Tread: Biker Romance (Ronin MC Series Book 1) (15 page)

“Hey,” they said in unison.

“So I got a trip I got to take tomorrow, Grace.”

“Oh? Okay. Where are we going?”

“Not we, just me . . . Well, and Royal. It’s a recon, and I’ll be gone probably overnight. Tomorrow, I need you to hang with Tatum, okay?”

“Were you going to ask me?” Tatum interrupted.

“Yeah, I was,” I replied sharply.

“Fine,” she huffed. “Gracie, we’re going hoggin’. We’ll get you some gear in the morning.”

Grace looked confused and a little worried.

“It’ll be fun, killer. Go get ’em,” I reassured her.

I squeezed her shoulder and inhaled that apple scent as I pushed by her and out the door. It looked like I wasn’t going to get into the Camaro anymore, tonight. I had to pack for the trip.

At almost noon the next day, I did my checks and inspections of my gear. My medium rucksack, camouflaged in multi-cam would be perfect for this little deal. It was a lighter toned camo fabric compared to the regular hunting shades of green. It would fit into the desert seamlessly.

I always carried more than I needed. It would be cumbersome to ride with, but I wasn’t even sure how Royal wanted to roll, anyway, truck or bike. It would depend on the presence he wanted at the border.

Anti-anxiety meds. Sleeping mat. Sleeping bag. FNP. I picked up the pistol and worked the action to check how well the lube was holding up. Placing it into a hideaway pocket in the side of the bag, I followed it up with my silencer case and six seven-round magazines. I put in a carton of smokes. Throwing my hygiene bag on top, I zipped up the pack and I was ready to roll.

I walked out of my room, down, and out the back door of the saloon. Royal was waiting in plain clothing: tactical khakis, ball cap and shades. Low profile it was, then. I tossed my pack in the back and hopped in the driver’s seat. I pulled out my phone, noticing I had a text from Derrick; which was just what I wanted.

“Derrick’s working today. He’ll still be on when we get there, for at least a couple hours.”

Royal just nodded as I fired up the truck and rolled out of the parking lot.

Around the front of the saloon, I saw Grace carrying a large rucksack that looked pretty full. She was sulking already, God help her. She noticed the truck and tried to wave, but the gesture almost toppled her over.

I smiled and nodded as we flew by. Looking in the rearview, Marley and Tatum grabbed the ruck and chucked it in the back of their SUV easily.
Good luck, Gracie.

WE MADE GOOD TIME TO
the border and our contact was waiting at a command tent set up on a hill overlooking the surrounding valley and mountains. Derrick was waiting for us, smoking a cigarette in front of the door flap.

“Come in, boys,” he said as he lifted the flap for us to enter.

Derrick was a black man with a close cut beard and a standard issue high and tight. It seemed like every time I saw him, more and more gray hair appeared at his temples, taking over his jet black hair. He was a stocky guy, but ‘retirement’ and long nights had grown a gut on him.

“Hey, brother, how’s the family?” I asked.

“Fuckin’ miserable. Don’t get me wrong, I love this job, and it’s good money. There just ain’t shit to do in these border towns,” he bitched.

“Yeah, no kidding. Hey, you’ve met Royal before, right?” I gestured to my VP behind me as I slid into the tent. “He was at Benning with us.”

“Yeah, I remember goldie locks. How’s it hangin’, brother?”

As they shook, I surveyed the command post and let out a low whisper.

“Shit, the G-man still isn’t skimping on the commo gear, huh?”

“Hell nah, I’m signed for over eight hundred thousand dollars in this damn hundred dollar tent.”

I sat in the RTO chair and Royal posted up against the fridge. Derrick sat in his nice leather, duty chair. He pulled out a wireless keyboard and mouse from a storage compartment under one of the arm rests and started punching commands into the messenger program, mIRC. His input devices hooked up to a computer putting an image on the side of the tent via projector.

“So what’s the last twenty-four looking like, and what do you think the next forty-eight to seventy look like?” I asked him.

