12. Basher
BASHER
What Marcus failed to mention was that they were driving from Baton, New Mexico, to Phoenix, Arizona—a good eight-and-a-half-hour drive, give or take.
That meant being stuck in a van with four muscular dudes in the dead of summer. Not something that any sane person would recommend. To make matters worse, Blade kept munching on those god-forsaken, cheesy-puff-like orange things.
“I swear, if you blow your breath on me one more time, I’m going to knock your teeth out the back of your head,” Basher snarled, not giving a shit if his boss up front heard him threaten his brother-in-law’s life.
Yes, somehow, Marcus had managed to tie himself and his little brother to this… gigantic man-child.
Blade puckered his lips and gave Basher an air kiss.
“Blade, stop egging on the new guy. He murdered three people while locked up in prison,” Marcus said over his shoulder from the front of the van.
That was totally a lie, but what did Blade know?
“I’m just bondin’ back here with my new buddy.” Blade chuckled, tossing another handful of sugary air into his mouth.
“How much longer till we get there?” Basher asked, turning toward the front while continuing to mentally calculate the most efficient way to murder Blade and somehow make it look like a tragic accident.
There had to be a way.
Caden checked the GPS. “About twenty minutes.”
“Good,” Basher grunted, trying to keep his gaze from drifting back to the man who currently had his head buried in the bag as he held it up over his mouth, trying to get every last crumb.
Seriously, what did Ace see in the guy? He must have a really big dick or something.
He’s not smart, not particularly good-looking, and judging by his manners…
Basher returned to mentally murdering the man in his mind.
“Okay, listen up. Here’s the plan,” Marcus said, folding the piece of paper he’d been reading and tucking it into the front pocket of his jeans.
“The guys we’re going to see hijacked a truck carrying one of our shipments headed to the Las Vegas crew. Rumor is they knew exactly who the cargo belonged to and decided to steal it anyway.”
A grim smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“So, I’m going to have a little chat with their boss and find out what happened to our shipment. If they still have it, we’ll be taking it back. If they don’t…” He shrugged. “We’re going to crack some heads until somebody tells us where it went.”
Blade gave a hoot beside Basher, while Caden added a “Fuckin’ right!”
“Bash? Are you good with getting a little messy?” Marcus asked, throwing an evil grin over at him.
“Arlene’s been dying for a little attention,” he said with a grin, dragging his hand along the surface, like he was promising her something violent and satisfying.
“Arlene?” Blade asked, looking down at his bat.
Basher smirked. “Yeah. She’s one tough bitch who’s always looking for a fight.”
Blade nodded with a smile.
“I hear ya, brother.” He pulled out the blades from behind his back. “These are my babies. They are the baddest fuckers you will ever meet.”
“Nice to meet you both, ladies,” Basher responded, tilting his head toward them in reverence.
“You two are fucking weird,” Caden muttered from the front seat.
Basher gave him the finger.
Twenty minutes later, they parked outside an auto body shop run by the crew believed to have stolen the laptop shipment intended for Basher’s crew out in Vegas.
Marcus had arranged for an employee at a major computer company to “accidentally” reroute a shipment to the Death Cruisers MC. The merchandise was meant as payment for a drug run Bradly and his crew were handling for him.
Since the shipment never made it to Vegas, Marcus was still on the hook for the money—an unacceptable position to be in.
Hence the muscle.
Hence the firepower.
He needed to make an example of these punks. Show other crews that the Shadow Vipers were not to be messed with.
There was power in fear. And if one was going to survive in the criminal underworld, fear was what kept people in line.
Climbing out of the van, the four men crossed the lot and strode up to the open bay doors. They stopped just inside the entrance, their presence alone enough to draw the attention of the two grease-stained mechanics working inside.
Both men looked up from their work, confused.
Basher stood behind Marcus with his bat resting across one shoulder, a deep scowl carved into his face.
He said nothing. He didn't need to. Between his size, the weapon, and the cold look in his eyes, he was already delivering the message Marcus wanted them to hear.
The conversation hadn't even started, and the threat was already hanging in the air.
“So, which one of you is going to get me your boss?” Marcus asked, his voice deep and menacing.
The shorter of the two glanced at his buddy before nodding and quickly disappearing into the back.
Basher took in his surroundings, eyes catching on the man slowly moving in behind them.
The idiot didn’t think anyone was aware of his presence.
