Chapter 8
EIGHT
As I pull up to the clubhouse and kill the engine on my bike, Kurt steps out and leans against the brick wall, lighting a cigarette like he’s been waiting for me.
“So?” he asks, blowing out a lazy stream of smoke.
“It’s done,” I say, swinging a leg over my bike and hanging my helmet on the handlebars.
He nods. “Any trouble?”
I shrug, blowing out a heavy sigh. Because, yeah… There was some.
Victor was a fucking cakewalk. I had that in the bag.
But the other two assholes who show up at every auction like it’s Christmas now suddenly think they can disappear. I had to track one down at his cottage and corner the other pulling into his kid’s private school. And one of them had the balls to say no.
Nothing a little forceful persuasion couldn’t fix, with a tap of my gun against his windshield just as the school bell rang, ready to show his kids how easy it is to make their daddy piss himself. But he made the right choice and said he’d be there.
No.
Yeah fucking right.
“The Porsche is getting picked up tomorrow, and the money is wired. The other dickbags are going.” I step towards Kurt, watching as he blows out another slow curl of smoke.
“Should probably put someone on him during the auction. Make sure he remembers how to use his wallet. He didn’t seem too fond of my gun up close. ”
Kurt huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “Put Trip on him. He’s got a way of reminding people that pain is optional if they behave.”
I nod, rubbing the back of my neck and letting out a sigh. These fuckers. I could have been tongue or dick-deep in delicious professor ass… now I need to wait until tomorrow.
But damn… the way he just sat there when I left, all calm and knowing, just letting me go like he didn’t even have to try.
Fuck, that was hot.
That’s what I crave. The slow burn, and the tension that coils in the gut and drags out every second like it matters, humming steadily just beneath the surface.
The chase that demands something raw, real, and earned.
The one that comes with risk and challenge, momentum and gravity, and where every move forward is a burn I feed with my own hands.
Where I know it will take me apart, but I keep doing it anyway.
But chasing after spoiled buyers and gutless fucks who suddenly forget how auctions work?
Not fucking worth it.
“So, what’s our plan here?” I ask, shifting my gaze to the door behind Kurt to the clubhouse, knowing the crew is in there waiting to hear how this went.
Kurt takes the last drag of his cigarette, and I watch longingly as he drops it and crushes it under his boot.
Of all the days to quit smoking, why the fuck did I have to choose today?
“You know,” he says thoughtfully, “your dad hated the auctions.”
My jaw tics. “And?”
He shrugs like it’s nothing, but I know it’s not. “Just saying. Maybe it’s time we move away from them.”
I rub a hand over my face. I know Dad hated the auctions.
He thought they brought too much heat, with too many unknowns walking through the door, and too many chances for things to slip.
But even he admitted they’re the cleanest way we have to move a high number of cars—fast. Everything is kept in one place, and stays organized and efficient.
We’re smart and careful, and it keeps the blood out of it.
Mostly.
Kurt eyes me. “Look, kid. He may have been my brother, but we fought over this a lot. And after he died, I didn’t have a better plan. I keep them going because it works. And… I didn’t want to change something he never got the chance to fix.”
I nod, looking over the row of bikes lined up in the lot.
I know we can’t keep this up. It’s been the smartest way to move product, but we’re bleeding at the edges now.
The middle-tier buyers who could afford a risk once or twice are now priced out or spooked.
And the rich fuckers who can afford it are starting to pull back too.
Carefully and quietly. Like they know something’s coming.
And I know what it is. Even if I haven’t wanted to say it out loud yet.
“You hear from Donnie this afternoon?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
Kurt just nods, the muscles in his jaw tightening.
“Great.” I tip my head back and sigh.
“RCMP apparently has a lead on us moving stolen vehicles,” Kurt says with a huff. “Donnie says his sergeant’s got enough to act, even if he can’t pin shit down yet. Which smells like fucking bullshit to me. So, they’re planning a raid here tomorrow morning.”
I sigh again, rubbing the back of my neck and wishing I had a goddamn cigarette. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police sure are an eager fucking bunch.
“We’re moving everything for the auction tonight to the old quarry,” Kurt says. “Donnie’s stalling his team until morning, but they’re getting twitchy. So it’s gotta happen tonight.”
I nod, glancing out over the parking lot full of cars—some dirty and legal and some clean and hot. It helps having a couple Mounties and local cops on our payroll, but even they’ve got limits. And lately, those limits are showing.
