Tread: Biker Romance (Ronin MC Series Book 1) (26 page)

WITHIN THE NEXT COUPLE OF
hours, we were scouring up rough terrain, leaving our bikes long behind us. We had found an extremely convenient, pretty well hidden mineshaft to hide them in.

Everyone marched, slipped on rocks, picked up and continued marching. Most of the second generation still wore military grade hiking boots we had used in Afghanistan. A few of the first generation, however, were stubborn and kept to their biker boots.

The sun was setting at our backs when we were just a hundred meters to a small plateau that led to a little cave before jutting up into a high mesa.

We established a hasty patrol base near the edge of the plateau overlooking the ascent. It was a nice choke point that would funnel any pursuers; on each side of the trail were steep folds that led to either side of the mountain.

Unless the cartel brought rock-climbing gear, Swiss seats and all, they would have to travel up this miniature draw right into our laps.

I set in most of the guard points—filled sandbags, then piled them for protection—as most of the men changed into camouflage. They dawned their kits— vests that included everything from their magazine pouches to their extra smokes to their . . .

“Shit.” I felt around my already dawned kit. No night vision, no thermals. I’d left it all. God damnit. After throwing the sandbags I had just filled into place at my fighting position, I went to the entrance of the cave.

“Did you guys bring night vision?”

A herd of deer gave me the headlight stare.

“Thermals?”

Same stare.

“Fuck!” I shouted as I kicked my rucksack over. I couldn’t curse at anyone about it, really. I had forgotten mine, too. There was nothing more frustrating to a leader than knowing you had the equipment, and also knowing that you had left it back home, and now you needed it.

Back in my non-commissioned officer days, I would smoke the balls off the Privates for less. I pulled a three-by-five card out of my vest and chucked it at the group. It fluttered in the air then fell practically to my feet. Not the effect I was going for.

“Fuckin’ guard roster is posted. I’m taking midnight shift. Goodnight Vietnam!” I saluted at the darkness, my back turned to the makeshift command center where everyone gathered and prepped their gear for an overnight stay.

I headed back to my sleeping area, not three meters from my fighting position. A habit I attained in combat was to never sleep too far from where you fought. I finally heard the guys snicker. I made sure I hid my smile. There was nothing like comic relief in a time of high stress.

I lay back on my still rolled up sleeping bag and cursed the stars before closing my eyes. At least the illumination from Mr. Moon was nice since we couldn’t start a fire. I could see it through my eyelids, a faint white glow as I passed out, exhausted.

I shot awake in a cold sweat, made a thousand times worse against the desert’s wind. I thought I had yelled when I woke, but I must have just screamed in my dream this time. Looking around me, no one else stirred. Snores were echoing out of the cave.

If anyone came up on us, maybe they’d think it was a bear in the cave, not a collection of old, tired veterans with sleep apnea. I listened for a minute with my eyes closed. At first, all I could hear was the ringing in my right ear and the thumping in my chest. As my heart rate slowed, I could have sworn I heard a whisper of movement.

I stayed silent, still, trying to become a tree, or a bush. Rock was probably better.

The ringing in my ears subsided slightly and I heard another sound, like pebbles sliding down the trail below. I low crawled over to my fighting position and opened my pack. I retrieved my sixteen-inch Springfield SOCOM II rifle and set it on the sandbag.

I heard faint movements to my left that were very close, possibly the next fighting position over. It was Mac, sitting guard. He was readying his rifle. I assumed he’d heard it too, but maybe he was just copying me.

I reached in my pack again and gently grabbed things from the top. The first thing felt like a flashlight. I set it to the side and dug deeper. A carton of cigarettes was next, the sticky cellophane unmistakable. I set it aside. The next thing I grabbed was a canister that I had almost mistaken as another flashlight.

I quickly went through the inventory of my bag in my mind. Nope, no second flashlight, this was it.

I pulled it towards me and lightly pushed my pack aside. I untwisted one end and slid out the silver cylinder. I unscrewed the top of the silver cylinder and placed it on the bottom, not unlike you would do with a pen cap. With both hands, I kept a death grip. In one I had my rifle, the other, the silver cylinder. I looked towards Mac, his silhouette appearing to be looking back at me.

I turned my attention to the trail below. Staying as silent as possible, I closed my eyes to better my hearing and listened.

About thirty seconds past before I heard what sounded like someone slipping and rocks sliding down the trail below. That was the cue.

I turned my head away and slammed the cylinder on my sandbag. Through my closed eyes, I could see a bright green flash. I opened them and watched as the star cluster I held illuminated the trail below.

Five startled men looked to the sky at the commotion, more than a few of them quickly shooting a hand in front of their face, no doubt to save their night vision from the washout.

I didn’t even remember letting go of the cylinder. The scope of my gun seemed to simply appear before me and the men before them. I squeezed off a controlled pair at the nearest target crawling up the trail on his knees.

He fell backwards and over in a soundless heap—dead before he lay at rest.

