Page 46 of Rio's Release

“How?” Mauler grinds a cigarette butt under his boot.

“Show them the cops will back down to us.”

“You sure they will?” Bagger asks with a huff.

“Let’s find out, shall we?” I spot a deputy coming up the street. “Come on, Bagger. First one to the end of the block wins.”

He and I jump on our bikes, then pull out just as the deputy approaches. We stop at the light, then rev our engines.

I grin at Bagger, and when the light changes, we peel out. I glance in my rearview mirror to see the deputy make a right turn, ignoring our reckless drag racing.

Circling around, Bagger and I return to the diner and idle.

The eyes of every person on the sidewalks are on us now, and I see Dolly peering through the glass door. A second later, she tapes the card to the glass, and walks away.

Zig lifts a brow. “Great. Just a thousand more businesses in town to visit.”

“We’ll start with the main drag today.” I grin. “Things are falling into place, brothers.”

“Looks that way,” Bagger says.

“You order that sign for the garage yet, Zig?” I twist to look at him.

“Yep. Should be delivered in a couple of days.”

“Good. Soon everyone in town is going to know the nameSaint’s Outlaws.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

New Friends

Rio—

“This look good?” Bagger asks from the top of a ladder. Our sign for above the garage arrived, and the boys are hanging it. It’s our club’s logo with crossed wrenches.SAINT’S GARAGE.

I tilt my head. “A little higher on the right.” Bagger and Mauler jostle the heavy sign. “Right there. Perfect.”

“Thank God,” Bagger mutters and drills his side into position.

“Looks good. The place is really coming together,” Zig observes, standing at my side with his arms crossed.

“We should be able to get it up and running later this week.” Once the sign is hung and the guys climb from the ladders, I whistle. “Let’s head back.”

The sun is sinking on the horizon when our six bikes pull out in formation, heading toward the clubhouse.

The ride feels good. It’s been hot this week, and the wind in my face is like a tonic washing over me. Our clubhouse is miles outside of town, and we rumble along the highway, crossing over the Rio Grande. Soon the highway rolls through acres of pecan groves, the trees in neat rows provide some much-needed shade.

I catch the first whiff of smoke in the air and see a flare of flames climbing a tree up ahead. Two figures toss something inthe bed of a pickup truck, then jump in the cab. Tires spit gravel as they roar onto the highway, speeding away.

By the time we reach the fire, it’s fully engulfed the tree, and with the winds, two others catch.

Several men run from a nearby farmhouse, shouting.

I motion for the pack to pull to the side and stop. When I climb from my bike, I point at Blue and Bandit. “Go after that fucking truck.”

They tear out, and the rest of us jog across the highway toward the fire.

I spot a man who appears in charge. He’s an older man, barking orders in Spanish to his crew, who is forming a bucket line, trying to douse the flames.

---