Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
RAFE
Unlike some, I didn’t long for the scent of the ocean. Or of ports. The gasoline stench mingled with fish and sweat. I wiped the back of my hand across my forehead, missing the dry heat that came from being landlocked. The desert, whether Las Vegas or the Middle East, might be hotter, but it didn’t make my skin sticky and gritty with salt.
The roar of motorcycles thundered across the concrete dock, drowning out the yelling workers and beeping forklifts.
Something backfired, and I flattened myself against a wall in the shadows. My eyes roamed the scene, searching for anyone with a gun, any abandoned packages, or a barrel peeking out from a window, rooftop, or car.
Nothing.
Only the bustle of the dock workers.
I exhaled a deep breath, trying to settle my racing heart.
Not a war zone, Rafe , I told myself as I blinked rapidly, fireworks going off in my mind’s eye with each eyelid flutter.
My chest heaved, but I stood straighter outside the remains of a warehouse gutted by the Gambinos’s bomb, set off in retaliation against The Ridge MC. When Tommy had gotten wind of the imported drugs, he set Enzo into action to protect their criminal monopoly in the Southwest.
When two bikes tore up to the front of the building, my hand twitched toward my piece. Sas had texted me to meet him here, but my Marine years taught me I could never be too cautious. It could’ve been my MC or someone else. Another MC or even the cops.
Though, these bikes were black, and the riders wore leather rather than a uniform.
Sas, his lanky limbs reaching for the forward pegs and ape hangers, pulled to a stop and jumped off his bike. I relaxed. A little.
Teller was on his heels.
Stomping over to me and the warehouse, Sas hunched his shoulders. His jaw was tight. He stopped at the yellow police tape beside me, but the police and the fire department were long gone. Sas brought in an air of fury, tense and stale, and I wondered what Adelina had done now.
But when the VP looked around, whipping his head to inspect the warehouse, I realized this wasn’t the same frustration that he wore around Adelina.
No, this gave me just a little view into the puzzle who was the VP in the LA chapter of The Ridge. Playing with Adelina was a cat-and-mouse game to Sas, one in which he wanted to see how far he could push her before she snapped. He would bat a paw at her and wait for her to break.
The thought made me smile, because that little lady could take a lot before he created even a hairline fracture in her armor. I had been viewing this all wrong, and after Adelina’s admission last night, perhaps I should let the cards fall where they may and enjoy the show.
The frustration he showed now was more pure, like he had a better cause than his bratty betrothed to be angry. It left him red in the face, cheeks ballooning with puffed exhales.
“What do we have?” demanded Sas to Teller, like I wasn’t here. Why the hell did he order me to meet them if he didn’t want me involved?
“Not a lot,” said Teller.
“Any chance there’s some of the product left inside?”
“Doubtful.” Teller popped a piece of gum in his mouth.
Sas turned his head and spat, a brown stream of spit jetting toward the concrete. “And the last shipment?”
“Held up offshore,” said Teller.
In this biz, like with the Mafia, that wasn’t a good sign.
I raised my eyebrows. “Did the feds get them?”
“No. Just a delay to make sure the feds don’t intercept it,” said Teller. “With the explosion, they’ve been on high alert down here.”
I scowled at the two men. “The product offshore is from Colombia too?”
“Mmmm.” Sas nodded, one arm folded over his chest and propping the other up. He petted his beard as his eyes roamed over what was left of the building.
“Do the cartel brothers know you have more coming in?”
Sas shrugged. “Not sure, but we need to keep it on the DL. What about the shit we sent out?” he asked Teller.
“The product we got out before the explosion is still headed north to be cut in our house outside San Fran,” answered Teller.
“Call ’em. Get it done faster,” Sas commanded, louder now.
“We still need buyers,” said Teller.
“Get the prospects on that.” Sas waved him off.
“Sure thing, boss.” Teller remained calm with the VP yelling at him.
Cool under pressure. I liked that in a soldier.
“What about the clubs?” I asked.
“Mafia’s had a monopoly on those for years,” said Sas, one brow lifted. “And we don’t have connections.”
“I can make introductions,” I offered.
I would need to speak with Mass to ensure there was room, but clubbers and ravers seeking their next high were a dime a dozen. Many of the Las Vegas club owners also had clubs, bars, and underground raves in LA and San Fran. The network was close knit to keep the police out.
Sas appraised me, likely to see if my offer would hold water. “It’ll take too long. We need to move it now to make up for what we lost.” He stepped over the police tape and headed for the half-demolished warehouse.
