Page 2 of Rio's Release

“What the fuck is this?” Zig hisses, and I’m wondering the same.

My attention is divided between it, the guy with the suitcases, and the pickup driver, wondering if this is some diversion. The men look nervous, glancing down the road, and the man with the suitcases stops in his tracks about ten feet from me. We’re in a gravel area just a few yards from the curb.

I hear the sound of the men at my back all drawing their weapons, but before we know what’s about to happen, the semi veers, surging up on the curb and heading straight for us. Everyone scrambles, and he plows through our parked bikes like they’re tinker toys.

I dive and roll and pray my brothers all make it out of the way.

Zig gets on a knee and fires at the truck, as do several others.

There’s another small pickup with no headlights on, driving behind the semi. None of us spotted it, and I curse, knowing this isn’t some drunk trucker.

A guy jumps out of the bed and snatches the bag, and another guy grabs the suitcases, and they both vault into the bed, and the little pickup peels out. A man stands resting an AR15 over the roof of the cab and pins us all down with rapid fire.

I dive to the ground and cover my head as the dirt around me explodes.

They make a U-turn and jump the curb onto the street as my men get to their feet and scramble to return fire. The semi makes the same turn, peeling out toward the highway.

It's then I notice the man who’d had the suitcases is face down in the dirt, half his head blown away. The driver is leaned against the steering wheel, the horn blaring, the back window and windshield shot out, their truck riddled with bullets.

Looking toward the departing taillights, I realize they took out exactly who they intended, and purposefully left us alive.

“Who the fuck was that?” Zig roars.

“My guess is the Morales Cartel. Maybe they found out we were doing a deal with the Ramirez crew on their turf.” I glance around. “Check if anyone’s hit.”

Zig moves off to do my bidding while Mauler moves to the pickup and leans the driver back so the fucking horn shuts off.

I survey the devastation the semi did to our bikes. Not a single one is salvageable. “Goddamn it. Those motherfuckers. Somebody’s going to pay for this, by God.”

Zig returns to my side. “The men are all good.”

“Goddamn it. We can’t leave our bikes here. They’ll connect us to this shit for sure if we do,” I growl glancing around for a solution.

“All these bikes, we’ll need a damn flatbed,” Zig mutters.

I spot a landscape company on the other side of the diner. “Send one of the guys over there and see if you can find a trailer we can pile the bikes on. We’ll have to ditch them in the desert somewhere.”

He lifts his chin to Mauler, who takes off at a jog to check and comes back in two minutes, breathing hard. “Yeah. They’ve got one behind the building that should work.”

The rest of the men gather around me, and I lift my chin to the pickup. “See if that pickup is drivable. If it is, drag the driver out and go get that damn trailer. We’ll have to pile the bikes up on it and ride in the back of that fucking truck bed. Move! We don’t have much time to get the hell out of here.”

Zig nods, and they all race off except Bagger.

“How the fuck did that happen?” he bites out.

“I don’t have a clue, Bagger, but we’re out two-hundred thousand dollars of club money. I’m not going back to Boston and tell Storm we lost it all.”

“We goin’ after ‘em?” he asks, jerking his chin toward the highway.

“Fuck, they’re long gone, and we’ve got no bikes. We can kiss that money goodbye.”

“So, what are we gonna do?”

My next statement has him looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “We’re going to find a way to get two-hundred thousand dollars in cash.”

CHAPTER TWO

The Plan

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