Page 1 of Rio's Release

CHAPTER ONE

Everything Goes Sideways

Rio—

“Jesus Christ, it’s fucking hot out here.”

I look over at Blue. “Shut up about the heat, already.”

“It’s fucking 1:00 am. Why is it still so goddamn hot?” he mutters.

“Because we’re four miles from the border. New Mexico isn’t Boston, dumbass,” Mauler snaps, then grinds his smoke under his boot.

I stare across the industrial road to the warehouse next to the fifty’s diner. The lot is deserted.

We’re about half a block down on the right, parked up a little drive in a small patch of gravel behind some bushes. I figured it’d be easy access in and out, with no security cameras around.

“You sure this is the place?” Zig asks in a low voice, leaning close and glancing around.

“Next to the diner. That’s what they said,” I reply, nodding across the street to the place they wanted to meet. I changed the plan when we scoped this place out yesterday. I don’t know these guys, and I don’t trust them. I’m not about to make us sitting ducks in some set up.

Zig shifts on his feet.

I’m just as uncomfortable with this whole setup as he is. “Take a breath, Zig.”

“They’re late,” he reminds me—a fact I don’t need to be reminded.

“I don’t like this whole setup either, bro,” I confide.

Zig’s my right-hand man on this deal. I trust him with my life, and I know he feels the same. We grew up together, joined the club together, and came up through the ranks together. As the club’s enforcer, I’m the highest ranked patch on this run, twenty-four hundred miles from our mother chapter. Why the hell I volunteered to come out here and make this new drug connection, I’ll never know. But our president trusted me enough with setting up this new pipeline, that I had to accept the job when he asked. I’ve never let Storm down, and I’m not about to start.

The sound of a pickup truck carries to us, and two headlights come into view. We’re just about a mile off the main highway, but there’s nothing out here except warehouses and businesses that all closed at five. Even the diner closed three hours ago. There’s no reason for anyone to come out this way, unless it’s our connection.

I toss my cigarette. “That’s gotta be them. Look alive, boys.”

Everyone straightens, and I know they’re all as on-edge as I am. Making a drug deal this close to the border is insane, but I couldn’t get the dealer to come any farther than Santa Teresa. Thank God we didn’t have to meet in El Paso. I know better than to take that chance.

“I hate this shit,” Zip whispers. “We’ve never dealt with this guy before. “

“A drug deal is a high-risk transaction, brother.” I watch the truck approaching, practically crawling. “When you were a kid, did you ever try to trade with someone you didn’t quite trust?”

“Yep.”

“That’s basically a drug deal except you add in lots of guns, almost a quarter million dollars, and no one to bail us out if they try to cheat. Even the slightest misunderstanding can lead to bloodshed.”

“Well, it ain’t gonna be yours or mine,” Zig whispers, his hand going to the small of his back where he keeps a 9mm tucked and ready.

The truck slows, spotting us. We’re not where we’re supposed to be, and I’m sure that throws them.

They stop in the road and kill their headlights. The passenger door opens, and a man climbs out. He’s younger than I expected. I guess guys grow up quick on the other side of the border, especially in this line of work.

“You with the Saints?” he asks in a heavy accent, his eyes darting around.

I nod and grab a backpack from the seat of my bike and drop it on the ground, waiting for him to show me the product.

He eyes the money, and I know we’ll have to check each other’s bags to make sure neither of us is cheating the other. He reaches into the bed of the truck and grabs two suitcases.

Before he reaches us, a semi-truck comes up the road. It’s just the tractor portion with no trailer behind it. It looks like a big Peterbilt, and it’s picking up speed as it approaches, its dual chrome exhaust pipes bellowing smoke.

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