“Alright,” I say with a nod, bringing my attention back to Kurt. “We’ll get these moved tonight and get through this auction this week. Then we need to hold church and figure out what the fuck we’re doing here.”
Kurt nods and heads towards his bike, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the garage. “Crew knows about the raid. They’re tuning the last few so they’ll be ready tonight.”
“Where you headed?” I ask as he swings a leg over his bike.
“Downtown to show face at Reynolds’ lot,” he says, grabbing his helmet from the handlebars. “We’ve moved cars through him before, so since our Mountie friends are watching, they’ll see clean movement. I’ll lean on him to take some of the legal stock and give them something boring to track.”
“Good,” I say.
His bike roars to life beneath him, and he nods his head towards the garage. “Keep ’em in line.”
My eyes dart to the garage doors, and I see Cory and Caz working under the hoods of a couple hot cars.
For fuck’s sake.
“Yeah,” I nod. “I fucking will.”
As Kurt takes off, I head into the clubhouse, happy to see it empty. I cut through the front and follow the sound of music and tools to the garage, clenching and unclenching my fists the whole way. As I push open the door, the bass hits me first, followed by the clang of metal and low laughter.
“Could you be any fucking louder?” I bark, heading straight for the sound system and turning the music down. “Real subtle. The Basin Kings wrenching after hours, the night before a scheduled raid.”
Mac throws me a look over his shoulder. “No one can hear us.”
I cock an eyebrow at him and sit on a stool, tilting my head to the garage doors, which are wide fucking open. “Trying to make sure they can?”
Cory glances up from under the hood of a '67 Mustang, eyes flicking to the open doors. Then he hustles to the wall and punches the button to close them.
“Such a good boy,” I say, offering him a smile when he scowls at me.
“Fuck off,” he mutters.
I let my grin grow wider as I watch him, letting him squirm uncomfortably under my stare until I shift my attention to the workbench. Trip and Dom are piecing together a tool kit and sorting ammo clips, like very good boys.
“Once it’s dark, load up the van with the extra parts and ammo,” I say as my eyes land on a pack of cigarettes on the bench next to me. “Caz, you and Rex are staying with the cars at the quarry tonight.”
Caz glances up from the bike he’s working on with hesitation flickering in his eyes. “And if the Mounties wonder why we’re guarding cars in the middle of nowhere if they find us…?”
My gaze snaps from the pack of cigarettes to him. “These are all legal, are they not?”
His brow furrows, and I push to my feet.
“Are. They. Not?” I ask again, stepping towards him.
Caz nods quickly. “Yeah. They are.”
I take another step closer. “So what’s suspicious about guarding insured vehicles during off-site storage? We’re rotating the lot, moving some to Reynolds, and temporarily storing others at the quarry. Same shit we’ve done before. You not up for that, prospect?”
His throat bobs as I stop before him. “I am,” he says, looking me right in the eye.
“Good.” I tilt my head and let the corner of my mouth lift into a smirk. “So smart.”
Then I turn back to the bench and grab the cigarettes, sliding one between my lips.
“How many hours this time?” Mac asks from somewhere behind me.
“Eight,” I mutter as I light it.
“Almost beat your record,” Dom says, dropping a breaker bar on the bench beside me as I sit back on the stool.
I shrug, taking a long drag and already feeling the tension ease as the smoke settles in my chest. “Stress relief is good for my health.”
Cory peers at me from across the garage. “You think you might have that backwards?”
“Shut your mouth or I’ll stick Dom’s breaker bar up your ass,” I shoot back.
Cory huffs out a laugh and points at me. “Maybe that’s the stress relief you need.”
I blow out a cloud of smoke while I stare him down, and watch as his face shifts, just enough that I know he regrets that comment.
Even though he’s not wrong.
I take another drag and lean back against the wall, letting my mind wander to deep blue eyes and rum-tasting lips. “I’ve got plans with a better ass tomorrow.”
A few heads turn to me, but I keep my gaze locked on Cory a moment longer. Just long enough to make him uncomfortable, then look away.
“Over the professor already?” Mac asks, wiping his hands as he slams the hood closed on the car he’s finally fucking finished with.
I shake my head. “With the professor.”
“Really…” he says, cocking an eyebrow at me like he doesn’t fucking believe me. “He let you in, or are you banging the door down?”
I lift the cigarette to my lips, letting a smile curl at the edges. “Both.”
And fuck if I’m not getting hard already just thinking about it.
Trip chuckles, closing the ammo case and holding out a fist for me to bump. “Get it, man.”
I tap his knuckles with mine, ignoring the snort from Mac.
Oh, I will.