He pulled up a topographical map of the area. It had overlays put on it, showing patrol routes, listening outposts, and command posts all along the border from south eastern Cali all the way to El Paso. Along the border there were red triangles flashing.

“These triangles are clashes between BP and violent illegals getting across the border. They’ve been packing everything from a compound bow to automatic weapons. Some of them have demonstrated tactics that usually signal cartel soldiers or Mexican Army. So far, it’s just been potshots, nothing substantial yet. At least as far as command is concerned.”

“Potshots is nothing to be concerned about?!” I asked.

“Seems like they don’t want it reported any higher than them if you ask me,” Royal added.

Derrick shot a finger at Royal.

“Winner winner chicken fuckin’ dinner, my man.”

“So they’re just turning a blind eye to Border Patrol in contact in numerous places on the border? What kind of folks have been crossing that aren’t armed to the teeth?”

“Well, the guys that ain’t shooting at us, we’ve been rounding up and holding. There’s still a delay for when this amnesty plan goes into effect. Also, we don’t know if command will let them in or let us take them back.”

He leaned forward and grabbed his Mountain Dew. He took a long swig before continuing.

“Mostly people just want a fresh start, just like them all. They wanna see what the American dream is all about. I swear, sometimes I don’t know why they still come, especially when the economy has been such shit lately.”

“Do the adventurers have money or are they the usual broke fuckers looking for education and a job?” Royal asked.

I shot a ‘really man?’ look at him. Sometimes, I swore he’d forgotten that’s how my mom got to the States. I uncharacteristically turned my back on my VP and carried on.

“Any surge in drug trafficking on the border?”

“Yeah, I don’t really know why. Amnesty doesn’t mean shit if you’re carrying thirty keys of yay.” Derrick shook his head. “We turned those bastards over to the ATF. They’re doing the usual back trace on the coke. One second, gotta call my boys on patrol.”

He picked up a hand mic from an adjacent desk and called his men. Seconds later, they responded in order.

“Still a stickler for radio etiquette?” I asked.

“Better believe it. When they get in to the command tent, I still make them talk as if they were talking on the radio.”

“Best way to learn,” Royal chimed in. “Bro, we came down here to try and spark some ideas. I know you don’t really know the MC, but you know our little town. We had some gun wielding assholes from across the border rob and kill some folks at the local vet.”

“Yeah, I read about that shit. It’s a damn shame.” He stared off for a second. “What can I do to help?”

“Anything you can, or will, do. We can pay for services if need be.”

“Depends on the mission, but I really ain’t starving if you know what I’m saying.” He patted his gut.

“We appreciate that a lot. We have to do something to steer assholes away from our town. I don’t give a shit where they go; they just need to stay out of our neck of the woods. We got some ideas cooking, but we gotta vote them in and revise them before we can play,” I said.

“No problem. I can offer surveillance and intel from here, and for free, but you know how New Mexico is. This post is as good as it gets. I know y’all got your hands full on your own property at the border. As for actionable shit, I can’t risk my guys’ careers chasing down some particular bad guy y’all don’t like.”

“Sounds perfect, man. We’ll be in touch.” I shook his hand and stood up.

“Do you mind if we poke around your area of operations for a bit? Not going to cause any trouble, just want to survey the tactical routes around here,” Royal said.

I didn’t know we were staying and I couldn’t lie. I wanted to get back home, but I squashed it. I exited the tent with Royal in tow. I looked over my shoulder to make sure Derrick wasn’t seeing us off.

“We going to be home when first gen gets back from their run?” I asked him.

“They aren’t getting in ’til almost noon tomorrow. Apparently, Lonny fucked up the route. Prez ain’t happy. We’ll be there, though.”

When we got back to the truck, we tossed on our packs. It was all on foot from here. Breaking bush was shitty going: slippery rocks while you’re climbing inclines, sticker bushes, snakes, all kinds of bullshit out here. Turns out walking around the swamps of Florida and the mountains of Georgia prepped me well for my after Army life. At least I was not wet. I was a whiny bitch when I got wet in the field.

