Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
The Sloan Canyon National Conservation Area always seemed strange to Marco.
It was dark, deserted, and, in the daylight, awe inspiring.
At night, it was a little creepy, seeming so remote and vast—like an angry desert just waiting to trap him into a fate of wandering those desolate grounds for eternity.
Or maybe he was just worried about all he’d done in life, fearing hell awaited him.
Either way, he didn’t love the canyon.
He tried reminding himself that it wasn’t as remote as it seemed. Just north of it, on the west side, were suburbs with quaint homes, nice families, and folks just trying to live the American dream.
But he was on the southeast side now, and there wasn’t shit out there.
Just keep it together. This’ll all be over soon.
Paul tapped his shoulder. “Look alive.”
Ahead, Marco saw a van that had been backed into a box canyon so that its nose was facing Marco’s SUV.
The headlights were off, but there was enough light for him to see the eight to ten motorcycles that were parked around the van, their riders casually straddling them or leaning against them as they waited.
“I don’t like this,” he said. “The way we’re closed in like this.”
“Yeah. One way in, one way out,” Benny noted. “Good place for an ambush.”
“It’s a good spot,” Paul said. "Concealed. This is federal land. We don’t want the damn park rangers stumbling on us.”
That was true, Marco realized. Those same qualities that would make it difficult to quickly scramble out of that small box canyon also made it difficult for anyone to see what was going on down there unless they got really close.
Maybe it was a smart setup.
Maybe…
Marco glanced in the rearview mirror and was happy to see the other SUV hadn’t followed him straight in, instead hanging back like he’d told them to. If they were following his instructions—and he had no reason to think they wouldn’t—they were parked and spreading out, guns ready just in case.
“All right. Remember, fan out,” he said as he went to kill the engine.
He stopped short of turning the vehicle off, though. It was best to let it idle. It only took a second to push the start button, but if things went bad, seconds counted.
His shoes crunched loudly on the ground as he slid out of the car. Instead of standing directly in the headlight’s beams, he stayed to the side, but more lights came on from the motorcycles, and suddenly the canyon was awash in brightness.
“You Marco?” The question came from a tall, tone man who wore ripped jeans, a tank top, and prerequisite leather vest with the MC’s patch on it, along with a few others denoting various things that Marco had no clue about.
“Yeah.”
“I’m Talon.”
Marco nodded.
“We doing this?” Talon asked.
The biker stepped closer and Marco briefly sized him up. Something was off about him. He was too… clean. His eyes darted to the rest of the guys, all dressed similarly. A few moments ticked by before he put his finger on what was bothering him.
All the men had the same look—tone and fit. And the clothes weren’t quite right. It was almost as if they were cosplaying bikers, but they didn’t wear the look authentically.
“Doing what?” Marco asked.
“Closing this deal.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Marco told him.
“Hey, what the fuck, man?” Talon’s boots skidded loudly atop the loose gravel that lay strewn on the hard-packed earth as he came even closer. “You called us out here to jerk us off?”
Marco shook his head. “Trust me, dude, you’re not my type.”
Benny chuckled. Paul stayed frozen and silent, and Marco darted his eyes over to him long enough to see that his mentor was probably just as uneasy as he was.
“Are we going to do business or not?” Talon demanded.
Marco shook his head. “I’m telling you, I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re just three guys who got lost out here.”
Obviously picking up on Marco’s concerns—and probably having the exact same ones—Paul added, “Yeah. We’re trying to get to Vegas. We want to have a guys’ night out, you know? The wives keep us on a pretty short leash but they’re out of town. So, when the cats are away…”
It was a good performance, and Marco almost laughed.
The bikers didn’t seem to buy it, though.
“We didn’t fucking drive all this way for bullshit. Now you have meth to sell and we have cash to buy. Come on.”
It took a second for what Talon had said to sink in.
You have meth. We have cash.
“We don’t have any meth. That’s illegal.
If you’re struggling with addiction, I recommend you seek treatment.
” He was particularly proud of that last line, though he didn’t think it was going to do a bit of good.
The die had been cast here. It would be a miracle if they made it out of this thing not in handcuffs.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Talon said.
In the movies, when people draw guns, there’s always that clicking noise, the sound certain firearms make when pulling a slide back.
In real life, any law enforcement agent worth their salt already would have their weapon ready.
There’s no sound, just the sight of deadly steel pointing right at you, the men on the other side of it ready to fire if necessary.
This wasn’t the first time Marco had ever experienced it. But he sure hadn’t grown accustomed to it.
His blood ran cold.
“Federal agents! Hands where we can see them! Now!” Talon yelled.
Looking at Paul and then Benny, Marco asked, “Why is it everyone is pointing a gun except us?”
The other men didn’t answer, but Talon did. “It’s because you’re under arrest.”
The van doors opened and more men hopped out, one of them holding the leash of a German Shepherd who already seemed eager to get to the SUV.
Shaking his head, Marco complied with the officers and turned his back on the dog, waiting for someone to jerk his arms back roughly, cuff him, and then search him.
He didn’t need to see what was going to happen next; he already knew.
There was meth in that SUV. Because, like a damn sucker, he’d played right into Niko’s hands.
Marco had been set up.