Chapter Four #2
Together, we carried the crates to the van. The metal lip at the loading bay scraped one crate corner and set my teeth on edge. Merk slid everything into place and strapped it down. Mayhem checked the tie-downs himself before slamming one rear door and then the other.
Smooth, fast, with no surprises.
Still, my nerves wouldn’t settle. Maybe because Calvin stayed in the back of my head. Maybe because Merk had been off since we left. Maybe because these runs always had room to go bad even when they didn’t.
Bulldog jerked his chin at the bikes. “You heading straight back?”
“Yeah.” I rolled my shoulders once and felt sweat cooling under my shirt.
He glanced toward the road beyond the fence then looked back at me. Nothing changed in his expression, but my attention tightened.
“Keep it that way,” he said.
I held his stare for a beat. “Something I should know?”
Bulldog shrugged once. “Just feels crowded lately.”
The air seemed to get a little heavier. I glanced at Mayhem. He was already looking toward the gate.
Merk slammed the van doors shut harder than needed. “Crowded how?”
Bulldog lifted the case. “If I had names, I’d give them.”
That was all he had. Or all he was giving. Same thing, maybe.
I nodded once. “Appreciate it.”
He stepped back toward the dock. “Tell Preacher I said hello.”
The meeting was over. Bulldog waved us out with two fingers and had walked back toward the bay before we even hit the gate.
We rolled back onto the highway in the same formation. Me out front left, Mayhem in the right, and Merk in the van behind us.
For ten miles, everything was quiet, nothing but an empty stretch of road ahead. A few cars and pickup trucks passed in the opposite direction, the sun now higher.
My thoughts drifted toward Calvin. My wolf had chosen. It still seemed unreal. No more fucking random men. No more riding life solo. No more glances at pack members who were mated and feeling a squeeze of envy.
Another few miles passed before I noticed the first bike in my mirror. Could’ve been just another rider out on the road, but Bulldog’s comment came to mind.
Just feels crowded lately.
Keeping my speed steady, I checked again. A second bike came into view. Then a third, the three spreading out but keeping pace instead of bursting ahead.
I kept one eye on them, the other on the road.
A fourth bike joined them.
Then a fifth.
I knew the look of them without seeing a patch.
Iron Vendetta. Dark bikes. Dark cuts. The organized way they moved matching like the day they’d ridden past while we’d rebuilt the porch.
I lowered my arm, signaling with two fingers where only Mayhem would see. His response was the same. He’d seen them too. Merk kept the van steady, but his gaze was focused on his rearview mirror.
Steering toward the shoulder, I eased off the throttle, allowing the van to pass. Mayhem had done the same. We were no longer guiding the van. We were protecting the rear, also placing ourselves in a more vulnerable position with our backs exposed to them.
My grip tightened on the throttle. A few cars passed on the other side of the road, sunlight glinting off the windshields.
A glance in my mirror showed Iron Vendetta was still there and still keeping their distance.
Another bike joined them then three more. This was beyond not good. I fought the urge to turn around and start something. My wolf’s hackles rose, growing low in warning.
The Vendetta members weren’t trying to overtake us, weren’t acting in any threatening manner. They simply kept pace, a steady reminder of their presence.
Fuck. For two years I’d been making this run without any issues. Those bastards were creating one.
I hit the button on my mounted phone to call Preacher. He picked up on the second ring. “Problem and location.”
I’d never contacted him on a weapons run before.
“Vendetta on our six.” I gave him the highway marker and our direction.
“How many?” Preacher asked.
“Eight deep so far.” I checked my mirror, but they were in such a tight formation, I couldn’t get an accurate count.
For a beat, all I heard was his breathing and the road under me.
Then engines started, roaring to life. The prez was already moving, the pack mobilizing against the threat. The engines grew louder, telling me they’d taken off.
“Have they done anything besides follow?”
“Nothing yet. Still playing like little lambs.” We throttled down at the sharp curve in the road then resumed our steady speed.