I glanced around for cops.
But Sas called over his shoulder. “Quit twitching. I called in Ghost, Merry, and Pip to create a diversion at the bar a mile away. They’ll pull the cops there while we search the warehouse for anything that may have survived.”
I shot a questioning look at Teller, but the man just shrugged and followed Sas into the cordoned off area. Never too careful, I glanced back at the dock where twilight was settling in, the sun glistening off the water in the distance. Things were quieter than I would’ve expected—or liked.
The other businesses had or were closing up, workers leaving the docks, and there was indeed a marked lack of security. Once I assured myself it was as safe as possible, I followed them inside.
The front half of the warehouse was charred and crumbling, and water stood in puddles near the previous fa?ade. Sas placed his boots carefully but walked over the fallen beams and burned pallets with ease. I guessed having legs rivaling a giraffe’s made the trek much easier.
“Shit. This place is probably worth bulldozing rather than trying to salvage,” Sas said.
“Gotta wait for the cops to release it from custody first,” said Teller as he moved up next to the VP.
Sas stopped suddenly, scanning the debris on the floor. Then, he started moving things aside and brushing away the ash until he revealed a plate in the floor. Dusting off the soot from his hands, he squinted at the far wall, then nudged Teller.
Understanding the silent command, Teller jogged over and returned with two kettlebells. Or at least that’s what they looked like. When he dropped one onto the plate, it clanked and boomed and glued itself to the floor plate, reminding me of the sound a trash truck makes when it empties dumpsters.
Teller repeated with the second one. “Gimme a hand,” he called over his shoulder to me.
I grabbed onto the second one, and together, we lifted the plate to reveal stairs leading into the concrete foundation.
Sas rushed down the stairs, disappearing before he hit the bottom. Teller followed and then me. The room was dark, save for the bare bulb Sas turned on with a pull string.
“We barely have anything!” Sas yelled, too fucking loud for this uncontrolled environment.
I peeked upstairs, listening intently. At least we were somewhat hidden by the subterranean nature of this space. I had done three loops around the warehouse to make sure people were far enough away before I’d dismounted my bike. And Sas said the club had created a diversion. Regardless, I still couldn’t go along as easily as Teller.
I didn’t know this place. It wasn’t safe.
My retort about getting the money from Massimo sat on the tip of my tongue, bitter and pointless. It hadn’t gone over well last time. All I could do was hope Sas would get over his pride and work with the resources he had available... that was, as long as Adelina wasn’t in danger.
Her little stunt of accompanying Sas, Teller, and Graff up to Red Rock Canyon today already had me on edge. One of the prospects—Ghost, I thought—said that she had purposely gone, so I couldn’t blame Sas.
Still, based on his behavior so far, I would’ve thought he would drag her back into her bedroom and lock the door. That suited me just fine, because at least when she was locked up, I could be reasonably sure of her safety.
As I stood there and waited on Sas to figure out whatever he was puzzling over, the ash clawed its way into my nostrils. The only things missing were the acrid smells of old blood and unwashed bodies, but the doused burning scent sparked my adrenaline into a gushing river. It made my skin tingle and hairs on my neck stand on end.
The battle memories returned, the hypervigilance to any movement. Then, it had been better not to think of anyone moving as people—the terrorists, the women, the children.
Just aim and shoot to kill. The mantra that’d played in my head then haunted me now.
The LA wind picked up above our heads, whistling through the warehouse. I blinked back the old memories. Unfortunately, my past and current collided. One battle replaced another, and no one was innocent. Especially not me.
I cleared my throat, blinking furiously and trying to focus on the place I was. Not a raid. Not terrorists.
Mainly to gain control of my reeling mind, I asked, “What are we looking for?”
“Sellable product.” Sas dug through crates lined up next to the wall.
“And you think you’re going to find it here?” I asked, confused.
He threw down one of the lids to another empty crate. “We’re running out of options.”
“And you haven’t looked before?” I asked. Why hadn’t they come immediately after the warehouse was burned and the police scattered? So many of their enemies could’ve discovered this little hiding place while they were out. When I had driven down to the docks, I hadn’t seen any prospects on duty, though Sas mentioned they were orchestrating the diversion.
Sas narrowed his gaze on me, like he knew exactly what I was thinking. I was punching holes in his plans. If not his, then Angel’s, as the former VP. But Mass’s intel said this deal with the Medellín was mostly Sas’s gig.
