Chapter 21
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Riptide
As I turn around to join my brothers in the back of the brigade, my eyes latch onto Van and the fear spread across her face has my fingers twitching to take her in my arms and hold her, but that won’t accomplish anything besides getting every damn one of us killed.
We knew we could be attacked by the Dragons along the way, it was a real concern of ours after seeing one of their henchmen on the rodeo grounds, and if we hadn’t been traveling with women and kids this wouldn’t be anything but another day in the life of the Kings.
But we’re escorting precious cargo, and that’s what has me ready to fire off a few rounds instead of keeping them alive to interrogate.
My Bluetooth comm reconnects with my brothers and I hear Indiana and Icer jointly growl. “They shot the fucking SUV!” Indiana shouts. “My woman and daughter are in there. I’m going to rip their heads off and piss down their necks.”
“Take their bikes down,” I order. “We need to disable their rides so Van and Zoey get some distance from us and are off their radar.” These pussies aren’t on Harleys, no the shitheads are on crotch rockets, which means they can maneuver through the foothills in ways we can’t on our rides.
“Don’t let them jump the median and get into the dirt or we’ll lose them. ”
“Out of sight, out of mind,” LoneStar grits out.
“If you can, take out their wheels,” Scripture advises.
“How do you propose we do that?” Rebel asks. “They’re moving so fucking fast I can’t even see them turning.”
“Aim low,” Icer states with nonchalance.
“Good advice,” Rebel returns, sarcasm laced in his tone. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Now’s not the time for wisecrack remarks, guys!” I thunder as we start circling the men shooting at us. I’m right handed so the fact that I can’t use my dominant arm pisses me off because when I use my left hand, I don’t always get a bullseye hit on my target.
As one well-defined machine, we take Scripture’s recommendation and start shooting lower toward the ground. We’re not wholly successful, but together, we manage to pop one of the riders’ tires and he goes soaring over his handlebars through the air.
My men and I, we have a warped sense of humor and the guy whose tires we just took out hits the ground, his neck at an awkward angle, Icer starts singing, ‘Another one bites the dust’ and we pick up the chorus.
Metal clashes as we continue chasing and shooting at those intent on harming our loved ones.
We have better control of our machines than these dipshits do because they begin taking their own people out by wrecking into each other.
“It’s like watching dominoes fall,” LoneStar cackles.
“It’s funny watching them scurrying around like ants,” Rebel adds.
“They’re doing our job for us,” Scripture maniacally laughs. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”
Shade, one of my two psycho brothers, begins whooping and hollering.
“Come closer, we’ll pet you between the ears before neutering you.
” As the last word leaves his lips, he lifts his pistol and fires, instantly paralyzing the man he had in his sights by shooting him in the spine, severing his cord.
“I’d high-five you if I could, Shade,” Icer tells him.
“Why do we let those two ride together again?” Indiana asks.
“Because of that,” I remark as the two take out the last man standing.
“Not gonna lie, pres, those two together scare the ever-loving shit out of me,” Indiana states.
“Don’t be a pussy, Indie,” Shade sneers. “We get the job done, it shouldn’t matter how we do it.”
“I’m not a pussy, Shade. I just don’t think the two of you should be ganged up together and let off your leashes. It’s a known fact that on your own you’re menaces, but together, that’s an entirely different set of circumstances.”
“Compliments are making their rounds lately. Stop doing that, I don’t like it,” Icer conveys as we pull our bikes over onto the shoulder, shutting them down, and swing our legs over the saddles.
“Yeah, fuckers. Don’t make the emotionless one feel,” Scripture teases. “You’re still a dick, Icer.”
“Thank you,” Icer says in return.
“That wasn’t a compliment, brother,” I tell Icer.
“Maybe not to you. To me, it was,” he grunts. “The only one I’ll accept.”
“Fuck me,” Indiana sighs, hanging his head as he rips his helmet off. “I guess we need to wield insults Icer’s way to appease him.”
Icer marches Indiana’s way, his face full of piss and vinegar. “Don’t hit him, Icer,” I order.
“Fine,” he grinds out, shoving Indiana’s shoulder as he walks past him. “Since we can’t stick around for a cleanup crew, what are we going to do with them and their rides?” He asks, pointing at the men sprawled across the road.
“We ditch them,” I apprise. “If we can manhandle them and their bikes over the canyon, it’ll be a long damn time until they’re found.”
“Long enough to ditch our guns and have Booker erase our GPS tracking,” LoneStar announces.
“Let’s get this done so we can catch up to the ladies,” I instruct.
One backbreaking hour later, we lifted and tossed both the men and their bikes over the side of the canyon. “Does anyone else find it suspicious that there hasn’t been any sign of the law?” I inquire.
