Chapter Ten
Noa
Eating was a mistake.
With a full stomach, I was suddenly feeling the grittiness in my eyes, the heaviness of my limbs, the way my brain went sluggish.
But there was no time for a nap. Not with such a big shipment in the wind.
So I bummed a giant stainless steel tumbler from the clubhouse and made myself forty ounces of coffee to take with me before we all headed out to the driveway.
“I’d offer to drive,” Caymen said as he rounded my car’s hood. “But I think you’ve proven that you should be the one behind the wheel.”
I liked that.
How easily he let me take the lead.
Without grumbling and making it clear he thought it threatened his masculinity.
With that, we headed back toward Miami once again.
“Why is your club so far out of Miami?” I asked.
“From my understanding, they had a clubhouse there. Back before they created the club, Huck, McCoy, Che, and Remy stripped cars. So they had a garage that had apartments above it. But something went down that led to the place getting blown up. Instead of rebuilding, they decided to move. I guess so they can see threats coming more easily, since it’s a little more rural out here. ”
“That makes sense, I guess. Must have been a blow to see them building across the street. I’m a little disappointed I didn’t meet any of your old man admirers.”
“Oh, they’re probably heading over now. They wake up at the fucking crack of dawn. While we’re still trying to sleep off the night before.”
“Do they let themselves in?”
“Usually someone else does. Or we find them hanging out by the pool when someone comes down.”
“It’s kind of cute that you guys entertain it.”
“Figure, if I’m old as dirt, I’d want someone to help me feel young again.”
“I can’t see myself becoming an old lady who sits and ogles the neighbor men while doing yard work.”
“Dunno, babe. Think the horny old person phase comes for us all. Might have something to do with seeing the clock ticking down and not giving a fuck anymore.”
“Yeah, probably. I hear that STDs are a big problem in retirement homes because everyone is banging. Which, hey, good for them. But also… wrap it up. God, it’s getting so hot already,” I grumbled, reaching over to turn the air up.
“You like the colder weather more?”
“God, no. I like a perfect fifty to seventy degrees. Anything else is excessive and unnecessary. But according to my research, the only place with that kind of weather is San Francisco. And I’m not dealing with that kind of traffic.
So… I just need to constantly be close to a well-working air conditioning unit. You like the heat?”
“I’m used to it. I’ve never lived anywhere with winters, so this is all I’ve known. These guys, they live in an apartment?”
“They rent this little bungalow. It’s actually pretty cute. But all four of them are packed into a one-bedroom. With no air.”
“So, you’re really looking—whoa,” he said when I slammed on the brakes. “The fuck?”
“There’s a tree chicken in the road,” I said, nodding toward where the massive iguana was resting, soaking up the sun like he wasn’t blocking a whole roadway.
“Tree chicken,” Caymen chuckled. “Honk at it, it should scurry off.” Sure enough, he scuttled away into the brush at the side of the road. “Not used to the local wildlife yet?”
“I kind of like the iguanas, actually. I mean, I know they’re invasive, but they’re kinda cool. It’s the snakes, gators, and crocs that freak me out.”
“You mostly don’t have to interact with them.”
“Not when I live on a top floor, at least,” I agreed, turning down a quiet side street where the bungalow was located.
Velle and York weren’t far behind us.
“I know you’re not gonna like hearing this, but I don’t want you going in alone,” Caymen said when we were all parked on the street outside the sweet little yellow bungalow with the white picket fence and charmingly overgrown gardens.
One look at his face told me all I needed to know: he wasn’t going to give in on this.
“Fine. But just you. You guys can do a perimeter check,” I told York and Velle, who fell in line with the plan, no questions asked. “Huh.”
“What?”
“If I knew employees would follow orders so well, I might not have gone into this game solo,” I admitted as I reached for the doorknob.
I had my gun in a holster because I didn’t want to startle these guys if they were on something and paranoid.
Caymen gave me a nod, and I pushed the door in.
The interior was much like it had been the last time I’d been around.
Cluttered, but not overly dirty. Aside from the collection of beer bottles on the coffee table, there was no trash strewn about.
Just lots of clothes and junk that came with the territory when you had two men trying to store all their belongings in the living room.
“Timmy?” I called. “Mikey? Dwayne? Dustin?” I called as we walked through the living room, checked the minuscule kitchen, then the hall bathroom. “It’s Noa. We need to talk.”