Regardless, this club was running a shitshow rather than making sound business decisions. It was no wonder the cartels and the Mafia were on their asses. They had been driving their club into the ground with their arrogance.
“Prospects?” snapped Sas at Teller.
The road captain checked his phone. “They’re on their way.”
“Tell them to get their asses here now!” Sas turned on his heel and kicked through the ash.
Teller pecked out a text on his phone. “They’re probably riding and can’t answer a call or text back,” he said idly as he worked.
I stayed a few feet back from Sas—out of his arm length—but kept a steady eye on him. I didn’t trust him. Out of all the guys to run LA, why had Wilde chosen him for VP?
Or for Adelina?
It must’ve meant that Sas was more important than I thought. I just hadn’t seen it yet.
The prospects finally arrived, at least that’s who I hoped it was. Their bikes rumbled loudly enough to be heard in this hole. If we could hear them, someone could hear us. Heel strikes from their boots echoed, interspersed with a rustling like they’d kicked something out of their way.
With one hand, I palmed my gun, releasing the safety and pointing it at the ground. With the other, I fished out my flashlight. “Shouldn’t we go up?”
“Nah, that’s just Ghost, Pip, and Merry.” Sas kept digging, tossing aside empty crates.
I ignored him and climbed the steps.
“Where you goin’?” Sas called.
“Someone’s gotta stand guard,” I answered without looking back.
When I reached the ground level warehouse, I spotted the three prospects moving through the ruins like bowling balls, but something else moved in the distance. It was a quick shadow lingering in the corner of the warehouse. I whipped around, aiming my gun and the flashlight.
Ghost, Merry, and Pip palmed their pieces too, aiming where I did. Four guns pointed at a single person raising from the shadows, covered in dirt and soot. Their waxy skin hung off their bones like a melted candle, and they had a dead but startled look in their eyes, like an animal caught in headlights.
It was just an elderly woman, teeth yellowed and some missing. Gums white. A tumor grew on her cheek and chin, and she tried to shield herself from the beam of light.
“Please,” she begged, squinting. “I was only looking for a place to sleep. Just somewhere out of the heat and the rain. Please don’t shoot me. I’ll go.”
She didn’t need to go. She needed help.
“Get out,” ordered Sas, peeking up from the steps.
Ghost flicked his gun to the side to wave her away.
The homeless woman scurried through the rubble like a rat, disappearing into the bowels of the warehouses and into the shadows. But Ghost didn’t lower his gun. I watched her until I couldn’t see her through the gaping opening in this building. I had watched too many people run away from me like that: fear making their legs like jelly, so they scampered away in a winding path.
She was harmless in the scheme of things, so I stepped over and pushed Ghost’s down.
“Get down here, guys, and help me go through these crates.” ordered Sas as full night descended.
We had lost daylight so moving around the warehouse had grown much more perilous. The prospects stepped gingerly down the stairs with their cell-phone flashlights as guides while I scanned the rubble. I made a mental note to pick up some real flashlights for the team, and possibly some other gear that would help in these situations.
For once, I missed the prepared-for-anything mentality of my father and brother.
Sas clearly still saw me as a pest, and again I wondered why he’d asked me to come. I would never be a real part of the MC, though I had a cut and a patch. I was the enemy.
A spy.
Just like Massimo wanted me to be.
In the Marines, being a traitor like that would earn a court martial and a less than luxurious stay at Ft. Leavenworth. But what did it mean to an MC?
Street wars?
Drive-by shootings? Or ride-by, I guessed.
La Famiglia had become far more sophisticated since Capone’s time. Snipers. Disappearances. Enemies dying of “natural” causes. But in an age where a camera watched every street corner, guns were now saved for behind closed doors.
“Sas!” called Ghost, and the shuffling below indicated that the others were gathering around whatever he’d found.
“Not it,” ordered Sas. “Keep digging.”
For what? I wanted to plead. If the shipment had just arrived before the Gambinos bombed the place, why would he be digging through a secret stash of crates in a makeshift basement?
Although, as I circled the hole, I had to admit it was a solid safe room. The metal floor the size of one of the concrete sections wouldn’t have appeared out of place, and it sat flush with the joints in the floor. It had been fucking heavy to lift, so there was no way anyone would pry that up with only their hands. Or even with a claw hammer.
I kicked more debris away. Something knocked in the distance, and I whirled, visions of a kid with an oozie flickered like a bad movie through my mind. I had to shake my head hard to make them stop.
