Chapter 10
Rex
I drum my fingers on Rem’s desk. The waiting game is getting to me far more than it should.
Patience has never been one of my virtues, and it’s showing.
Everything is set and ready. We just need them to take the bait.
The sooner we can end this, the faster I can focus on what really matters. Rem and our kids.
My phone buzzes on the desktop. I snatch it up, and my heart rate quickens as I see Rem's name flash across the screen. Swiping to answer, I bring it to my ear.
"Hey, darlin'," I drawl.
"Rex," she says, her tone clipped and businesslike. "Any movement yet?"
"Nothing. It's like watching paint dry but with more guns and potential for bloodshed."
“It’s better than being a personal pin cushion and wired to monitors.”
I chuckle despite the tension. "How're you feeling?"
"Like a beached whale with indigestion," she grumbles. "Your child seems determined to use my bladder as a trampoline."
"Sounds like they've got your fighting spirit already," I say, a smile tugging at my lips.
"Don't you start," she warns, but I can hear the affection beneath her gruff tone. “I hate this. I hate being apart from you, the kids, and from everything going on.”
“I know, Rem. I hate it as much as you do, but if all goes to plan, we won’t be apart much longer.”
“God, I hope so. Life just keeps kicking us when we’re down. I’m ready for some peace.”
“Peace and motorcycle clubs, darlin’?”
“Yeah, I know. Pipe dream.”
"We'll make it happen," I promise, even as doubt gnaws at my gut. But before I can say more, my phone beeps with an incoming text. "Hold on, Rem."
I pull it away from my face, and I see the message from Voodoo. Two words that set everything in motion.
They're moving.
"Gotta go, darlin'," I tell her. "It's time."
"Be careful. Come back to us."
"Always," I vow, ending the call.
I'm on my feet in an instant, adrenaline surging through my veins. The clubhouse erupts into controlled chaos as I bark orders, my brothers and sisters falling into formation with practiced ease. The roar of Harleys fills the air as we mount up.
The night air whips against my face as we tear through the streets. I lead the pack, my mind racing faster than my bike. Thankfully, Harlow and Tinsley already moved Meredith to the location. With any luck, I would beat the cartel there, and our play will work. Everything hinges on it.
I peel off from the group, heading straight towards the warehouse while the rest move into their positions.
The warehouse looms before me. I kill the engine of my Harley and hop off the bike. My boots crunch on the gravel as I approach the factory.
I slip inside through a side door, my hand instinctively resting on the gun at my hip. The interior is dimly lit. My eyes adjust quickly, scanning the space until they land on Meredith.
She's slumped in a metal chair, her blonde hair hanging limply around her face. Even from here, I can see the rise and fall of her chest – still sedated, thank fuck.
I nod to Tinsley and Harlow, jerking my head towards the back exit. "Time to make yourselves scarce," I mutter. They hesitate for a moment, concern etched on their faces, but a sharp look from me sends them moving.
The warehouse falls silent again, save for Meredith's shallow breathing. I position myself behind a stack of crates. The air feels heavy, charged with anticipation.
Car doors slam outside. Guess that aren’t ones for being quiet. My muscles taut, ready for action. The large metal door groans as it's pushed open, flooding the space with harsh light from the cars outside.
Two men in crisp suits enter the building. Behind them, four burly figures follow – enforcers most likely, their bulky frames betraying the presence of concealed weapons. Their suits exude an air of authority, their eyes scanning the warehouse with calculating precision.
"Spread out," one of the leader’s orders, carrying a hint of a New York accent. "Find her."
The enforcers fan out, their movements efficient and practiced.
I press myself further into the darkness, my breath slow and controlled.
My heart pounds in my chest, but years of experience keep me steady.
I watch as one of the enforcers approaches Meredith's slumped form, his hand reaching out to check her pulse.
"She's alive," he calls out, his voice gruff. "Just out cold."
The suit with the New York accent strides forward, his expensive shoes echoing in the cavernous space. He grabs a fistful of Meredith's hair, yanking her head back. Her eyelids flutter, but she doesn't wake.
"Wake her up," he orders, releasing her roughly.
My jaw clenches as I watch one of the enforcers produce a syringe.
I know it's likely filled with adrenaline or some other stimulant to wake her up and get her talking.
As much as I despise Meredith for what she's done, seeing her treated like this makes my blood boil.
But I force myself to remain still, waiting for the right moment.