A moment later, a cocky-looking man emerged from the back, wearing dirty coveralls and gripping a large metal pipe.
Man, these guys really were stupid, Basher thought to himself, still tracking the man’s movements behind him without letting on that he was aware of his presence.
“I hear you’re lookin’ for me,” the man announced without even introducing himself.
Marcus took a step into the bay.
There were two cars being worked on; one was raised on a hoist—most likely to have its oil changed. The other sat in the spot next to it, the driver’s-side door open as if waiting for someone to hop inside.
“Yeah. I hear your crew took something that wasn’t yours last night,” Marcus growled, arms crossed at his chest, muscles bulging like they were ready to strangle somebody.
“So what if we did?” the man responded, shrugging his shoulders like Marcus was stupid and wasting his time.
Marcus lowered his arms and reached for the gun he had tucked away in the back of his jeans.
In one smooth motion, he brought it around and aimed it at the man claiming to be in charge.
“Then you have about thirty seconds to tell me where it is before me and my crew show you what happens when you steal from the Shadow Vipers.”
The man in front of them smirked. He drew a gun of his own and pointed it at Marcus.
“You’re not the only one who’s carrying.”
Before Basher could react, a small metallic object shot past his head and struck the crew leader square in the hand.
A scream tore from his throat as the gun slipped from his grasp. He clutched his wounded hand, staring in horror at the knife lodged deep in it as blood streamed down his wrist.
“No, he’s not.” Blade chuckled from behind Basher.
Marcus raised a hand.
“Now, before anyone else gets a brilliant idea,” he said, his voice calm and measured, “does someone want to tell me where my merchandise is?”
He slowly swept his gaze across the room, studying the stunned men standing there with their mouths hanging open.
From the corner of Basher’s eye, he caught the man behind him moving in for his surprise attack.
Basher whipped around, swinging his bat hard into the attacker’s face.
The impact sent the man sprawling, blood spraying from his shattered jaw as he collapsed to the ground, crying out in pain and agony.
Marcus and the rest of the crew jumped, caught off guard by the attack from behind. When they realized what was happening, rage erupted—and all hell broke loose.
Caden, Marcus, and Blade lunged toward the men in the shop, using their fists to rearrange their faces.
Basher focused on the man who was currently trying to collect his teeth from the ground. He punched the guy in the back of the head, then jumped on him, beginning his one-man fighter audition.
The guy under him barely resisted. It was almost sad. Basher figured he’d even things out and let Arlene sit this one out—she’d already had her moment, her sharp, decisive surprise. He took over from there, using his fists and head to keep the punishment coming.
“Please! Stop!” someone shouted from inside the garage. “It’s behind the shop. The truck. Please!”
Basher glanced up just in time to see the smallest of the crew staring up into Caden’s bloody fist, his own face bleeding and puffy, and looking like he was ready to pass out at any moment.
Marcus, on the other hand, continued to beat the piss out of the leader of the crew. Apparently, he didn’t hear the plea for mercy—or didn’t care.
“Keys now,” Blade ordered, sticking out his hand and waiting for the sniveling whiner to give him what he asked for.
The guy hobbled to a desk in the far corner of the auto shop and swiped a set of keys off the surface.
He tossed them at Blade, choosing to stay as far away from the blade thrower as possible.
Marcus finally stopped beating the leader’s face in. He grabbed the dude’s gun and shoved it into the back of his jeans.
“That’s for making me come all this way to collect what’s mine. If you or your crew ever fuck with me and my business ever again, we won’t come back asking so nicely,” Marcus growled into the beaten leader’s ear. “Do you comprendé?”
The man nodded, sweat and blood dripping into his eyes. His left one was swollen, and his lips were a horrid shade of purple, blue, and scarlet red.
Marcus stood and turned to his crew. “Grab the truck, and let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Caden grabbed Blade’s… blades, wiping the blood on the leg of his jeans before passing them back to his buddy.
Apparently, those were his favorite blades, and the man always made a habit of retrieving them from whichever bleeding body they were currently occupying.
Whatever. The guy was weird.
Basher slung Arlene over his shoulder and sauntered back to their van. It was time for them to go grab a beer.
Hopefully.
Looking down at his shirt, Basher grimaced.
Perhaps they should shower and change out of their bloody clothes first. Might make things less awkward when ordering a drink.