Page 8 of Her Grumpy Biker
“Exactly. Easy money, right? All you have to do is put it on, go to the address here,” he hands me a slip of paper, “and leave the coat outside of the shipping crate with the number below the address.”
I nod, looking over the information. This doesn’t seem right, but I don’t know enough to figure out what’s wrong about it.
“Okay. Then what?”
“Then you’ll wait at the secondary location, written on the back of the paper there,” he replies, pointing to said paper in my hands. “Someone will stop by and place a red backpack under the park bench. They’ll have a long, braided gray beard and a leather jacket with the wordsSons of Decimationon the back.”
“I’m exchanging a coat for a backpack? But at a different location?” It makes no sense to me, but the possibility of having seven hundred dollars in my hand at the end of the day overrides my doubt.
“Yes. It’s that simple. You might have to wait at the park for a bit. They’ll need to examine the product… I mean, the coat, before handing off the backpack. Then you meet me right back here.”
“Okay,” I say again. What else am I supposed to say? This job isn’t what I expected, but it’s what I need. It’s my only choiceright now, and I don’t intend to mess it up by asking more questions.
He hands me a long winter coat that’s deceptively heavy and instructs me to put it on. I do as he says, though I hate every second of being in his presence. I just need to get this over with, and then I can go home and never think about today ever again.
“Go on, then. I’ll be here waiting.” I nod and swallow past the lump in my throat. “Oh, and Camden? Don’t fuck around. Get in, get out, get the backpack. Understand?”
“Yes,” I choke out.
It takes me a few minutes to get my bearings, but I eventually figure out where the first location is. Good thing this town is small, otherwise I might have gotten lost on my way to the train tracks on the south side.
When I step out of my car, I notice how dilapidated everything appears to be. I guess I assumed it was a functioning railroad, but I can see clearly it’s been abandoned for years. What am I doing here?
My father’s words from the day I left come back to me.You’ll never make it on the outside. You’ll fall into sin, get caught up in the ways of the world, lose your soul, and then suffer an eternity in hell. That’s what awaits you outside those gates.
“No,” I whisper to myself. He’s wrong. I’ll prove him and everyone else at the compound wrong. This is just the first step, a pit stop, really, on the journey to my new life.
I look at the folded-up piece of paper again, searching for the crate number. Scanning the lot, I notice dozens of rusted-out shipping crates scattered about. They have no particular organization system, which means I’ll have to start at one end of the tracks and make my way down until I find the right one.
I’m so engrossed in locating the right container, I don’t notice the three men walking toward me until they’re just a fewfeet away. My instinct is to run, but I’m not sure who they are or if they’re involved in whatever “job” I’ve been given.
They don’t let me question their intentions for long. One man wraps his hand around my wrist while another one fists my hair and pulls to the point of pain. I whimper, but the men just laugh as if they’re enjoying my suffering.
“Fuckin’ idiots,” the man tugging my hair says as he shoves me forward.
“Sent a fat chick to do their dirty work. ‘Buncha pussies.”
“I-I’m sorry, but I think you have the wrong person,” I tell them. “I’m supposed to drop off a coat, and–”
The man gripping my wrist lets out a cruel laugh. “How much money were you promised? Whatever it was, you’ll never see a dime.”
I’m about to ask why when I’m pushed into an open container. I notice their leather jackets have Sons of Decimation on the front and back, so I must be at the right place, but…
My confusion turns to fear as one man presses me against the side of the container with his hand around my throat. Another man slips something out of his pocket and flicks his wrist, revealing a switchblade.
His brown gaze meets mine, and my stomach churns violently. I may be naive, but I know evil when I see it. Men with ill intentions and giant egos all have the same look in their soulless eyes. The man lunges toward me, the blade swiping across the front of the coat I’m wearing.
I slam my eyes shut and scream, preparing for the sharp knife to slice through my skin. My scream is joined by a loud, primal growl, one that belongs to one man and one man only.
Diego.
5
DIEGO
My hand wraps around the back of this fucker’s neck, and I pull him backward only to slam his face into the metal wall of the shipping container. He lets out a grunt and a whimper, and I spin him around so I can remember the face of the man I’m going to kill. Not here, though. Not in front of Camden.
I sink my fist into Stitch’s face, pleased with myself when he crumples to the ground.