“I bet they were paid off,” Indiana inputs. “Just like the men in blue back home.”
“This feels an awful lot like a set up,” Scripture adds.
“Then let’s get the fuck outta here,” I decree. As soon as our bikes are fired up, I link Rio into our system and wait for him to answer.
“Brother, miss me already?” Rio asks.
“Found trouble along the way,” I say in the way of greeting.
“Tell me,” Rio barks.
So I do, starting with Icer pointing out we were being followed and by the time I wrap up story time, he tells me to drop our guns and send him a pin drop of where they can be found so he can have some allies come and grab them and dispose of them.
Best damn piece of instruction I’ve ever taken, because not even twenty-minutes later, and before we catch up with the women, we get pulled over, patted down, and our bikes strip searched.
We’re separated as the cops rally together, talking to whomever is on the other end of their walkies. When they come back over, they inform us we’re under arrest.
“For what?” I roar out the question. “We’re clean, none of us have any active warrants and you didn’t find anything on our person or bikes.”
“We have the right to hold you for forty-eight hours without cause,” one of the badge carrying assholes tells us.
“You don’t,” Indiana disputes. “You have to have just cause to hold us.”
“We’re going to book you under suspicion,” the third motherfucker mocks.
“Suspicion of what?” Scripture inquires.
“Murder,” the first one who showed his ass by flipping on his lights tells us.
“Who did we murder and when did we do it?” I probe, my irritation not in question because I make sure they can hear it in each word I spit out. “We have eyewitnesses that put us in the El Paso area for the last two weeks. We were just traveling through these parts on the way home.”
I’m thanking my lucky stars that after I got off the line with Rio, I called Booker and had him manipulate the showdown portion of our journey. It should now show that we didn’t slow down or stop for any reason other than now when we’re being harassed by the law.
I’m about to give them a reason to arrest me when another set of lights comes rolling in. This time, it’s a Texas Ranger who’s joining in on the fun.
“Officers,” he says as he merges with the huddle. The Ranger, whose clip on his shirt reads Parkins, crosses his arms across his chest and asks, “What seems to be the problem here?”
“We’re dealing with men who are evading arrest,” fuckface one answers.
“What’s the charge?” Parkins asks the trio.
“Suspicion of murder,” dumbass two spits out.
“These are my parts of the interstate to patrol, I’m the man in charge around here.
I didn’t see anything roll across my screen saying to be on the lookout for these guys.
Where did you get the BOLO alert from?” Parkins continues.
“What town? I need to know who to contact so we can square things up. If these fellas are murder suspects, we don’t want to give their lawyer any options to ask for a dismissal by crossing any lines and not doing things by the book. ”
“Anonymous tip,” the third fucker says.
“You don’t say,” Parkins sneers, rocking back on the balls of his feet. “Have you reported that to your CO?”
“No, there wasn’t any time,” jackass one retorts.
“You know that’s not the way this works, fellas. I’m gonna need your badge numbers. Follow me,” Parkins orders.
As he guides them back to his squad car, my phone rings. When I see it’s Rio, I lift it to my ear and answer. “Did my friendly show up? You guys good?”
“We were about to spend some time behind bars for suspicion,” I tell him. “Your guy showed up in the nick of time.”
“I have a clean-up crew on the way, unless they were sitting in the shadows during your showdown, there won’t be any evidence to support their claims. Parkins will keep them buried in paperwork for the rest of the day so they won’t be able to set you up, brother.”
“Thank you for having our backs, Rio,” I sigh, feeling relieved.
“You’re a King and my cousin, nobody fucks with those who belong to me and walk away free and clear,” Rio snaps. “Safe travels. If you run into any more problems make sure you reach out.”
“That’s a given. Talk to you later, brother.”
Soon after I end the call, Parkins comes strolling over to us.
“You’re free to go, guys. Your women are with one of my men, they’re safe.
He’s going to stay with them until you catch up.
If you run into any more men like that, give me a ring.
” He hands over a business card, nods his head at us and rolls out.
I tuck the square card into the pocket of my cut and watch him high tail it out of there.
“Well, that was fun, said no one ever,” Indiana snorts.
“Let’s hope no more pigs are on their payroll and the coast is clear the rest of the way back home. Rally up, boys, let’s go get the women and kids then get the fuck back home,” I edict.
“I need to put my eyes on the kids, I hope you motherfuckers can keep up,” Icer says before he revs his engine and starts eating up the asphalt going ninety to nothing.
“Somedays, I wonder if these guys remember I’m the one in charge,” I groan as I throttle my bike and skid my tires as I put my speedometer to the test. “Show me what you’ve got, baby. Let’s go find our family.”