Mac opened up on one of the men that had just been covering his NODs, or night optic device, trying to capitalize on the whitewash he undoubtedly faced.

The other three rolled behind whatever cover they could find and opened fire in our direction. I slid back slightly and rolled to my back. Snaps and hisses slugged by, a few red tracers as well, as I hollered towards the cave.

“Three hostiles, twelve o’clock, thirty meters!”

From my fighting position, I heard the satisfying echo from men located inside the cave. Everyone knew where these three were. Regardless of what happened to me, those three men were fucked.

I rolled back onto my elbows and triceps as I gained my sight alignment again. The moon’s illumination was helpful, but the effects of the green star cluster still had me seeing yellow spots everywhere. I waited for a muzzle flash, shot at it, six inches behind it, to the right of it and to the left of it before going back into cover on my back.

Before I even had a chance to reload my first magazine, it was over. Silence fell upon the plateau once again. Noise discipline was gone, so I called out.

“Mac, are you good?”

“Green to green!”

“We’re up, green to green!” Royal yelled from my right.

“All right, let’s see what Santa brought us,” I mumbled, getting cautiously to my feet.

I still didn’t want to use white light. Instead, I opted for a small red LED light on my key chain. Nothing that could really be seen from the direction of Lincoln.

I counted the bodies. Five men dressed in the same fatigues the Mexican Army wore. There was no way. I pulled wallets out of their pockets and looked at their identification cards. Sure enough, these guys belonged to the Mexican Army’s Special Forces. That must have cost the cartel a few favors and a pretty penny.

“Mac, give me a hand.”

We pulled one up to the plateau and into the cave.

“Block the entrance. I’m going white light.”

Men clogged the front of the cave and I clicked on my flashlight.

Sure enough, the man we dragged in was hardcore Mexican Special Ops.

I looked up at Harvey with hard eyes. “And you said I was worried for nothing, boss.”

Harvey looked as if he had seen a ghost. “Good call, boy. Good call.” He promptly lit a cigar and sat down, leaning against the side of the cave as he blew a few smoke rings.

“Gather their dead, bring them in here, and take their cells, IDs, and weapons. When we get back, I want Stevie-the-hacker there, Alt. I need to know the intel on their phones,” Royal said, walking closer to the corpse.

“Too easy,” Alt replied.

Everyone went to work.

Everyone except Mac and I.

We huddled near the entrance of the cave and proceeded to chain smoke and talk about what just happened. Our eyes met, and we both held out a fist, smirked, then went back to being chimneys.

It was almost disgusting how happy we were that we had just smoked five men. We were really just happy that those men didn’t get us first.

IT WAS SO QUIET WITH
the MC gone. During the few months that I had been there, I’d gotten used to the constant chatter and bluster of the men.

Everyone was acting strange, too. As much as I knew Tread didn’t like the mission, the women were practically biting their nails. It made everyone snap, so we tried to steer clear of each other.

Instead of staying at my empty house, I caught a yoga class with Marley and Tatum, and then went to work on the books in the shop. Ever since Kit left and I moved in with Tread, Lola had been behind the bar, which was perfectly okay with me.

My phone chimed, and I set down the invoice I was plugging into the computer.

Kit: Sorry, I just got home. Did you watch that episode from last week?

Kit got me watching some zombie show she was obsessed with. I had to say, it did make me appreciate the guns that were as common around here as a wristwatch.

Me: I did. Darryl’s kinda sexy.

Kit: You think?

Me: In a badass, take charge kind of way.

Kit: Maybe in an unwashed, stinky kind of way.

Me: They don’t have running water most of the time!

Kit: Okay, point to Gracie Lou.

Me: You know, no one ever calls me that anymore.

Kit: I’m a throwback, then. What are you doing tonight, besides a certain Mexican playa?

Me: They’re out of town, and the only one he’s playing with is me.;)

Kit: Look at you! All grown up and shit. I just shed a tear.

Me: Bitch. What are you doing tonight?

Kit: A tall dark and handsome drink of water.;)

I cringed. A blind person would have been able to see how hung up Royal was on this girl, and she was off dating some other guy. He was practically sniffing the ground for her trail, while I text her almost every day. The guilt never got any easier to handle.

Me: Oh, the mysterious man that does something for a job, leaves all the time and goes somewhere he can’t tell you, and cancels at the last minute on your dates? So hot.

Kit: Hey! The man only canceled once.

Me: You were already at the restaurant.

Kit: It was an emergency. Shit happens. I’ve had to cancel on him too when I get called in. No big.

Me: He hasn’t let you see his place. It’s weird.

Kit: We’re going next weekend, so ha! Speaking of which, I have to go shave my . . . legs. He’s coming over tonight.

Me: USE PROTECTION!

Kit: Yes ma’am!

Sighing, I threw my phone down. That girl stressed me out. Absently, I looked towards the computer and checked the time. When I realized it was noon already, I stood and tapped on the glass window that separated the garage and office.