“Stay tight around the van. Don’t give them a reason to close in.”
I checked my mirror. They were at the same distance as before. Why hadn’t they made a move? What was their end game? Did they even have one, or was this some kind of intimidation tactic?
“They don’t need a reason,” I said.
“No, they don’t.” Preacher’s voice was flat. “Be there soon. Call me back if anything changes.” He hung up.
“I haven’t had a decent fucking cup of coffee yet and these clowns want to test my goddamn patience.” I growled.
Mile after mile, they stayed on us, never growing closer or dropping back. Just close enough to start trouble if they wanted to.
Mayhem glanced at me with narrowed eyes. He was asking the same questions I’d already asked myself. What was their motive?
I shrugged, giving a small shake of my head. Fuck if I knew.
The highway signs began to look increasingly familiar.
A motor behind me grew louder, followed by the sound of growling engines.
Glancing into my mirror, I saw them gaining ground, a swarm of angry hornets giving chase. They were just riding back there like patient little psychopaths until they got close enough to Temptation that they had to commit.
Merk sped up, going at least ninety, taking the curves in the road with precision skill. Mayhem and I stayed on his ass. A crack rang out. Then something pinged against the back end of my bike.
“You did not just fucking shoot at me,” I snarled, pissed I couldn’t do shit about it. My only priority was getting the van home with the three of us intact.
Two more shots echoed through the air. Mayhem jerked forward but quickly straightened, his mouth set in grim determination.
Blood trickled from one shoulder blade, flung away by the rush of wind.
Then I heard it. A low wall of rumbling, growing louder as motorcycles hit the rise in the road ahead.
Howlers.
Preacher was in the lead, pack spread out behind him, coming straight toward us in the opposite lane like salvation wrapped in chrome and claws. Relief hit hard enough to piss me off. I called Preacher. “Mayhem’s been hit. Left shoulder.”
“Get him to the clubhouse. He’s now your only priority.”
The pack shot past us, going after the Vendetta. In my mirror, I spotted the Vendetta making fast U-turns before speeding away.
Mayhem laughed but didn’t look so hot. He swayed slightly, his color slowly draining. He wasn’t going to make it through the next block, let alone the three miles to home. Racing past the van, I signaled Merk to stop. He pulled over as Mayhem stopped at the curb behind him.
His bike went down, taking him with it.
“Mayhem!” I was off my bike and running toward him in seconds.
Merk jumped out of the van and cursed.
“What happened?” He opened the back doors.
“He caught a bullet.” We grabbed the heavy motorcycle and yanked it off Mayhem. “We need to get him home where he can shift.”
In his wolf form, the bullet would work its way out, a scar left in its place.
We deadlifted a giant unconscious Mayhem, who’d passed out on the curbside grass. “Fuck, he’s heavy.”
“He’s killing my back,” Merk grunted as we carried him to the van. We hefted him on top of the crates like excess cargo. He hit the boxes in a heap of limbs.
“He’s gonna be pissed if he ever finds out how we just tossed him like a rag doll.” I slammed the doors closed.
Merk glanced at me, the side of his mouth twitching.
“Guess we don’t tell him.”
“Maybe after he heals.” I grinned. “Gotta let him know, I think.”
“What about his hog?”
“I’ll lock his bike. Come back for it later,” I said. “Let’s get moving.”
At least now, if Mayhem shifted, he would be safe inside the van. No crashing or eyewitnesses.
Merk took off as I secured Mayhem’s bike, my anger flaring. The Vendetta had been after our cargo. There wasn’t any other explanation. They’d shown up at the exact location, the precise time, with enough men to quickly lock down the situation.
Why they’d waited so long before making their move was a mystery I didn’t have the energy to solve.
I needed coffee, to make sure Mayhem healed, and my mate tucked safely in my arms.
Running a hand through my hair, I walked back to my bike, glancing toward the strip of stores that hadn’t opened up yet. No witnesses. Good.
One less problem to worry about.