Chapter 7
The next morning, after a few hours of restless sleep, I’m at work teaching a range safety course to a bunch of white collar millionaires who fancy the thrill of walking through a tactical shooting range killing bad guys and saving the concerned citizens of Whoville. Yes, I have twisted a favorite childhood Christmas story into a hostage negotiation / active shooter scenario for my amusement. Fun fact: the Grinch is not the bad guy.
He wasn’t when I was a kid, either.
Every two minutes I glance down at my phone, which I have face up on the table, praying Missy doesn’t text me with distressing news. It took everything within me to leave her last night, but she couldn’t skip out of work and come to Maplewood with me without telling Ma the truth, and that is simply something they can’t do. I only spent ten minutes with the woman, but I believe Missy and Jerry when they say she’ll meet the threat head-on with a flour dusted rolling pin in her hand. Apparently, she’s been Rizona’s matriarch since she was in her forties, and even though the town is dying around her, she refuses to abandon her post on the sinking ship.
Fuck me. How am I going to protect my woman and the people she loves from seventy-five miles away while running my business, which is currently one man deep?
Chadwick walks into the metal container that functions as a classroom and heads to the cinder block basement where I store a militia-worthy armory. I called him at first light and demanded he swing by as soon as possible. He’s wearing his border patrol uniform, an amused smile on his face when faced with six pampered white males strapping on bullet-proof vests.
Are the vests necessary? Of course not. But it completes the illusion of going to battle against the consumer-driven Whos of Whoville. Considering the men assembled—none of whom are from Texas—are millionaires because of rampant consumerism, the entire situation is ironic.
Hence Chadwick’s grin.
“If you gentlemen could get acquainted with your firearms, I’ll be back in a few minutes with ammunition and we can get started.”
I tilt my chin to Chadwick and we walk outside and across the parking lot to a cabin that functions as my office. As soon as we get inside, I spin on Chadwick and shake my head. “What’s the real deal with these drug runners taking over nowhere Texas?”
“What?” his head snaps back, as if I’ve attacked him personally, and in some ways I wonder if I should. I hate to say that about one of my MC brothers, but after meeting a dirty deputy last night, I’m reminded how corrupt this world is and that no one can be trusted. “Is this about that chick in Rizona?”
“Yeah, it is. I met the riff-raff last night and some not-so-veiled threats were made to include having friends here in Maplewood. Considering I also met a dirty cop, it has me wondering exactly how much is flying under our noses around here and why that is?”
“Fuck you. You think I’m dirty?” Chadwick’s jaw tenses and his eyes flare with heat.
I glance down at where his hand rests above his gun, my sidearm holstered slightly higher under my left bicep.
He purposefully pulls his hands back and shows me his palms. “Fucking seriously?”
I sigh. “I’m sorry, but I’m worried about my woman, who lives way too far away for me to protect. With no law enforcement there to rely on, I need to know exactly how bad the situation is and what we’re dealing with—here and there.”
Chadwick leans his ass against my desk, his arms folded across his chest. “There’s a federal task force running it, so it’s above my pay grade. They call on us when they need backup or manning, but otherwise they don’t tell us a lot—at least not at my level. I do know there’s a nationwide network of trafficking—drugs, cash, and people. They’re buying up properties and embedding themselves into dying towns like sleeper cells, doing their best to stay under the radar. Occasionally someone isn’t compliant and they go missing, but it’s rare because dead or missing people with families get reported. They try to ingratiate themselves to people who need the cash and sometimes they push it by drying up any business they already have. That’s all I know.”
“How can I protect Missy?”
He shrugs. “Get her out of there.”
“Fuck.” I run my hand down my face in frustration.
“Look, man. I’ll ask some questions and come to church with what I’ve learned, but that’s the best I can do right now.” He looks up at the ceiling. “Actually, let me ask any of the guys closer to Rizona if they’ll do a few sweeps a few times a day, just to establish a presence.”
“Border Patrol does that?”
“We do all kinds of shit. We fall under Homeland Security, so our scope is wiggly.” He pushes off my desk and shrugs.
“Wiggly is good.” I nod, my head deep in thought. Two days ago I barely knew Rizona existed, or that my woman—and make no doubt about it, she is mine—was living in perpetual danger. Maybe my inability to control the situation is working me up more than it should. Missy, outside of being surprised by her brother-in-law”s potentially criminal side-hustle, isn’t concerned at all. That annoys me more than it should and when she comes to stay with me this weekend, she’s getting a crash course in gun handling and safety, as well as my hand on her ass. Not taking her personal safety seriously isn’t going to fly with me.
As if she knows I’m thinking about her, a text message hits my phone.
Hey you. Lunch rush is about to hit, but everything is fine, as usual. I’ll call you when we get done this afternoon.
