23. Chapter 22
Trick
I rev my bike as I follow our full van off the intersection towards Rose Hill. We’ll stop here for half an hour out of town to meet up with Psycho, the VP of the Dark Angels, in a different spot than last time while keeping an eye on our surroundings.
We’re taking ammo to the Dark Angel’s, something we don’t normally do, but this time around, due to some shit that went down with Fury's woman and Blade's mama. She’s hospitalized because of some fucked up patch chasers, who should be lucky they are now dead. So, they needed us to do the drop off, which we don’t mind doing.
After speaking with the Cartel last week, Cage managed to convince them to drop over four hundred pounds of ammo and over five hundred guns at one of our warehouses instead of The Dark Angels riding out to meet them.
We had our most trusted prospects, whom I supervised, handle half the shipment and load it up.
I rev my bike to keep up as we drive around a large bend. Blaze is at the front, Crash to the left, then my dad to the right, who demanded to come this time round during church two days ago. Apparently, he wants to spend more time with me or some shit, while two prospects are in the van.
We’ve been on the road nearly three hours after getting stuck in traffic, my back hurts, my knees ache, and I fucking miss my wife like crazy.
This her doing nights shit—I don’t think I like it. I really fucking don’t. My therapist said it would be good for both of us to have some distance, so we can miss each other after I basically blindsided my wife when I refused a divorce, something she thought I’d want but I still don’t like it.
It was weird as shit waking up with Willow snuggled up to me instead of her this morning. Don’t get me started when I tried to do the girl’s hair in a bun. Her mama always perfects it, whereas me, I fucked it up big time.
I’ve never seen such disdain from my five-year-old before and I had to call Clark’s mom. She was definitely shocked, but there was no way I was calling my mom. Drew has just had a baby, so I didn’t call her either even though I know she would have gotten me to take Willow to her in an instant.
It was just a cluster fuck, and then there was the clothes I’d gotten out for her.
Fuck me, my child was acting like a teenager when she scolded me for trying to put her in jeans and a tee, and again, my mother-in-law had to take over, dressing her in her leotard and a skirt.
I swear, give me a fucking boy any day…
I check my mirrors as we turn right, but frown seeing the same black truck I saw when we got five minutes out of town, but quickly disappeared.
Suspicion builds deep in my gut, a feeling my dad taught me, despite ignoring Mom’s fucked up ways, not to ignore, and I quickly press the button on the bike that I had wired.
“Yeah?” Blaze answers instantly, and I check my mirrors again, the truck growing closer, but with the blacked-out windows, I can’t see jack shit, and that feeling pulls deeper.
“Black Ford truck I mentioned when we left town, but had disappeared, is back behind us, and something doesn’t feel right, brother, take the next right and see if they follow,” I say.
“Got it!” he growls in return before the van goes right, and I follow suit while looking in my mirrors only to curse.
“They’re fucking following us,” I say, and within seconds the van turns at the next left, and I follow suit again while keeping a subtle eye on the fuckers behind that follow without indicating, and my jaw ticks.
Fuck, we’ve got hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of gear in that van, meaning I’m going to have to do something stupid that will most likely have me in the doghouse.
Shit.
“Keep going and call Blade, let him know we have a follower and need back up. I’ll distract them with Crash’s help,” I grunt, then hang up before he can disagree, also knowing how my wife can go from zero to sixty in seconds with her temper.
Revving my bike loudly, Crash turns his head my way, and I subtly nod behind us, and his posture stiffens as he nods back in understanding, just as the van picks up speed and I know Blaze has, too.
Dad looks my way. I shake my head. He also stiffens but picks up his speed to follow the van listening to his VP and not his son because that van is more important right now. I slow down slightly, Crash does the same.
We’re on a backroad, no pedestrians, which will change in around five miles, so now is the time, I guess.
Fuck Clark is going to kill me if I get hurt.
Revving my bike, I quickly brake and turn the handlebars, skidding in a half-circle and facing off with the truck, hoping to distract them until Blade can arrive.
Crash follows suit and I wheelspin on the spot just as a gunshot goes off. I quickly grab my gun from my holster and swerve as the bullet skims my shoulder, making me grit my teeth.
Keeping one hand on the bike, I aim my gun at the truck’s tire and fire. Crash does the same. The left front tire pops, and the truck swerves, but they don’t stop. Instead, the truck swerves and drives toward us.
Son of a…
Instead of backing away, I gun the engine and drive straight for them, keeping my gun aimed at their vehicle. I fire another shot at the windshield, fucking hoping it isn’t bulletproof.
