Page 113 of Dizzy

“You got a better plan?” Rab asks. Scratch’s face pales, but he screws up his courage and pulls back his shoulders.

“What I always say. Move more weight. It’s bullshit that we don’t deal in Petty’s Mill. Those country tweakers drive all the way to Shady Gap for our shit. If we weren’t so fuckin’ afraid of Heavy Ruth, we’d be making bank.”

Rab raises his eyebrows. “You got a big mouth for a man smokin’ his own profits.”

Scratch dials it down, shoving his shaky hands in his pockets. “All I’m sayin’ is we could be knee deep in pussy and hard rock right now—and rakin’ in cash—but we’re over here grillin’ hot dogs with the weekend warriors, our dicks in our hands, babysitting that skinny bitch.”

When I get out of this, I’m knockin’ that guy’s last three teeth out.

My heart sinks.

Am I gonna get out of this?

What do they do to me if Dizzy doesn’t come through with the blueprints? And he won’t. Of course, he won’t. He’s not going to betray his club. Especially not when he thinks I’m involved with the enemy.

I need to focus. Look for a window to escape, a weakness. Dizzy’s not riding to my rescue. You can’t rely on anyone but yourself.

In that shed, I wasted hours, thinkin’ someone was coming for me. It was only a matter of time, right? I sat in the corner. Picked off my nail polish.

By the time I realized I was on my own, I was weak. Hungry. Thirsty. But I didn’t give up. I dug at the seams of the metal walls. I pried at the bottom. I banged with my fists, lay on my back and kicked at the door, and screamed.

I didn’t give up until my body did.

Goddamn, how did I not learn my lesson?

Dizzy isnotcomin’. I need to come up with a plan.

My brain won’t cooperate. I try to catch the eyes of the people milling in the distance, drinking from red plastic cups, chatting around their own fires. To a man, they avoid my gaze. Everyone’s hangin’ out, but they steer clear of this campsite like there’s a fence around it. No one’s gonna challenge these guys. Eventually, I quit trying, and my eyes are drawn to the fire.

There’s so much noise. Competing radios blasting, and a few acres away, the dull roar of the metal band on the main stage.

People shout. Laugh. Engines rev and roar. Panic rises, flailing in my chest.

No one’s coming.

I’m on my own, and I’m as trapped as I was in that shed.

I drop my head and close my eyes.

And then the roar of an engine splits the air.

It’s a Raider, barreling into camp, tearing up the frozen ground. His beady eyes are shining.

“They’re here. He didn’t come alone.”

What? Dizzy?

The men come alive, rising to their feet, patting the obvious gun bulges under their shirts. Guys who’d wandered off to talk to neighboring groups trot back. There are more than a dozen men surrounding me now.

Rab is still sitting. His dick is still hard. “Chill out. We’re in the middle of a thousand people. They ain’t comin’ in guns blazing.”

“Dizzy is a dumb fuck.” Dober spits. “He could have made himself a cool three thou.”

“Three Gs ain’t nothin’ to the patched-in brothers of the Steel Bones MC anymore.” Rab chuckles, bitter. “They’re big time, now. Billionaire developers and big-time politicians. Drug lords and mafia kingpins. Greed ain’t gonna turn ‘em. Except our friend Jed. He was lookin’ for a reason, though. He’s got the heart of a rat.” Rab spits.

A few of the other men follow suit.

“Why’d you offer Dizzy the cash, then?” Scratch asks. He’s fixated. The other guys are shuffling closer. Cracking their necks.

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