By the way, I’ve been thinking about our kiss all morning and wishing we could have continued last night. I’m sorry pie got messed up, but I promise to bring you some this weekend if we’re still on.
??
I stifle a grin and slide my phone into my pocket.
“Oh man. You have it bad,” Chadwick chuckles.
“Shut up.” I open the door to my office with him on my heels, blinded by the hot Texas sun. “If I don’t see you beforehand, see you at church on Thursday.”
“Yep. See you then.” Chadwick walks to his cruiser and is gone before I’m back inside the classroom to complete the group exercise for the day.
Get ready, Mayor Maywho. We got something for your ass.
* * *
Missy and I have video chatted every night. Everything appears to be calm in Rizona, so I have to believe Jerry has the local dirtbags under control. As it is, Missy says neither Danny nor Tony has been in the diner this week and she hasn’t seen either of them hanging around anywhere else either.
I can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing.
Our conversations have been more personal than I’m comfortable having, touching on our childhoods and my time in the system, but with Missy I feel almost safe talking about the good and bad times. Of course, I’ve spared her the truly awful moments between decent foster homes. No one needs to hear about the stuff childhood nightmares are made of, and honestly, I don’t want to rehash them.
They are the past, and I believe she is my future.
“Hey, man.” Chadwick walks into the clubhouse with a rolled up paper in his hand.
“Hey.” I look up from the last text message Missy sent me saying she’d be leaving the house around five and should be in Maplewood no later than seven. I’ve already told Aldis, the Rebel Hearts MC President, that I’d be ducking out early if church runs late.
“This isn’t much, but it’s an unclassified high-level briefing of the threat.” He hands me what is basically a community bulletin for law enforcement types and plops down into the chair next to me. “This is a local problem, but part of a much bigger trafficking organization that spans at least five different crime families. Vasquez out of Mexico, DiFallo out of Chicago, Prizzo out of New York, Martelli out of New Orleans, and the Bartona family out of Miami. Shit is everywhere, and those are only the ones they’re talking about publicly.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, thumbing through the three-page pamphlet.
“It’s a big problem that flies under the radar for most of us. They target people and places without community. The more alone and isolated, the better.”
Aldis stands up and signifies the beginning of our weekly meeting. He makes a couple of statements and then Triton reads the minutes from the last meeting before turning it over to Chance, who reviews the money raised at last weekend’s Poker Run.
Damn, was that only five days ago? It feels like forever since I’ve seen Missy and even longer since I met her. The things I’m feeling I can’t express because I don’t understand them myself. I have a deep need to possess and protect her as my own. She’s mine, I know this, but exactly what does that mean?
“Who was the redhead?”
My head snaps up, and I quickly glance around the room, wondering who I have to kill. “What?”
Aldis chuckles. “Where’s your head, Drak?”
I toss the three-page pamphlet on the table. “We need to talk about the threat encroaching on our small town and setting up camp in smaller towns around us.”
Chadwick sighs and mutters under his breath. “Goddammit.”
“I think we’ve all noticed some stuff, but what are we supposed to do about it?” He glances at the papers and arches his brow.
Shaking my head, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I don’t know, but I don’t like the idea of shit happening right under our noses in our town.”
“Is this about our town or Rizona?”
Fuck. He’s got me there.
Aldis sighs and hands the papers over to Triton. “I agree with you, Drak. This is our town and the people here trust and rely on us to be a deterring presence. But I don’t think looking for trouble is in the best interest of the club or anyone here. If it comes knocking, we’ll answer the call, but we’re not LE and we have no business seeking problems.”
“Why don’t you move Missy here?” Chance asks. He met her last Saturday at the BBQ, but also asked about her when he brought Jessa to my shooting range to teach her how to handle a weapon earlier this week. He has the same ideas I have about arming and protecting our women and is one of the many reasons he and Triton are my best friends.
“It’s not that easy.”
Chance and Triton exchange a look that tells me what I want to hear. The club might not jump into some shit without an invitation, but for me, they will without question. Not that I want it to go that way, but we’ve known each other for too long to not be in sync. I give them a nod, silently letting them know I appreciate their support and drop the subject.
The meeting goes on for another forty minutes and I’m itching to take off. I want to be at the house when Missy arrives so I can welcome her into my home, my bed, and my arms. I pull out my phone and send her a note.
Where are you, babydoll?
Mile marker sixty three.
Great. I’ll leave now and beat you to the house. Remember, it’s the third left after the sign for Line-of-Sight Shooting Range.
Got it. See you soon.
Love youis on my fingertips, but I refrain because the concept is completely foreign to me. Jesus, is that the feeling twisting my gut up in knots? Am I in love with Missy versus merely obsessed? Is that why I’m feeling overly protective of her and out of control without her?
I stand up and slip my phone in my pocket, locking eyes with Triton and Chance. “Gotta go.”
The guys nod. “Have a good weekend.”