Page 60 of Fire Meets Fire

I grab hold of his arm. “Just tell me no harm will come to her.”

“Her?” Slugger grins widely. “We are talking about the same woman, aren’t we? I can’t see her being taken down.”

Is he forgetting how easily she can pass out?“Her affliction can take her at any time. Something you should have remembered, asshole. You fuckin’ let her ride here on my bike.”

Taking no umbrage, he snorts. “Give me some credit, Brother.Irode it here. She only took over for the last half-mile.”He rode my bike?His answer doesn’t stop my fist clenching, as I try to work out whether his explanation makes it better or worse. He shrugs. “Knew you’d recognise the pipes and know that help had arrived.”

Fucking weak explanation in my eyes.

“It’s a sweet ride.”

I only just manage to stop myself swinging for him, but at that point notice Queenie has not only left my side but is in deep discussion with Screw. Tamping down the verge of jealousy that she’s not only talking to another man, but one of the fuckingenemy, I breathe deep, and instead notice the concentration in her eyes. Seems like at least one of us will know what we’re doing. Her chin lifts. A quirk of her lips and the positive gesticulation of her hands shows me she’s got no argument with what she’s hearing.

Usually, the sound of engines roaring and the smell of exhaust fumes energises me. It’s the sound of brothers heading out on a run. But normally I’m in pole position, leading the pack. Now without any other ride, Slugger once again has arrogantly headed for my bike, swinging his leg over the saddle while offering me a wide smirk, as I’m being ignominiously led to the crash truck with Shitface behind the wheel. Knowing I can’t get into any arguments which would hold us up now, I bite my tongue. The saving grace is that Queenie is also heading the same way.

My eyes narrow again as I see Ogre accompanying her, and carrying something I immediately recognise.

I don’t even wait for them to come close. “No fuckin’ way.”

Even Shitface doesn’t look comfortable when he sees the cargo he’ll be transporting. “Is that even safe?”

Laconically, Ogre replies, “Depends who’s got the trigger.”

“And who’ll have that?” I growl.

To her credit, Queenie doesn’t even bother to reach out her hand, but she jerks her head toward me. “Him. Or this is off.”

The corners of Ogre’s mouth turn up, revealing uneven yellow teeth. “Aw, shucks.” He puts his hand over his heart. “It wounds me you don’t trust me.”

Trust him with a way to get rid of a rival prez? No fucking way in hell. I try to get Ogre to transport the C4 instead, but showing some intelligence, he refuses.

For once in my life, I’m out of control as I find while I’ve been arguing about the use of my woman as a human bomb once again—just as unpalatable as when I’d discovered it before—Slugger’s already heading out withmymen obediently following behind him. Ogre makes a hasty retreat before I can ask more, and soon his own crew are heading out after the Soulz.

Helo, my Queenie nowhere to be seen, lithely hops up into the truck, and taking the C4 from Shitface, carefully stores it. I glare at the detonator with the button still taped down as if it could bite me, not wanting the responsibility of carrying it, but neither wanting anyone else to have it in their control. Accepting the Catch 22 I’m in, gingerly holding it, I climb into the cab, realising I’ve been left in the ignominious position of having to ask my prospect where the fuck we are going.

The truck’s already moving, catching up with the rear riders, before he answers with a quick glance my way, showing my lack of knowledge has taken him by surprise. “Tucson.”

Tucson?“Netherton got a base there?” I ask, directing the question to the woman at my side. As far as I recall, he was a Wisconsin-based politician.

She shakes her head, and the slight frown shows she’s as confused as I am. Narrowing my eyes, I subject the prospect to the full force of my stare.

After he shifts uncomfortably, I snap. “Spit it the fuck out, Prospect.” There’s a nervous twitch in his eye. “For fuck’s sake, Shit.” I know prospects are supposed to be deaf, dumb and blind, but I’m also very aware he’s got a habit of being able to skulk around, something he learned in the Army, perhaps. He can walk silently, fade into the background, and only emerge when he wants to be heard. In the past, I’ve found it kind of annoying, but now I need him to be my spy. So I put it to him in the best way I know how. “You want your patch? Tell me what you fuckin’ heard.”

A quick glance as if to confirm his admission is the only way forward for him, he emits a deep sigh. “Overheard Ogre. He contacted this Netherton guy. Offered up Helo, but insisted thathe comes here to collect. Said some bullshit about some of his assholes can’t travel across state lines.”

I doubt that’s a lie. I suspect some, if not most, will be on probation. Doesn’t surprise me. Soulz are better than Dominators at staying out of the cops’ eyes. Doesn’t mean we always toe the line, just that we’re more careful when we come to crossing it.

“If he’s coming here, why are we heading out?”

There’s more enthusiasm in Shitface’s voice now. “For some reason,” he grins widely, “he wasn’t keen on coming to the clubhouse. He offered to come to the state, but to meet us on territory he can control.” His voice drips with disdain at the thought any politician could get the better of us.

“And that’s Tucson?” Helo prompts.

“That’s Tucson.” Shitface glances around me to her. “Sorry, but he wants to combine his pleasures. He’s going to use a friend’s mansion that sits conveniently near a golf course so he can get in a few rounds while he’s here.”

Helo snorts. It would take more than that to upset her. Knowing my old lady, she’ll be thinking that Netherton’s got no chance of being able to use his irons on this occasion. Or ever again. His puttering days will be over.

I watch as Shitface carefully follows the bikes, keeping an even distance. Something occurs to me. The timeline is all wrong. “He teleporting or something?”

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