Page 52 of Tess, Property of Blaze

Blaze

Iwait impatiently inside the van as Tracker enters the warehouse. I don’t know how he did it, but Tracker got some good surveillance equipment through a friend on the force. We have visual and sound coming through a camera that looks like a button on his shirt. My eyes don’t move from the screen as he finally enters the warehouse, after a pat down by two large men wearing Forseekers cuts. They’re not taking any chances.

We can see the inside of the warehouse through the camera, but it’s dim inside and the quality is grainy at best. Music is blaring, the sound reverberating around the inside of the van from the speakers of the laptop we’re monitoring through, and there are bikers scattered all around the temporary clubhouse. Seems they brought a few members with them from LA.

Men and women can be seen fucking all around the joint, but my eyes scan the room for Tess, trying desperately to catch a glimpse of her so I’ll know she’s okay. But I can’t make out faces with the dim lighting, and Tracker is moving and shifting too quickly to get any great detail.

My focus is broken when I hear his voice. Viper. Quill and Hawke are sitting next to me in the van, and the other boys are on guard outside, ready to storm in when they’re given the go-ahead.

“Well, I see you’re not the man we asked to come here. Where is he, and who are you?” Viper’s words, coming through clearly despite the thumping background noise of the club party, send trails of ice up my back. My fists clench where they’re resting on my thighs—all I want to do is race in there and smash the fucker up against a wall. My heart’s also pounding, hoping Tracker’s got this.

Tracker’s voice comes through even clearer. “Sorry, man, he’s got another job tonight, sent me in with the goods.”

I can see uncertainty flash across Viper’s face; he’s not buying it. My chest tightens even more. I unclench my fists, ready for action.

“Is that right? And what other job is more important than the Forseekers?”

The view on the screen of the laptop shakes as Tracker changes position slightly. “Look, man, you wanna do this business or not? I don’t have much time.”

Viper rubs his jaw and looks over to another man at the left of him, probably his VP. “What do you think, Snake? You think we should trust him.”

This Snake guy looks between Viper and Tracker. “What’s your name?” he eventually asks.

“Tim. Now are we gonna do business or not. I’ve got the coke here.” Tracker moves again, then I see his hand move into the shot, holding out the backpack with the coke in it to Viper.

“Was he frisked?” Viper asks Snake, eyes locked on the bag.

“Yeah, Prez. He’s got nothin’ on him.”

He eyes Tracker up and down, and I swear, even though his stare’s not directed at me, it goes straight through me. His eyes are wild, a touch of craziness showing through in the way they shift randomly, seemingly unable to focus for even a small moment. Something in my gut tells me this man has no real emotions, is just purely psycho, and my throat tightens. Oh God, Tess, what have you gotten yourself into? Where are you?

“Snake, get the cash.”

Snake nods at Viper, then leaves for a few minutes. When he comes back, he’s holding a black backpack similar to the one Tracker has, and he hands it to Tracker. Tracker takes it, then passes his bag with the coke to Snake. A simple exchange, but the tension in the air of the van is thick.

Snake opens the backpack up and looks inside. “We’re good, Prez.”

Viper nods at Snake and then looks over at Tracker. Tracker peers down into the bag he’s holding, and with the visual, we can see there’s cash inside it. “What’s wrong, Tim, you don’t trust us?”

The movement on the laptop screen shakes as Tracker stands tall again. “Nah, man, I trust you.”

Viper just continues to eye Tracker. Then he steps toward him and starts sniffing the air around him.

Tracker takes a step backward, and Viper follows. “What are you doing?”

Viper gives Tracker another sniff. “You had pussy today?”

What the fuck?

“What?”

“I’m asking if you’ve had some pussy today, boy. You’re so uptight, seems like you need some.” Viper leers at Tracker, and in my head, it’s confirmed—the guy’s a fucking psychopath.

“Nah, I’m all good, brother.”

“Who the fuck you callin’ brother, fucker? I ain’t your brother,” Viper growls, leaning in and shooting a hand forward. I assume he’s gripping Tracker’s shirt, because there’s jerky movements on the screen, and Viper moves in even closer.

I turn to Quill and Hawke. “We gotta go in and get Tracker out of there.” The abrupt mood switch and my certainty the guy’s unstable has me on red alert.

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