Junkyard Riders #9
When I finished, he tapped his morphon and pulled up a weather forecast. I hadn’t checked the weather since Cupcake and Amos took off, and there had been a winter system brewing in Canada at the time.
According to the screen on Jagger’s personal unit, that winter storm was coalescing into a blizzard of ice, snow, and hurricane winds.
Eventually it would roll toward the east coast and blanket everything east of the Mississippi and the Ohio River Valley to reach the Atlantic.
Most of it would hit north of us, but we’d get the fringes when it eventually descended.
Even then, we’d have plenty of warning and time to make plans.
“If I want to get to the mine before the Dark Riders,” Jagger said, “maybe stop them along the way, help Cupcake and Amos, I need to leave now.”
Without lifting his head, he looked up at me from under his brows. “You can’t leave anymore. You have responsibilities here. I’ll need backup. Who owes you a favor?” A favor, because this wasn’t motorcycle club business. It was roadhouse business, meaning it was on me. This was personal.
I laughed tonelessly. “I didn’t kill Marconi’s daughter today. Does that count?” Of course, she was being medically altered by Jolene and the red cat, but I didn’t say that.
“That counts, and that means me,” Jacopo said.
“My sister might want to kill me but she’s still my sister.
I’ll contact Enrico. See where he is, in relation to Four County Mine.
Maybe he can make it in time for the party.
” He didn’t sound happy about it, but with the storm rolling south, he and his brother were my only bets.
“While you’re talking to your dad, tell him you saw your sister and she’s okay. I’m supposed to let them know before sunset and I’d rather you talk to your mom.”
“You scared of my mama?” Jacopo demanded.
“Terrified,” I said, totally serious.
Jacopo laughed. “Me too.” He shoved his empty plate and glass away, stood, and walked to the men’s room.
Jagger and I were alone. I sat and met his eyes. “Thank you. I know you have other responsib—”
Faster than human, Jagger reached out a hand, gripped the back of my neck, and yanked me out of my chair, into his lap.
His mouth landed on mine. His tongue plunged into my mouth, tasting of Velvet Claws stout.
His fingers gripped the hair on the back of my head and held me to him, his lips bruising mine, his fist on my head a vise, holding me close, the rings on his hand hard on my scalp.
I sighed into him. He softened against me.
We softened together. The kiss became deeper. More gentle.
Longing and need infused us both as our nanos came together, merging.
“Not that I want to stop you two. I enjoy a good porn as much as the next guy. But we need to hit the road, Enforcer.”
Jacopo. In the roadhouse.
I put a hand to Jagger’s chest but he didn’t pull away. He started laughing, into my mouth, a vibration against my palm. I started laughing too. I finished the kiss and gently eased away a couple centimeters. “Hey, Asshole,” I said.
Still laughing, he gathered me up and stood, holding me like a baby, one arm under my legs, the other supporting my shoulders, his mouth descending on mine again.
He walked to the front door, boots ringing, and Jacopo opened them for us.
Icy air blew in. and silly giggles came from the corner.
The wannabees were still here. They couldn’t have heard anything we said, but they were seeing me hauled around like a toddler. Undignified. I didn’t care.
Jagger let my lower half slide down his body until my boots hit the ground, leaving me in no doubt that he didn’t want to leave. “Little Girl, hold that thought. I’ll be back and we can talk then.”
“Sure we can,” I said, stepping back. “Because we’re so good at talking.
” Which we weren’t, not at all. But the sex?
Yeah. We were good at that. “Go on,” I said.
“Head out. I’ll be on your six as fast as I can.
If the new comms systems works, I’ll ping you.
Otherwise, Jolene will try to contact you. ”
Jagger didn’t reply. Jacopo handed him his weapons, retrieved from the weapons locker while I was lost in bliss.
Jagger went to his bike and straddled it, which made all sorts of things down low in me go supple and heated.
He powered up his Harley One Rider and puttered away, his helmet strapped to the back of his seat.
Behind him, Jacopo followed. But I didn’t look at Mina’s brother. Not once.
When the sound of bikes had faded into the distance, I turned and went back through the roadhouse into the office, pouring a second cup of joe.
This one had sat too long, but I didn’t care.
I opened the system and tapped the key to try the EntNu comms system that Cupcake and Amos took to trade with the miners.
I waited. I wasn’t good at waiting, so I opened every cam on the property and arranged them in an order that seemed reasonable.
I filed and painted my nails a vibrant orange.
