Page 33 of Ravaged and Ruined
I nod, slipping into the car beside her. “Yeah. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Chapter Fourteen
Aero
The night air is thick with anticipation as we roll up to the edge of the port at the designated meeting spot. We cut the engines one by one, gravel crunching beneath the weight of our bikes as we park in a shadowed line near the edge of the docks. The two prospects roll up in beat-to-hell vans, tail lights flickering, engines rattling as they idle. They are a piece of shit but completely untraceable back to the club. I swing off my bike and glance around at my brothers, Grizzly, Surge, Backdraft, Padre, Crank, Rancor, Tango, Pike, and Hashtag. Each one a seasoned warrior, ready to do what needs to be done.
We take cover while we run recon. I crouch low behind a stack of rusted drums, peering out at the rows of containers stretching like a damn maze across the shipping yard.
Grizzly shifts beside me, his bulk hidden under black denim and leather. “Whole place is crawling,” he mutters, low.
Even this late, there’s a lot of movement. Steel groans overhead as a massive crane shifts a container, its chains rattling my bones. Sodium lights hum above us, casting everything inthat washed-out orange glow, while the bay water slaps gently against the hulls of freighters.
“Our target should be on the bottom row. Far end.” Hashtag informs us all through the shared comms in our ears.
“Two guards in the back by the fence.” Surge whispers in my earpiece from his look out point.
I scan the fence line spotting them lazily circling the lot. Not pros, but they’re strapped. One’s got a shotgun racked across his back.
“This is it, boys,” I say, my voice low but firm. “You know what to do. No mistakes.”
“Prez, the cameras are patched, but I can only loop for twenty minutes at a time before their system flags the feed.”
“Copy that,” I whisper back. “Clock starts now.”
I rise into a crouch and signal the others forward. Crank’s the first to move. He’s fast, twitchy, always three seconds ahead of himself. He darts between shadows like he’s got afterburners in his sneakers seeking out the first guard. Rancor’s close behind, heading toward the second guard. He’s all brute muscle and brute silence. Padre moves with surprising grace for a man pushing sixty, his gray hair tucked under a skullcap, expression carved from stone. Tango trails them with a black bag of clean-up tools slung over his shoulder, just in case this goes sideways. There isn’t anything that man hasn’t seen.
The rest of us follow toward our target. The container yard smells like diesel, salt, and old sweat. I don’t like it. Don’t trust it. It feels staged, like a scene in a movie right before all hell breaks loose.
Backdraft lingers at the rear of our group, pacing like a coiled wire. He’s got a duffel bag full of explosives. We brought them in case we need a distraction. But if I know him, he’s itching to light up the night just for the thrill of it.
“Don’t get twitchy,” I warn him. “This ain’t a fireworks show.”
He grins. “It could be.”
We snake through the maze of containers, every sense on alert. I can see the target up ahead, Delta-9436, its identification stenciled in faded white. It’s locked tight, shipping tags still zip-tied to the latch.
I signal the others into position as the clock approaches twenty minutes. “Make yourself shadows.”
The thunder of my heart beats in my ears as I wait for Hashtag’s confirmation. After several beats he gives us the all clear. Another twenty on the clock.
Grizzly posts up to watch our backs. Tango and Pike take the flanks. I kneel at the lock, my fingers brushing cool metal. “Hashtag, confirm.”
“Yep. That’s your girl. Tag matches the shipment manifest we intercepted. Should be rifles, crates of ‘em.”
I reach into my bag for the bolt cutter. Just as the blades press down…
“Movement. Southeast corner.” Surge’s voice snaps across the comms like a whip. I freeze.
“Dock Worker?”
“Nope. Moving like he’s casing.”
“Eyes open,” Padre whispers. “That guard’s not watching his route. He’s watching us.”
Shit.
“We’ve been made?” Surge asks.
