her car with Riot’s gun. “Now, put the door back together, please.”
She is cold-blooded, she is all business, and she is absolutely entrancing me.
“Fine. But this isn’t over.”
I shove the pills back in her place and re-assemble the door a lot quicker than I took it apart.
Without so much as a ‘thank you’, she gets back in the driver’s seat and slams the door closed. The car edges forward on the gravel shoulder and, just before the engine surges to live with a two-hundred horsepower roar, she leans out the window and tosses Riot’s pistol to me.
“Remember: go fuck yourself,” she calls out.
I watch her speed down the road to town.
I need to get to those drugs of hers. I want the cash the Reaper’s Sons are making through their business and I have to protect my MC.
But, most importantly, I have to find out just who the fuck this woman is.