Let the neutered cats out of the medbay and placed them in the back airlock to wake up, with water, a litterbox, and a tin of sardines.
I figured that losing your balls deserved some kind of treat.
When I had lost all patience, I stabbed the system board again, with a gorgeous nail, and this time, a sound of white noise came over the speakers.
I knew that sound. EntNu had just gone live.
I said, “SS, here. SS.” SS for Shining Smith, in case someone else was listening in.
I probably should have said, “Over,” but what the heck.
A good ten seconds later a voice said, “Red’s Old Lady here.” It was Cupcake, using the only other name I had known her by. “We have a deal,” she said.
I blew out a satisfied breath. The miners and Cupcake had reached an equitable trade agreement for their coal and metamaterials.
Both were worth a fortune on the black market.
If the Dark Riders didn’t get there first. “That’s better than good, Old Lady.
But you and your new Old Man are going to have uninvited guests.
A round dozen, rolling in, just before the storm hits. Copy?”
“Shit,” Amos said.
“Backup?” Cupcake asked.
“Affirmative. Sex-on-a-stick, Bulls-eye, and maybe a pair of Italian eyes.”
“Better than nothing. Potential updates?” Amos asked.
“If the system stays up. Lock and load, Old Lady.”
I ended the connection.
Amos and Cupcake would mobilize the miners and handle things there. They would watch for Jagger. And I’d sit here twiddling my thumbs. Yeah? No. My nanobots didn’t like that idea. Not one bit.
I used my morphon and sent a message to one of the few men I called a friend. He wasn’t a thrall. He just liked me. I just liked him. It was weird. My message was one word. “Call?”
Ten minutes later, Jolene said, “Call in-coming from Bengal.”
“I’ll take it,” I said, and tapped the mic on my comms set. “Hey, Bengal. How’s my favorite, one armed Boozefighter?”
“I had a feeling you’d call,” he said.
As a president of one of the top five motorcycle clubs, Bengal had known about the request to store a Gov. hostage here. He probably expected me to call about that, but I didn’t ask.
He continued, “Little Girl, I’m doing fine. Looking for a fight. Feeling the urge to knock some heads together. Why? You got something going on?”
This method of communication was constantly swept by Jolene, so it was unlikely to be monitored by outsiders. I felt safe filling him in about the DRs heading to the mine.
“They your allies?” he asked. “The miners?”
“Allies of the Junkyard. Trading partners. Potatoes, vegetables, seeds from us. They dug some good coal out of the ground. I traded them. Nothing spectacular,” I said, lying about the last. Meta-ores had not yet been verified as something they could get to.
Coal was valuable enough on its own. “So, yeah. We have an agreement.”
“Jagger sent out a general alarm that there was trouble in the area.”
Asshole, I thought.
“And since that particular fight coincides with the clubs’ plans, some of us are in,” Bengal said.
“I just got word that Marconi’s sending help from his new HQ, in the foothills.
His son, Enrico, and a few men are on the way to join Jagger and Jacopo.
Me and a few a my men were visiting with Marconi and are heading that way in ten.
Three of the Sisters of the Cross are close and feeling frisky.
We’re not sure yet where we’ll meet up, but I’ll let your bot know. You gonna be there?”
“Shining,” Jolene said, breaking in to the call.
“Twelve more DRs just unloaded. If they head to the mine, even Cupcake, Amos, Jagger, and Jacopo will be outmatched. My drone is on the way back to power up, with another heading out, but that means we’ll have overlap time when there’s no observation.
Whoever goes will be on their own until I get a new drone in place. ”
“Well, hell,” I said. “Bengal, I’m gearing up now. See you there.”
“Rock ‘n roll, Little Girl!” Bengal sounded entirely too happy at the idea of battle as he cut the connection.
I started tossing necessities into a gobag and geared up, weapons, girlie stuff like clean socks and undies. A fresh shirt. My armor. Weapons and ammo.
I tried to reach Jagger once on the morphon and once on the new EntNu comms system. There was no reply. I wasn’t worried. If they ran into trouble, Jacopo could shoot the eye out of a gnat at a thousand yards, and Jagger had a way of terrorizing people into leaving him alone.
I wasn’t worried. I wasn’t.
Damn it.
As I worked, I had a thought, a treacherous one. Twenty-four Dark Riders. All in one place was too many to take on alone. Twelve, if they were relaxed and, say . . . eating . . . I could use that. If I was willing to take a risk.