After shining my light in the direction of the sound, I shut the beacon off. It would be so much better to have infrared goggles in this mess. Before long, a mostly burned-through beam toppled over.
A rat squealed. Claws scurried across the garbage— tick-tick-tick-tick-tick .
I shivered. Rats had to be the most disgusting of creatures. Scorpions, snakes, almost any bug, I could handle. But rats carried the plague.
“Got it!” Sas yelled. “Rafe, get your ass down here.”
Happy to leave the rats to finish off the garbage, I jogged down the stairs.
Below, Sas had a cellophane-wrapped package in hand and sliced it open with a pocketknife. He dipped the end of the knife into the powder and licked the tip.
“Perfect,” Sas beamed. “Let’s load these stacks up, bitches! Teller, call your runners. Tell ’em to meet us at the clubhouse. They got some hot shit to sell.”
He stepped out of the way as his prospects dug out the rest of the bricks of coke.
Massimo hadn’t had this in the intel, so I asked, “Is this part the Medellín’s product?”
“Yup.” Sas grinned.
“Will it be enough to pay off the Rojas brothers?” I asked.
Gave me an acerbic look, the same irritation he wore with Adelina, as if I had become the mouse. “It may look small, but it’s pure. We have our guys cut it and we sell it, and I’m not in debt to your brother.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Grab a load for your bags, brother .”
Fine if he didn’t want to be in debt to my brother—I knew Massimo’s loans and deals better than anyone—but I didn’t want Adelina in more danger. If it kept the cartel away, I didn’t care what it was. I would do anything and everything for her.
“Dude.” I grabbed Sas’s cut before he could slip away. “Why can’t the runners meet us here?”
He barked a laugh. “The prospects bought us some time, but not much. We don’t want the cops to catch us lurking around here.”
“Let’s go.” Sas clapped his hands at the prospects. “We need to move.”
Then he held out the open brick of coke to me, but I didn’t take it. I studied him, thinning my lips together. Disgust curled in my gut. My nostrils burned, though the shit was a foot away.
“Give it a taste,” said Sas. “Learn how to tell the shit’s pure.”
I shook my head.
“Think you’re too good for this?” Sas scoffed, but fury hardened his gaze.
“Didn’t anyone tell you not to take the shit you sell?” I asked. Rule number one among the Mafia dealers.
“How would I know if it’s any good?”
“Wouldn’t you rather think straight?”
“Being straight is not my issue.” He walked back, slamming his shoulder into mine, but I managed not to move. He yelled, “Faster, bitches! Faster!”
The prospects hurried their work.
“Besides,” Sas said, looking back at me. “You gotta do a lot more than put a little on your tongue to get a good high.”
Back at the clubhouse, we pulled into the row of bikes, each of ours loaded with too much cocaine. The prospects slipped off their bikes, taking the bricks of very illegal drugs out of their saddlebags. Sas sauntered over, supervising them. He wore a smug smile, but it was too early to be this cocky.
“How the hell is this quicker than processing the shit you’ve already got in the field?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It’s not, but this is worth more than what we’ve already sent out. We can draw in a bigger fish.”
I shook my head and walked away before I said something I would regret. He was fucking insufferable.
Before I made it to the door, a white van pulled up. It had no markings, and the back windows were solid. The kind of vehicle everyone liked to label kidnapper vans. I groaned as the others started carrying the coke over to the vehicle and stacking it in the back.
“My bags are open,” I called over to the prospects. “Go ahead and empty those too.” I pushed open the door into the clubhouse only to halt in the doorway, my stomach dropping to my feet as heat raced through my veins.
Adelina leaned over the arm of a chair, her back exposed. The sides of her breasts visible. It was no more than the amount of breast she showed in her bikini, and a vision of both her breasts on full display stoked in my imagination. Kindled to life by the conversation we’d had the night before.
Would she thrash her head against the sheets when I flicked one of her nipples?
My niece. I looked away, shameful heat flooding my cheeks.
Others in the clubhouse had gathered around, and while they looked at how her body was exposed, they were more focused on Graff’s head bent over her shoulder. He had a tattoo gun buzzing against her, and he drew freestyle. But what the fuck was he drawing on Adelina’s once unmarred skin? She had been perfect like porcelain, smooth but delicate. But now she was cracked, shedding the young and vulnerable girl I once knew in favor of a far more courageous woman.