Royal took the lead and we shot up a tall, pointed hill adjacent to the command post. As the crow flies, I was guessing we were about a click, or kilometer, away from Derrick’s command post. I surveyed the surroundings. Draws and spurs traced the sides of the mountains, hills, and faded into the valley. A lot of hiding places, but not at night. At night, these parts were brutal. Any temperature was cold when it’d been one hundred and eight degrees all day then dropped to sixty degrees at night with a fifteen mph wind. Knowing that, people hiking this terrain would use those draws to sleep, block the wind, and stupidly start a small fire for heat. That’s when we’d get them. That’s what we had to do.

“I got it,” I spoke out.

“I think I do, too,” Royal replied.

“What do you got?” I asked.

“Night Ops under thermals and night vision.”

“Yep, you got it. These dudes are gonna give themselves away all night.”

“Yeah, I found out how to use Derrick, too. I need to know the patrol routes. I want a quiet area away from his CP so he can maintain deniability. We’ll use our camo nets to avoid the choppers overhead.” We didn’t need any unwanted government attention now that we were going to be taking our gear off the MC property. Uncle Sam didn’t take too kindly to civilians setting up patrol points unsanctioned.

“All right, I’ll hit up Derrick then Alt to tell him to find the nets and inspect them.” Who knew how long it had been since they were stored away.

“Sounds good. We’ll stay here tonight. Hammer out a plan by morning and bring it to the table tomorrow. I want the logistics, equipment required, manpower, all of that figured out before we brief the old man. Who knows, he might think this is a fool’s errand.”

As Royal added that last part, I remembered all the guff about Harvey not seeming to give any fucks anymore. I dropped my pack and whipped out my sat-phone to call Derrick and give him the details. Royal dropped his ruck and pulled out his thermals. It looked like a gigantic set of binoculars with a single eyepiece and a tripod growing out of the bottom. He attached a battery to it and fired it up to ensure it worked. It would be at least another hour before dusk hit. Just enough time to set up shop and eat something.

“Hello?” Derrick answered the phone.

“Check out the hilltop to your east and slightly south,” I told him.

“I got you. What are ya’ll up to out there?”

“Just camping in the good ol’ U.S. of A. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. I’ll make sure the evening patrols don’t fuck with you.”

“Thanks.” I hung up the phone and tossed it in my pack. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, I could eat. What’s for chow?” Royal responded.

I tossed him some high-speed rations that I picked up out in Deming from some hunting shop.

“They’re not that bad. Don’t even need water to heat them up.”

“What kind of rear echelon fucker heats up their MREs?” he joked.

“Man, it’s not Afghanistan, anymore. Although this sure as hell looks like it.”

As night descended, we observed. In the distance, we saw tracer fire fly off into the air. Royal took first watch, and the familiar sound of distant helicopters put my ass to sleep real quick.

“Tread, wake up. I got something.” Royal smacked my chest to wake me up.

I launched to my feet, still in my sleeping sack.

“The fuck, man?”

I shot a look at him through the pitch black as cold sweat dripped down the nape of my neck.

Royal practically rolled around laughing his ass off in the dirt before getting himself under control. “Chill, man. Look.”

I got back into the prone position and looked through his thermals. They were in night vision mode. I scanned the countryside. Light flickered against the backdrop of mountains for miles.

“Holy shit, that’s a lot of campfires.”

I checked my phone and it was only seventy degrees; not even that cold.

“Guess there’s a bunch of rookies out there,” Royal said. “But there sure are a metric fuck ton of them.”

“This is worse than I imagined. How many of those fires belong to immigrants that want that education and jobs and how many are thugs, gang bangers, and cartel mules?”

“I don’t know, man, but it’s looking like we have to do this the more I think about it.”

Royal leaned back in his sack. I shut down the thermals and found my sleeping mat. After fighting with it for a few minutes, I was resettled and staring up at the stars. I was tired as hell, but my mind wouldn’t quiet about the endless possibilities of what those groups consisted of. I thought of my mom and her family, and how it must have been when they made that trek. Were they escorted by guys like my MC? Did they come with cartel thugs? The purple-black hue of the night and the stars that accompanied them faded in and out until I was finally asleep.