Chapter 19
SORRY, YOU WEREN’T INVITED
VIKING
This isn’t the type of distraction I need when my marriage feels like it’s one wrong comment away from dissolving into nothing.
Six years together and an unexpected bump in the road—albeit a kid popping up out of nowhere is a bit more than a bump—has almost been enough to derail us completely.
I thought we were stronger than this, but something about Josie’s reaction isn’t sitting right.
It has me wondering if I’m missing something, and I’m just too overwhelmed to figure it out.
She’s back home, but I might as well be living with a ghost. Every night, she falls asleep in Haley’s room, leaving me to stew in our bed, staring at the ceiling, contemplating whether dragging her to her rightful spot would make things better or worse.
Worse. It would definitely make things worse, which is why I’ve maybe gotten ten hours of sleep over the last few days. By the time I peel my aching body free in the morning, she’s already out the door.
No matter how tense things are between us, Haley and Trenton’s lives have meshed seamlessly. Hales still doesn’t know the scope of things. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. Maybe for her mom to broach the subject. Offer us a united front, even if it’s fake.
Watching my kids together knocks the air from my lungs every time I catch Haley conning Trenton into doing something I’m sure he couldn’t care less about. He might not have experience with siblings or demanding little sisters, but he’s playing the role of dutiful older brother without misstep.
“Get your head in the game, man.” Si swipes my shoulder as we cross paths.
My mind refocuses on tonight. He’s right, I need to get it together. The last thing we need is something stupid, like my distracted mood spooking Steel.
The rhythm of my pacing is swallowed by half the crew as they ready the merchandise for transport. Two more are camped outside watching the perimeter, and another four are spread out along the route from town to make sure we know of anything unexpected headed our way.
“How much longer?” I bark out, not sure who I’m actually demanding the answer from.
“Ten,” Chopper calls back from somewhere behind a stack of crates, his voice pinging off the metal walls as he and the guys do a final check.
The warehouse feels tighter than it should, like the walls are inching in with every passing second. Just a few more and we’ll all be squashed into nothing.
“I want this done,” I snap, dragging a hand down my face.
Silas huffs a soft laugh under his breath, but doesn’t push it. He goes back to quietly observing the flurry of activity before us.
I turn toward the open warehouse door just as the sound of fine-tuned engines rolls in from the distance. It’s a perfect match for the incoming storm. Another reason I’m ready to get this shit loaded and out of here.
Every head in the place tilts, attention snapping toward the sound as it grows closer, until the first set of headlights cuts through the dark outside and spills in through the warehouse’s bay door.
“Positions,” Silas calls out, already moving to meet the Covington crew.
They roll to a stop behind our parked bikes without any hesitation, a box truck following close behind. It backs in slowly, clearing the edges of steel, the warehouse is made out of.
“Let’s get it loaded,” Si calls out, while one of the prospects steps forward, rolling the door to the top before their driver even has the chance to hop out of the truck.
A small group, led by Steel and his second, slips into the warehouse, the rest staying clear outside to join my guys and keep an eye out for anything that might cause this meeting to go sideways.
I step forward to meet them halfway. “Steel.”
“Vik.”
Our hands meet with a jolting clasp before I usher him over to the crates we’ve left open to show him exactly what he’s getting out of this deal.
“It’s all here?” he asks, eyeing the rows of stacked crates my guys meticulously went through this afternoon to ensure it was all accounted for.
“Ready to roll.”
He nods once. “Let’s not drag this out.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The place explodes into movement. Boots scrape against the concrete, crates groan under the four men it takes to lift each box, and the dull thud of wood hitting metal comes quickly as the first load goes up into the box truck.
My guys and his fall into a rhythm like they’ve done this a hundred times before.
We’ve never offloaded our merch to anyone other than the next buyer, but it’s better than it falling into the hands of a foe.
Chopper directs the load, calling out orders like a Marine Sergeant, barking at anyone who gets sloppy.
Silas watches from my side, his keen eye making sure nothing gets left behind and keeping track of the time.
He knows we need to get this out of here as quickly as possible.
All of us in one place is asking for trouble.
“What about your supplier? Ain’t he going to be pissed you’re offloading this shit and not making a direct sale?”
I scoff. “Let’s just say he was very accommodating with the transfer.”
The moment his second got a bullet between the eyes from an unleashed Silas, his tone changed from refusing the adjustment in our arrangement to taking the offer and looking forward to an introduction with Steel. A solution where everyone wins.
Within twenty minutes, the truck’s packed tight and the warehouse floor is damn near empty. Doors slam shut, the sound deafening in the warehouse like the starting gun of a new beginning.