The enforcer jabs the needle into Meredith's arm, and within seconds, she jerks awake with a gasp. Her eyes, wide and unfocused, dart around the room in panic.
"Welcome back to the land of the living, Ms. Crane," the suit says, his tone mockingly polite. "You’ve been a hard woman to find. Looks like someone left you gift wrapped for us.”
Meredith's gaze finally settles on him, and I can see the moment recognition dawns. Fear flashes across her face, quickly replaced by defiance.
"Go to hell, Ricardo."
“It’s curious that you’re here alone.”
I can't help but smirk at Meredith's attitude. For all her faults, the woman's got balls. But as Ricardo's words sink in, I know it's time to make my move.
"She's not alone," I say.
I step out from behind the crates, my gun drawn and steady in my hand. The enforcers whirl around, their own weapons appearing as if by magic. But I've got the drop on them, and they know it. Ricardo's eyes narrow as he takes me in, recognition flickering across his face.
"Rex Reed," he says. "The new president of the New Orleans Zulu Kings. At last, we meet.”
I move forward slowly, my boots echoing on the concrete floor. Meredith’s attitude falters. I can see the pulse jump in her throat, her eyes darting between me and Ricardo like a cornered animal.
"Since we're doing introductions," Ricardo says, his tone casual as if we're at a cocktail party instead of a standoff, "allow me to formally introduce myself.
Ricardo Diaz, at your service." He gives a mocking little bow, his eyes never leaving mine.
"And this," he gestures to the other suit, "is my brother, Mateo. "
Mateo nods curtly, his hand resting on the butt of a gun hidden beneath his jacket. The family resemblance is clear. Same sharp features and the same calculating gaze. But where Ricardo exudes charm, Mateo radiates cold efficiency.
"You know," Ricardo continues, his voice taking on a conversational tone that sends a chill down my spine, "I think you might have met one of my other brothers.
Alejandro. He took a trip down to New Orleans a few months back.
" His eyes narrow slightly, a predatory gleam in them.
"Funny thing is, we haven't seen or heard from him since.
You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you, Mr. Reed? "
I meet Ricardo's gaze unflinchingly, letting a lazy smirk play across my lips.
"New Orleans is a dangerous place, Mr. Diaz.
Filled with dangerous people, dark alleys, and deeper waters.
Your brother wouldn't be the first out-of-towner to get in over his head," I drawl.
"But we're here to talk about current business, aren't we? "
Ricardo's eyes narrow, but I can see the glimmer of interest there. He's a shark scenting blood in the water, and I'm dangling the bait right in front of him.
"You want your drugs back," I continue, my gaze flicking briefly to Meredith. "And this lovely lady here is the key to finding them."
Meredith's eyes widen. "Rex, you bastard"
"Shut up," I snap, not even sparing her a glance. My focus remains on Ricardo and Mateo.
Ricardo's eyebrows raise slightly. "Is that so?" he says, his tone deceptively casual.
I take a step closer, my gun still trained on the group. "Let's just say she's been playing both sides. Thought she could skim a little off the top, sell to the highest bidder." I let out a low chuckle to cover up my lie. "Didn't count on getting caught between your organization and mine."
Meredith's face contorts with rage. "You lying son of a”
"I said shut up," I recoil, finally turning to face her. The look in my eyes silences her immediately.
Ricardo exchanges a glance with his brother, a silent conversation passing between them. Mateo gives an almost imperceptible nod.
"Interesting," Ricardo muses, his gaze sliding back to me. "And I suppose you're here to...what? Make a deal?"
I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. "I'm a businessman, Mr. Diaz. I know when to cut my losses. The way I see it, we both want this mess cleaned up."
Ricardo's eyes narrow, assessing me. "And what exactly are you proposing?"
"Simple," I say, taking another step forward. "You get your drugs back, and we agree to stay out of each other's way.”
"A tempting offer, Mr. Reed. But why should I trust you? For all I know, this could be an elaborate trap."
"If I wanted you dead, Mr. Diaz, we wouldn't be having this conversation. I'm offering you a way out of this mess that doesn't end with bodies floating in the Mississippi. You get your products, and I get your drugs away from my club. We both win without bloodshed. I’ll even throw in Meredith to sweeten the deal. If you have one shipment missing, I’m sure there’s more. She’ll know who and where Rocky sold your product. "
Mateo shifts slightly, his hand tightening on his concealed weapon. Ricardo holds up a hand, silencing his brother before he can speak.