Chapter 6 #2
“Oh, I think yes.” Viper’s smile disappears. “Your boy, Crash? He vouched for you. Even suggested you for the job. He said you were reliable, knew how to keep your mouth shut and your eyes on the prize. Senior in Dallas said the same.”
I try to shake my head. “It’s different. I have a family now—”
“Exactly,” Viper cuts me off, taking another step closer. He’s in my space now, close enough I can smell the cigarettes on his breath. “Pretty little Harper. Cute kid, too—what’s his name? Bruiser? Interesting name for a toddler. Wonder if he’ll live up to it.”
My hands clench into fists. “You stay the fuck away from them.”
“Oh, we will.” Viper spreads his hands like he’s being reasonable. “We absolutely will. As long as you do what you’re told.”
“I’m not doing shit for you!”
The guy by the door moves fast—faster than someone that size should be able to move. He’s on me before I can blink, one massive hand wrapped around my throat, slamming me back against the tile wall hard enough to rattle my teeth. The toothpick falls from Viper’s mouth onto the sink counter.
“Let’s try this again,” Viper says softly, picking up the toothpick and sliding it back between his lips.
“You’re going to adjust your route. Instead of San Antonio to Dallas, you’re going to take the southern corridor.
Laredo. Cross at the Colombia-Solidarity Bridge with your legitimate cargo.
On the Mexico side, you’ll stop at a warehouse—the address will be texted to this burner—and wait exactly fifteen minutes while some associates of ours make modifications to your load. ”
The hand on my throat tightens just enough that spots dance at the edges of my vision. With his other hand, he shoves a burner phone into my front jeans pocket.
“You’ll cross back,” Viper continues, calm as anything, “and you’ll drive straight to a drop point in Houston. Unload. Then go home to your pretty girl and your cute kid and your nice little life. Twice a month. That’s all we’re asking.”
“You’re asking me to move what, exactly?” I choke out.
“Not that you need to know. But it’s just weed. Don’t worry so much.” He claps me on the shoulder. “And you’ll be carrying cash south, too, naturally. The flow needs to go both ways.”
The hand releases my throat, and I sag against the wall, gasping.
“I get caught, I lose my CDL. I go to prison. My family—”
“You won’t get caught,” Viper interrupts.
“That’s the beauty of it. You’ve got legitimate cargo all the way.
Sealed containers with manifests that match what’s inside—mostly.
The product will be in compartments so well hidden that even the X-rays won’t catch it.
Hydraulic traps in your cab, false floors in your trailer.
You’ll never even see the product, Z. All you gotta do is drive. ”
I swallow hard, chest tight. “And if I say no?”
Viper’s expression doesn’t change. “Then Harper and little Bruiser have a real unfortunate accident. House fire, maybe. Those apartments in East Austin… not so safe, huh? Or maybe something happens to you out on the road—there’s lots of accidents on I-35, huh?
Trucks jackknife all the time. And Harper’s all alone with the kid so much.
She’s got no income, no protection. It’d be a real shame if someone decided to pay her a visit after you’re gone.
Pretty girl like that, vulnerable, grieving… ”
The threat hangs in the air between us, ugly and undeniable. I want to rip out his throat. But I lived long enough with Frank to recognize where I land in the predator-prey pecking order.
“Two runs a month,” I hear myself say. My voice sounds distant. Hollow.
“Two runs a month,” Viper confirms, stepping back. “First one’s next week. You’ll get a text with the details. New manifest, new route. You tell Harper it’s just a longer haul that pays better. She’ll believe you. She always does, doesn’t she?”
Yeah. She always does.
Because I’ve made sure she depends on me. I’ve made sure she has no one else and nothing else to depend on but me. I isolated her so completely that she’d never question where I go or what I do because I’m her entire world now.
The same skills that made me good at dealing—the lies, the manipulation, the ability to seem trustworthy while doing dirty work—are exactly what they need in a mule.
“We’ll be in touch.” Viper heads for the door, pausing with his hand on the handle.
“Oh, and Z? Senior says hey. And he says to remember that he knows exactly how you planted that weed in your girl’s locker back in the day.
He wanted me to remind you that he’s got guys on the inside where Silas is at, and we know that Silas might be real interested in that information.
Be a real shame if someone told him it was you who he was doing time for instead of his kid. ”
The door swings shut behind them, leaving me alone in the bathroom that suddenly feels too small and too fucking bright.
“Fuck!”
I punch the mirror, then stand there for another five full minutes running my bloody fists under the hottest water I can stand, trying to figure out what the fuck I’m going to do.
I could run.
I could take Harper and Bruiser and disappear.
Except where would we go? I spent all the extra cash for a fresh start on a downpayment on the rig. Plus Harper would want to know why and ask questions I can’t answer.
I could go to the cops.
Except then I’d have to explain my history with the Lonestar Kings, explain the dealing, maybe even explain what I did to Harper.
And then they’d use her and Bruiser as leverage anyway—and testifying against an MC was one of the best ways I knew of to get your family killed and yourself tortured to death.
… I could tell Harper, and maybe she could help me think of a way out.
The thought makes me laugh, sharp and bitter in the empty bathroom.
Sure, just tell Harper that the man she thinks is her protector, her provider and the escape from her fucked-up past is actually the one who destroyed her life in the first place? That I framed her, got Silas locked up, and then manipulated her into thinking I was her only option?
Yeah. That’ll go over real fucking well.
No, fuck it, I’m trapped.
Completely, totally trapped by life being just as shitty and unfair as always.
You try to get out from under one boot, and another one always comes back to crush you twice as hard.
I was just trying to make a better life for us. Was that so wrong?
I wrap my knuckles in as many paper towels as it takes for the blood to stop flowing, then finally make it over to the urinal, hands shaking as I unzip.
My reflection in the chrome fixture looks haggard, older than my twenty-two years. The guy staring back at me isn’t the clever, ambitious kid who thought he could game the system and come out on top.
He’s someone’s bitch.
And there’s not a Goddamn thing I can do about it.
When I finally make it out to the truck, coffee forgotten, I sit in the cab for a long time before starting the engine. The phone in my front pocket buzzes, and I yank it out to see a text from an unknown number.
Next Thursday. Laredo route. You’ll receive the manifest Tuesday. Don’t be late.
I delete the message with shaking hands, then pull up my photos on my real phone. There’s Harper from this morning after the shower, head thrown back, wet hair plastered to her shoulders. The smile she gave me that meant she was mine. Completely mine.
Except she’s not.
None of it’s mine.
I’m just borrowing it until someone bigger and meaner decides to take it away from me. Cause that’s the way the world fucking works.
I start the engine and pull out of the gas station, heading for the interstate. The same roads I thought were my ticket to a better life now feel like chains, dragging me deeper into the same shit I thought I’d left behind.
And the worst part? Or fuck, maybe the best?
Harper will never know.
She’ll keep looking at me with those adoring eyes, keep trusting me to keep her safe, keep believing I’m the good guy in her story.
Because that’s what I do best.
I lie.
And now I’m going to tell bigger lies than I ever have before, hauling drugs and blood money while playing house with the woman I manipulated into loving me.
Some fucking life this turned out to be.