Steel steps up again, after giving orders to his men. He pulls a thick envelope from his cut, handing it over, with a look in his eye that tells me he’s ready to hit the road.
There’s no need to send it off with Silas to count. He’s one of the few out there I trust, and their compound might be a state over, but he knows better than to end this deal on the wrong foot.
“My guy will call you next time he’s ready to bring in a shipment.”
“He got a typical time frame between drops?” Steel asks.
“You’ve got a few weeks, at least. You should be good.”
He turns, calling to his last few men keeping guard, and within seconds, engines roar back to life.
The truck pulls out first, bumping down the dirt road littered with potholes.
The Covington Vipers fall in around it, until they’re gone, taillights fading into the dark, taking some of the tension I’ve had with them.
Silas claps once like a kindergarten teacher trying to round up a classroom of feral children. “Alright, let’s clean it up. I don’t want to see a damn splinter left behind.”
My guys move immediately, just as anxious to get out of here and start the new phase of what club life will look like for a while. They sweep fast, dragging leftover debris out back to the burn pile. Anything that could tie us here disappears within the hour.
The tiny office in the corner gets cleared, the perimeter checked twice over. By the time we’re done, the place looks like it hasn’t seen traffic in months. It’s just an old dilapidated warehouse again.
Chopper drags a hand over his beard, scanning the space one last time. “We’re good,” he confirms, having gotten the all-clear from our men around town watching the route out for the Covington crew, before sending most of our guys on their way.
“Yeah,” Silas agrees, rolling his shoulders. “Too good.”
I glance at him warily. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs, but his body’s stiffer than Bear when there’s a coyote lurking near his ladies. “I just got a feeling.”
There it is again. That same damn itch under my skin, I thought was gone when the box truck pulled away. We need to get out of here, so I can get back home and see if pushing Josie tonight is worth the silence come morning.
Before I can respond, headlights flash across the far wall. Yet, the crunch of tires outside is too heavy to be a bike. Every muscle in my body locks.
“Don’t move,” I mutter to Silas and Chopper, stepping toward the shadows, but it’s too late to make it out the back door.
“Police! Hands where we can see them!” The shout rips through the warehouse, followed by a flood of movement as uniforms pour through the last open door, weapons drawn, voices overlapping.
“Down! Get on the ground!”
“Now!”
Silas swears under his breath, hands already lifting as he slowly drops to his knees. Chopper follows a second later, jaw tight, eyes flicking toward me like he’s waiting for a call that isn’t coming.
We’re not shooting our way out of this. Not tonight, when we’re outmanned and way too close to home.
I raise my hands, lowering myself to the concrete as boots pound closer, the sharp click of cuffs already jangling in my ears.
“Warehouse is clear!” one of them shouts from the office.
I stifle the snort of laughter bubbling in my chest.
“Nothing here!” another calls, the sound of disbelief easy to hear.
“Sir… you’re gonna want to see this.” A portly man radios to whoever’s in charge.
I keep my face blank as someone hauls me to my feet, a rough hand digging into my arm, the cuffs biting my wrists. They drag the three of us toward the center while a couple of officers chase their tails looking for something, anything that would make a case.
Confusion starts to bleed into their movements, and the comedy of it all grasps the three of us. I can see the smug delight in Silas’s eyes and the pinch on Chopper’s lips.
Oh, how I wish the cameras were still up and recording so I could get a copy of this to show the rest of the crew.
“Where the hell is it?” The man of the hour steps over. Sheriff Roger, one of Rosenfeld’s finest.
“Dispatch said—”
“Yeah, I know what dispatch said,” he barks at the young kid who looks wet behind the ears.
He steps up in front of me, eyes hard, searching my face for something I’m not giving him. “You wanna tell me where the rest of it is?”
I don’t answer.
Silas lets out a dry chuckle beside me. “Looks like you boys got a bad invite to the party.”
That earns him a shove, before he’s jolted back into the officer’s reach.
“Shut up,” Rogie boy mouths off, not keeping his cool in the moment.
Another officer jogs up, shaking his head, sweat beading his brow. “We got nothing. No guns. No drugs. Just… a whole lot of empty warehouse.”
His fury explodes, radiating around our little circle, holding everyone in place.
“Take them in. I think we’ll sort this at the precinct.”
I catch Silas’s eye as they start dragging us toward the door, shaking my head to keep him in check. Chopper falls in step on my other side, silent but steady.
They have no case. No probable cause. One call to Ghost will have the cuffs off in an instant. But I have a feeling our one phone call won’t be granted until we’ve spent some time sweating it out in the lovely county lock-up.
What a fucking night.