23. Shane
23
SHANE
N ormally when we’d roll into Frisco for a roast like tonight’s, the gate at The Bonfire would be drawn back, and we could drive our bikes right inside. This time, we drove forward and then reversed, walking our bikes back so all of us were facing the street. We were ready for a fast retreat or a fast chase, and no one was sure which would happen.
I knew one thing, though. I wasn’t going to die tonight, and I wasn’t going to retreat. Whatever went down, I’d be ending it.
If it came to me snapping Estrada’s neck, I’d do it. I knew how cartels worked. They thrived on hitting your family, and no fucking way was anyone touching Kali.
I didn’t like Marco Estrada. Never had. I didn’t know who did, but Maxwell had put us in business with him, and our club grew because of it. No more. The cartel was too dangerous, too deadly for us, and it was time to cut ties.
Tonight we’d see how it all ended.
I wasn’t a great actor, but I knew my role. I’d keep it together until the right time.
Once I’d parked, I called Heckler before getting off my bike. The rest of the guys went inside, and the prospects came back out a moment later to watch over the bikes.
“I called around, like you asked,” Heckler said when he answered. “No one up there has heard about the cartel moving on us. And down here, we’re still not getting anything. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.”
I sat back, thinking. “So we’re going in blind.”
“I’m sorry.”
A different thought came to me. “Could he be listening in on this?”
“Our calls?”
“Yeah.”
Heckler was quiet a moment. “If he’s into that, we’re fucked.”
We had tech guys, computer guys, who could maybe do what I’d suggested. We’d just never considered putting those measures in place.
“We messed up,” I told him.
“Yeah. We did. I was focused on Max.”
“I was focused on other things.” No way was I mentioning Kali now.
“You want me to call them?” Heckler offered.
“Yeah. We’re going to need them moving forward.”
Heckler laughed and then sighed. “Maybe that was the point of shooting Max? Distracting us?”
“Maybe.” My phone was ringing again. “I gotta take this call. It’s Boise.”
“Keep us updated.”
“Will do.” I ended that call and switched over. “Yeah?”
“They’re coming. Three vehicles. I’ll text if anyone sets up outside the town.”
“Thanks.” We hung up, and I sent a text to all the others.
Me: Incoming.
A couple minutes later they rolled in exactly the way Boise had said they would: three SUVs.
A little while after that, everyone had settled in. Marco had five men who’d set up in the front of The Bonfire with assault rifles at the ready. Three more stood just inside the gate, and the rest of his men—the ten he’d told us to account for—were sitting, eating and drinking as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
At my table sat Marco, Crow, and Crow’s sergeant at arms. One of the sweet butts was all over Crow, running her hand up and down his arm. He mostly ignored her, but when Marco’s gaze lingered on her, he pulled her into his lap.
Marco didn’t bat an eye, just went back to eating.
His men were drinking, and judging from the way they were throwing them back, they could handle their booze.
Our guys had non-alcoholic beer, because some of them couldn’t handle their booze.
I was so fucking stiff inside that I could’ve been the Oscar statue for all those awards. But on the outside, I was pretty sure no one could tell a thing. I wanted to kill this man. I knew that much.
“Ghost.”
It was always so odd when Marco used my biker name. He said it as if it were my given name, and we were the best of friends. He smiled. “How is your president? Have you been able to identify who shot him?”
This fucking asshole. To bring him up…
I didn’t blink. My smile never twitched. I responded casually, sitting back in my seat. “It’s still touch and go, and no. We haven’t found who did it yet.”
Marco nodded, dabbing the corners of his mouth with his napkin. He switched to Crow. “And you, this is your club, correct?” He put his napkin away, and a smooth smile took its place. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m not very knowledgeable on the biker culture.”
Crow shot me a look, leaning forward slowly. He spanked the girl’s ass and motioned for her to head back inside. She did, pouting as she went. Crow watched her go, watched her ass sway from side to side before turning to the cartel leader. “Our charter president isn’t here. He’s in Potomahmen actually.”
“That’s the prison here?”
“It is, yes.”
Marco glanced my way. “And you’re here to help them through this time?”
He was wading into Red Demon business, not his, and judging by the spark in his eyes, he knew it.
I gave him a blank stare. “We’ve covered this before. That’s our business, not yours. And I say that with no disrespect intended.”
Marco grinned, apparently not offended. “I like you, Ghost.”
He shouldn’t.
I grinned back. “I’m relieved.”
Crow almost choked on his beer before putting it back down. “My apologies.”
The music cranked up, and a couple of Estrada’s men decided to start dancing. A few of our guys joined, along with the sweet butts.
Marco took everything in for a moment before looking around our table again.
None of us were relaxed. We might’ve looked it, but we weren’t. Crow and his SIA were smiling, but I could tell it was so forced that it was painful to see. Marco’s eyes narrowed, and I knew he didn’t miss anything, but then he turned and focused on me. Only me.
His eyes changed, growing more serious. “Could I speak with you alone for a moment?”
He asked me, but his question was directed toward the other two.
Both stood, nodding with the same tight smiles on their faces. Crow went inside, and his SIA joined the dancing in the yard.
“I need to repeat myself. I like you, Ghost. Can I call you by your given name?”
No . “Sure. It’s Shane.”
“Shane.”
Fuck no. Fuck no. Fuck no . The last person who called me that was Kali.
He seemed so honored that he knew my real name now.
“Your bike club has done so much for me. You have helped me tremendously. My organization. I’ve been able to grow my business because of you, and I have enemies. I have many enemies.” His face grew rigid, almost like stone. “But no matter. I still keep growing, and I’m aware that your club is a part of that. I feel it was God’s hand that had me so near when I heard about your president’s attack. And I’ve always respected you. You, you know how to kill. You know how to make the hard choice, to end a life or not. I can see it in you. I have it in me. I don’t wish to speak ill of the sick, but your president, he hesitates at times. I’ve seen it. I wanted to relay that if anything does happen to your president, and if you should step up to take your place as the national president, you have my support. I’m unaware if that’s needed in a situation like that, but I wanted to let you know.”
Marco Estrada once hung a family of eighteen from a bridge, all of their heads decapitated—a man, his wife, and their sixteen children. The youngest was eight months old.
This man did that. The one who sat next to me, saying he respected me.
And the reason they’d all been hung and decapitated? Because one of their daughters handed a phone to Marco’s sister. That was it. A phone was passed, and the entire family was murdered.
He was speaking nice and acting nice, but this man was evil.
I smiled at him and held up my beer. “That means a lot, Se?or Estrada.”
His smile warmed, and I could see him relax.
He had no worries. None. If he was behind Max’s hit, he wasn’t worried about it.
“I am looking forward to many more meals with you. This one has been the most fun so far. I thank you, Se?or Shane.”
I wanted to pull my gun out, press the barrel against his forehead, and pull the trigger. I smiled instead. “And you as well, Se?or.”
They partied the rest of the night, until his men could barely stand. I handed out orders. A few of our men needed to start acting wasted, or the cartel would know.
Marco and his men didn’t leave, not until the early morning. The sun had started to peek over the horizon when they decided it was time to go.
Marco had a great time. He’d professed it to me many times throughout the night.
And once they’d finally gone, Crow looked at me, with all of our men around us. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he said.
I texted Heckler.
Me: If it’s him, he’s the most smug asshole that exists.
Heckler: We got a lead. Following it up tomorrow.