But there would be no talking.
The bedroom was empty.
When we circled back to the kitchen to lean out the back door, York gave us a head shake. There was no one out back either.
“What is it?” Caymen asked when I stared out at the yard, at the strip where the grass was dead from being shaded.
“The camper. It’s gone.”
Part of me wanted to believe that it was just because they’d needed it to get the guns again. The other part of me was sick with the thought that they could not only drive that thing, but live in it. As they transported those guns… anywhere.
They had hours and hours of a head start on us. They could be any number of places—moving across the South, heading up the East Coast. There was no telling.
“Fuck,” I snapped, slamming the door. “You fucking idiots.”
They were going to walk away with this deal with well over a hundred thousand bucks. It was more money than any of them had ever seen before. For doing… almost nothing.
They were going to throw away a done deal for just a little more money?
The sad thing was, they wouldn’t even get that money.
They were too inexperienced. They didn’t even know the names of the guns they had.
Someone else was going to take advantage of that and steal their shit.
If not kill them. And as pissed as I was with them, I didn’t want them to die for their stupidity.
“We will find them,” Caymen said, sounding a lot more sure than I felt.
“How? How are we going to find them? This is Florida. There are thousands of campers on the road. And they are hours ahead of us.”
“Alright,” Caymen said, hands going to my shoulders. “Don’t make me be the voice of reason here. That isn’t a strength of mine.”
“This is bad, Caymen.”
“Yeah. But it isn’t the end of the world.”
“Says the person who isn’t getting deliberately shot at and hit by a car. You were collateral damage. I was the target.”
“Not disagreeing with you. Just saying that you aren’t alone in this. And the club and Zayn will throw everything they have at this now that we know the guys are on the run. Why don’t you look around for any clues while I call this into Huck?” he suggested.
I nodded, glad for a few minutes to try to pull myself together.
I moved through the living room, inspecting any stray papers lying around. I went through the trash in the kitchen and bedroom.
But aside from a receipt for a suspiciously large amount of sushi, there was nothing even remotely telling around.
“What’s that? Sushi?” he asked.
“It’s the amount,” I told him. “Trust me, those guys couldn’t afford that much sushi unless they were looking at a payday.”
“It’s from last night.”
“Yep.”
“Alright. Huck is sending York and Velle to go hit up Arty.”
“The slob?”
“Yeah. We will see what he can do about street cameras around here or the warehouse. Trust me, Arty is good at what he does. And I’m sure Zayn knows someone who can work on it too. This isn’t over. But I do think maybe you need a break. Stop,” he said when my eyes narrowed at him.
“Stop what?”
“Getting all pissy when we both know you need some sleep. I need some too. No shame in that.”
“I’ll sleep when I have the guns back.”
He wasn’t wrong, though.
Each thought was steeped in molasses, fighting me every time I tried to pluck one out.
Outside, I heard Velle and York’s bikes roaring to life. Likely off to talk to Arty.
“Why don’t we head back to the club—”
“No.”
“Noa…”
“Caymen…”
“You fucking stubborn ass,” he said, laughing, as he followed me to the front door.
“I won’t be able to sleep,” I told him as we walked down the front path. “I barely sleep as it is. With something like this hanging over my head? Forget about it.”
“Alright, I just—” He paused as we both opened our doors.
His body tensed.
My gaze followed his.
And there it was.
A car that looked suspiciously like the one from the night before.
We were both moving before saying anything, dropping into our seats.
I reached with one hand to start the engine and the other to strap myself in.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” I grumbled as I threw it into reverse.
“The fuck are you doing?” he asked as I swung into a K-turn.
“It’s a dead-end street.”
Maybe I really did need sleep.
Because a rested me would never have been so stupid as to park toward the end of a no-exit street. I should have parked near the corner for an easy exit in case shit went down.
“It might not be them,” Caymen said, even as we both saw the same blackout windows. And the strip of paint down the side where I’d scratched them when driving past. “Shit.”
“There’s no way to have a car chase like last night. Not with the usual traffic,” I said, even as I gunned it toward the car.
“Still gotta try to lose them. Get down,” he demanded as we got close to the car.
But I was already lowering myself in the seat as I blew through the stop sign and said a silent prayer that there was no traffic coming, since I couldn’t see.
It was all hyper-focus then, weaving up and down roads while trying not to mow down pedestrians jaywalking all over the place.
I’d been right, though.