Page 128 of Frisco

“Probably pissed as fuck at us, but he’s alive too. Bullet went through him.”

“Why’d he be pissed at you?”

“Because we came to get you without him. I wanted this mission done with one of the guys alive to be questioned. That wouldn’t have happened with your man here, whether you were hurt or not.”

She blinked, and her whole body shuddered. She slumped back. “Thank GOD! Thank GOD!” But she was yelling and punching the dashboard before she tried to twist around to look at the guys in the back. “I want at ’em, Ghost! They fucking told me they killed my sister. They said that shit to me.”

Oh, Christ.

I eased back from the door, but said to Roadie, “Contain her.”

“I’ll try.”

Tracey moved next to me, and she motioned for the open seat. “I’m guessing that’s for me?” She scanned the horizon around us. “They were trying to call Estrada to get his orders. I don’t know if they got through or not, but speaking on behalf of my hide, I’d like to move on out of these parts? Maybe have a meeting somewhere else? Somewhere that’s safe?”

I eyed her, but gave a nod. As she got into the seat, I gave a short whistle to Roadie and signaled him for no cell phones, then I motioned to the two women. He gave me the slightest nod before starting the engine.

After that, Corvette and I hopped up into the back.

Boise was coming back out of the house, and he lingered long enough to throw a match inside.

He took off, and jumped into the back with us. All of us got down, just in case, but it wasn’t long before the house was burning bright. It was always a good idea to torch any possible evidence behind us, if anything to slow down Estrada on making his next move. Or I was hoping, thinking he might want to wait for reports of bodies found in that fire.

Roadie drove us to where our bikes were.

We’d called ahead so a few of our guys were waiting when we arrived. One was a prospect and he hopped off the back of a bike, heading over to the truck. Roadie got out, and the guy got in. He’d be the driver.

Stripes was one of the guys who came to meet us, and he came over to me. “Machete is pissed at you.”

I grunted. “Where is he?”

“He’s at The Bonfire. A few of us slipped away to meet you, but he ain’t going to be happy that we did that.”

“I know.” Keeping guys out of the loop was not in our culture, but neither were handling cartels, bad club politics, and splitting your club up in four fucking different ways. “I’ll talk to him, but did you let him know that we got her?”

He nodded. “Yeah, and speaking of, I know of a warehouse we can bunker down in.” He jerked his chin up toward the back of the truck, meaning he knew of a discreet place where we could have our interrogation.

“It’s safe?”

“It’s the middle of nowhere. My uncle tried doing a shop here, but it didn’t take. It sat abandoned when he got carted off to prison.”

“All right. Send everyone the coordinates.”

My phone buzzed then.

Crow: What’s the plan? We’re twiddling our thumbs up our asses here.

“Stripes.”

“Yeah?” He’d started back for his bike.

“Text it to Crow too.”

He paused, just briefly before he gave a nod.

Me: Meet us at the coordinates.

Boise came over. “You sure about that? He’s got guys we might not be able to trust.”

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