Marley unearthed herself from the underbelly of a car and raised her hand in a wave of acknowledgement. I made sure the voicemail was on the work line then grabbed my phone before leaving. Marley was just walking away from the sink, washing her hands when I stepped out.

“How’s the Ford coming?” I asked idly as we walked across the parking lot. Without the guys, it was eerily quiet. No music. No bawdy jokes. No Harley pipes. I resisted the urge to walk faster.

“There was definitely a crack in the coolant tank. Taking it out is a bitch,” Marley said, wiping her elbow absently a the wet paper towel.

A gust of dusty wind blew my hair around in a tumbleweed frenzy. I wrapped my arms around my waist and shivered. “It’s getting cold. I didn’t think that happened this far south.”

“Most people don’t, but it’s not the equator, and it is almost Christmas.”

I nodded as I grabbed the door handle to the kitchen then swung it open to let Marley in first. “That’s true. What does one get MC members for Christmas, anyway?”

Marley smirked as she picked up a knife in the kitchen. “Veesa likes ’em sharp.”

I laughed and forced her hand back down to the counter where she dropped it with a clank. “She won’t get one from me. She may like me now, but I swear I see her eyeing Bella every time I bring her in. Maybe she’d like a nice pair of oven mitts.”

Marley smirked and looked behind me. My stomach dropped and I spun around, but no one was there. I pushed Marley through the swinging door into the bar, yelling “Don’t do that!” as she cackled away.

No one was in the bar, even the Doves had left with no men to occupy their time. We headed to the little dining room next to the office. There, Veesa, Lola, and Tatum were eating sandwiches. Marley and I pulled up chairs and helped ourselves.

“What are you two gabbing on about?” Lola asked with her mouth full of food.

Marley side eyed me. “Grace was asking about Christmas.”

“Oh?”

I snagged a napkin and wiped my mouth. “I was just wondering what you get bikers for holidays. It seems like they have everything.”

“Mmm, that’s true. We usually stick with what they need.”

“Like Alt needs a hair brush,” Tatum said. Everyone nodded and laughed. He had a mane of hair on him that was always pulled back like the rest, but he looked like he hopped out of the shower and just yanked it back.

“Tread always likes the gadgets, but it’s hard to find one he doesn’t have,” Veesa added. That was an understatement. He had a whole room of things I didn’t know what to do with. Spies had less tech than him.

“Have you heard from him?” Veesa asked quietly. The others looked to me in silence.

I swallowed before answering. “No.” They all looked down at their plates. Then I straighten. “Wait, he does have a new gizmo that lets me track his location from an iPad! It’s at the house, though.”

Veesa wiped her fingers roughly, shredding the napkin in her hands. “You bring it tonight when we clean the trailer, yes?”

It was more of a demand than a request, but I nodded readily, anyway.

“You guys are cleaning the trailer?” Marley asked.

“That’s an old lady thing, right?” Tatum jumped in.

Veesa glared at her daughter. “It’s a family thing. You two come, too.”

Both girls groaned, and I looked to each of them. “Is it that bad?”

“Worse. They’re disgusting pigs when they’re out there. It smells like gun oil and feet.” Tatum shuddered theatrically.

“Should we disturb the ones out there? Don’t they have to focus or something?” I asked. I knew they went out in shifts to the border to make sure no illegals came in, and to sometimes usher people out of the country. It wasn’t talked about openly, but I had been around long enough to pick up the lingo, and knew they didn’t get deliveries in the middle of nowhere.

Lola shook her head, the blonde beehive on her head never budging. “They took everyone on this ride.” She moved her tongue across her teeth, her eyes unfocused. “Never happened before.” She took a deep breath and straightened. “But they wouldn’t have left it completely unguarded. I’m sure Harvey let those Border Patrol guys know. They’ll be making drive bys.”

“But we’ll be okay out there unprotected?” I asked nervously.

Everyone simultaneously snickered. “We aren’t helpless damsels, Gracie. Why do you think we’ve been takin’ you out shootin’ all the damn time?”

“I see,” I said as strongly as I could, knowing enough not to show fear or weakness with them. We had been spending a lot of time with guns, and I was a fairly decent shot. Something I never thought I would be. Just feeling the holster at my back gave me a level of comfort and self-confidence I had never experienced.

“So we’ll meet after the dinner crowd moves out of the saloon. We’ll close up early. Ain’t nobody gonna be in all hours with the guys gone, anyway. About seven?” Lola confirmed.

I had an idea. “Hey, why don’t we get a tree and decorate it out there? When the guys come back, they’ll be on shift out there, some through Christmas.”

Everyone eyed me like I had asked them to make a dirty movie together. “Just a small one.”

Lola leaned, her elbows planted firmly on the table. “You wanna decorate a tree in the guard shack?” she asked incredulously.

I shrugged and looked around. “Like soldiers when they’re deployed. It has to be demoralizing around the holidays.”

Tatum was the first to roll her eyes. “You’re such a saint, Grace.”

“I am not!” I fired back.

“You do what you want, child, and we’ll help,” Veesa declared firmly, daring anyone to contradict her.

And that was that.