Page 21 of Property of Spike

“Got it, Prez,” Knuckles says, his voice steady.

I glance around the room, meeting each set of eyes. “And remember, no mistakes. Not one. We’ve got a lot riding on this run, and I don’t need to tell you what happens if we screw it up.”

They all nod, the air thick with tension.

As the men disperse to prep for the run, I catch Tank’s eye. He hesitates for a moment, then says, “You sure you don’t want to sit this one out, Spike? Let someone else take the reins?”

I let out a humorless laugh. “You know better than that, Tank. I don’t sit out.”

But even as the words leave my mouth, my mind drifts back to Riley. To the way she looks at me as if she’s trying to figure me out. Like she sees something I’m not ready for her to see.

I shake my head, forcing myself to focus. There’s no room for distractions today. Not when the stakes are this high.

***

The roar of forty bikes pierces the stillness, shaking the building as engines ignite in unison. The men fall into formation, the rumble of their machines a warning to anyone foolish enough to cross us. I sit at the front, my fingers gripping the handlebars tightly. The weight of this run presses heavy on my shoulders. It’s not just about the money or the product. Each run, no matter the reason, is a statement. A reminder. This is our territory.

Knuckles and the East Chapter take point, rolling out first. I wait five minutes before signaling my team to follow. The bikes surge forward, engines snarling like a pack of lions on the hunt. Between us, the vehicles trail in formation, their cargo secured in hidden compartments only a select few know about.

The first stretch is uneventful. Too uneventful. The eerie quiet prickles at the edge of my nerves. Deep in our turf, things should be smooth, but silence like this is rarely a good omen.

Tank’s voice cuts through the comms. “Eyes on us, Prez. Couple of cars keeping pace.”

He doesn’t need instructions. Tank’s a pro. He knows the drill: make the delivery, get paid, and clear out. But nothing’s ever as simple as it should be.

I glance back. The bikes fan out, shielding the vehicles from view. It’s a tight formation, a perfect cover. The only variable now is whether someone’s bold or stupid enough to make a move.

“We’re at location five,” Knuckles reports, his voice clipped. “Buyer’s here. No signs of trouble.”

I nod, though unease gnaws at me. Everything’s lined up, but there’s always that damn gut feeling, like a storm on the horizon.

Bones comes on the line. “We’ve got company, Prez. Bikes slipping in at the rear. Not ours.”

Grinding my teeth, I give the signal for everyone to tighten up. No way we’re letting anyone break formation.

“Knuckles, take lead. You and Tank handle the handoff. Don’t stick around. I’ll deal with this.”

Knuckles doesn’t argue. He knows what he’s doing.

As we approach the meeting spot, my eyes scan the area. The buyer stands next to a black SUV, far too polished for this dust bowl. A suit like his screams, ‘Look at me’. Attention is not something we want right now. I’ll need to make it clear at our next handout that proper attire is expected. Idiots.

My men have the SUV surrounded when we arrive, just as Tank slows, pulling the lead car to a stop beside the SUV. Knuckles dismounts and approaches, staying sharp.

Then I see it.

A blacked-out truck lurks at the edge of the lot. Far enough to avoid immediate attention but close enough to set alarms blaring in my head.

“Something’s off,” I growl into the comm. “Be ready.”

The truck’s doors fly open. Two men step out, armed, and start closing the distance.

“Shit,” Bones mutters. “We’re blown.”

My engine roars to life as I swerve sharply, skidding to a stop between my men and the advancing gunmen. Drawing my pistol, I bark into the comms, “Move! Finish the transfer and get out!”

Instead of shooting, the men exchange glances, smirking before retreating back to their truck. Moments later, two bikes pull up behind them. Likely the same assholes who tailed us earlier.

Chaos ignites. The men scramble as Knuckles and Tank toss the goods into the SUV. The buyer, pale but resolute, climbs in and floors it, kicking up a storm of dust.

---