The window shatters, proving the idiots are amateurs and the truck swerves again, this time directly toward Crash.
Fuck.
He quickly moves out of the way and comes up next to me and I swallow the fear that rushes through me. Even knowing my wife still isn’t one hundred percent with the fucker, she doesn’t want to lose him, and neither do I.
I give him a quick glance—he nods, confirming he’s good just as the truck zips past us. I twirl my finger in the air, brake hard, and turn my handlebars. My foot skims the asphalt as I turn back to find the truck already coming our way.
A skinny fucker is at the helm, looking scared as he grips the steering wheel tightly while some stocky guy in the passenger seat has his gun out of the window. The Charger tattoo symbol is as clear as day on the side of his face.
Why in the fuck would he get it tattooed on his face?
Did he lose a bet?
Wait, that shouldn’t be my main fucking focus right now…
I shake my head and rev towards the fuckers, my wheels spinning as I race at them. I lift my gun, trying to keep control of the bike—I don't need to wipe out— and I fire three rounds.
One bullet hits the skinny guy's arm, making him swerve. The other two bullets strike the stocky fucker in the chest but before he goes down, though, he manages to fire off three shots of his own.
One bullet skims my left leg, the other hits the front of my bike while the third… Fuck.
I choke as an overbearing, hot, searing pain hits my chest, and I swerve losing control of my bike. Crash’s “Trick!” just hits my ears as I hit the ground hard and land with a thump, and I groan as my bike skids past me.
Son of a bitch.
Coughing in pain, I look ahead of me and I notice the truck is on its roof, both men not moving, the skinny one half through the windshield, not far from where I’ve landed, as Crash gently moves me onto my back, and I cough again as the pain gets worse then I groan, my chest burning making it difficult to breathe.
Fuck me.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Crash curses as he gently removes my helmet, and I squeeze my eyes tight as I choke, “Fuck, your sister is going to kill me…”
“Not if the bullet does first!” he snaps as he presses something against my chest, and I groan as the searing pain makes it difficult to breathe even more.
Fuck that hurts, like a lot.
“What fucking happened?!” I hear Psycho shout and I blink then blink again seeing the large fucker running my way and I choke, “Well, I killed the stocky fucker w-who clearly lost a bet but not before he shot three rounds at me…”
“Bullet to the chest,” Crash snaps just as I choke, “He did lose the bet, right? B-because surely he-he wasn’t stupid e-enough to tat his crest over half his face?”
“Will you forget the fucking Charger!” Crash snaps, and I squeeze my eyes tight.
“Can’t,” I gasp, “because t-this shit hurts…”
“Shit, we need to get him back to the clubhouse,” Psycho snaps, “but funny enough, yours is fucking closer. Can you stabilize him?”
“I-I don’t fucking know,” Crash panics as dizziness takes hold, my girls' mesmerizing dark green eyes hitting.
“I-I should have claimed Clark sooner,” I choke full of regret.
“No!” Crash snaps just as I hear my dad shout, “Miles!” and Psycho says, “You’re a resident, right, brother? Tell him how to stabilize you, now before you pass out!”
I feel someone skid beside me before my dad grabs my face, and he panics, “What happened?”
“Lick step back!” Crash demands before anyone can say anything, and he pulls him back as I groan. Crash takes his place and demands, “Okay, brother, tell me what to do,”
***
“Trick!” I hear screamed as I’m carried through the clubhouse doors just as Cage demands, “Okay, fill me in.”
“Crash stabilized him with his help,” I hear Psycho explain, just as I hear Crash snap, “Answer your fucking phone, Belle!” and I lean my head to the side, the struggle to breathe fucking difficult.
“Let me get to my man!” I hear Lavender cry, and if I wasn’t in so much fucking pain, I’d roll my eyes.
“Fuck off he isn’t your man and claiming him like that will have you thrown out of the club!” I hear my mom snap, which is just shocking, and I feel myself being lowered onto a bed, and I groan again.
“The bullet is still in his chest, and Belle isn’t answering, we need Clark,” Crash chokes just as I hear him say, “Little sis, I need you not to panic.”
“Fuck me, he did not just say that to Trick's wife,” Psycho mutters, and yeah, I do manage to roll my eyes this time.
“She’s going to-to skin him,” I choke and Psycho chuckles, though it sounds forced and he inspects my wound as I close my eyes, my dad’s, “Son, fucking stay with me, you need to tell us what to do next,” but I don’t listen, needing a little nap just as I hear Cage state, “Little bird, I need a huge favor, can you get Willow from school and keep her at ours? Trick’s been shot. ”