Tread: Biker Romance (Ronin MC Series Book 1) (32 page)

AS WE APPROACHED, WE FELT
the set-up.

It didn’t matter, though. These motherfuckers were going to die.

If one wrong look came Grace’s way, I was going to gouge out that fucker’s eyes.

The meet was set in an inlet of the mountains we had been at days before. The cartel probably had us surrounded on three sides with the high ground boxing us in, just like we had their men.

A lone SUV was parked inside the inlet. A table was set out about fifteen meters away from it.

We had a quick reaction force of twenty guys waiting about five miles away. Hopefully, that would be enough. Our guys were equipped with armor, automatic weapons, and Alt undoubtedly carried his baby—an M320 grenade launcher.

As Royal and I approached in my truck, I noticed the table was set for some kind of meal. Was this asshole for real?

We were about one hundred and fifty meters away when the front doors of the SUV popped open and cartel soldiers exited. They were dressed in tuxedoes, wore white gloves, and undoubtedly were armed to the teeth. They approached the table and pulled out four chairs on one side of the table.

The rear driver’s side door of the SUV opened. A well-dressed man emerged, followed by Grace and Tatum.

Their hands were tied behind them and the well-dressed man held a revolver at the ready.

Fucking cowboy.

I would make him regret bringing a revolver as his sole means of protection to a twenty-first century gunfight. Two words: reload time.

He escorted the girls to the table, and the men in tuxes seated them just as Royal and I pulled to a stop.

“Are you ready for this?” Royal turned to me.

“Yeah.” I slapped the ballistic plate inside my vest. “I packed the extra plate carriers for the girls. They’re in the duffle.”

“Good, well, let’s not be rude.” Royal opened the door and tossed his cigarette as he stepped out.

I exited my side and adjusted my vest. The hideaway three inch .45 caliber inside my waistband dug into my left hip.

I approached the table at a stroll, keeping my eyes off of Grace and my emotions locked up tight.

The anger, the fear, the sheer desperation for everyone to come out whole was a tightrope best traveled alone. Not only when going in to battle to save the woman I had just realized I’d fallen in love with, but walking into what was almost assuredly going to be a gunfight with my brothers.

It was impossible to accept my brothers as casualties. That would be a complete failure, and we didn’t
do
failure.

I forced my hands to stop trembling. I blinked slowly as I heard Royal blow out a slow breath. Our adrenaline was high, on standby in case shit went down.

“Nice spot. Mr. . . .?” Royal asked.

“Montega,” the well-dressed man replied.

“Mr. Montega, very nice spot for . . . lunch?” Royal checked his watch.

“Yes, as you can see, I don’t miss many meals.” Montega patted his swollen gut.

“Let me guess,” I interjected casually. “Tamales?”

“No, no. Pork steak tacos. Oh, you must try them.” He gestured to two chairs. In the damn desert.

“Yeah, no thanks. Let’s get to the exchange.” Royal yanked a chair out and took a seat.

I sat and the tuxedoed men set glasses of ice and bottles of Coke in front of us.

They retreated to the truck and pulled out lidded silver serving platters then came back to the table.

When they removed the covers, there was a tray of pork steak cuts, tortillas, rice, beans. Then they placed glass plates and silverware in front of us, the girls, and Montega.

Were we really about to eat at a transaction? My eyes cut to Royal, who was staring down Montega, all the while being ignored.

Once the table was set, Montega came alive, and clapped his hands together. “Let’s eat!”

“No thanks.”

“Senor, I must insist,” Montega said as he roughly placed his revolver on the table.

Another one. These guys were seriously old school. Eyeing the silver-plated .357 Magnum on the table—a much stronger caliber than my ballistic plates were capable of withstanding—I patted Royal on the back. “Come on, bro. We don’t wanna be rude, remember?”

Watching the man, I poured Coke into my glass. My paranoia figured that the ice had drugs in it. Maybe they put a syringe through the plastic of the bottle and inserted poison, too.

I dismissed both of my thoughts as they came. Montega wanted his coke back. He would have to know that it wasn’t here, but it wouldn’t be too far away.

I stared at him as I took a sip. Tasted like Coke, smelled like Coke. Probably was just Coke by the way he was utterly unconcerned that I was drinking it.

“So about this . . . nasty run-in we’re having. These girls have been treated well. No one has touched them.” He pulled Tatum’s gag out of her mouth. “Tell them, no one has hurt you. Have they?”

“Fuck you, fat ass!” she spat at him.

The nearest tuxedoed jackass landed a cheap shot in the jaw, knocking her off her chair into the sand. She didn’t move, making it clear he had knocked her out cold. Royal and I flexed, about to spring into action, when Montega held up his hand.

“Enough, enough.” He defused the situation as he wiped spit off his face. “She is a rather feisty one! I much prefer the guera.”

“You sure about that, Diablo?” Grace asked as she spat out her too loose gag to unveil sly smirk. I could see her hair whipping in the wind out of the corner of my eye, and it took everything in me not to turn.

Montega quickly lost his smirk. Interesting.  He motioned with his head, and Tuxedo yanked the gag back into place.

When no one reached to hit my girl, Royal and I both relaxed just a smidgen.

“Your boys should know better.” Royal peered through Montega with fire in his eyes.

“Momma didn’t teach them not to hit women, huh? Fucking putas.” I curled my lip in disgust.

The tuxedoed jackass tried to stare me down. He would die first for hitting my sister when this finally went down.

“Anyway, down to business. Boys? Would you grab our Mexican guest of honor, por favor?”

The men both went behind the SUV and emerged with Carlos, our goddamned pizza delivery boy. He wasn’t bound, or gagged. He wore an expensive suit and the latest set of Oakleys. I had expected it all along, had fucking told those assholes, especially Harvey, that he was shady as hell. Here he was, ratting us out to the cartels. He was the cock sucking bathhouse whore that caused all of this.

Maybe Tuxedo Jackass wouldn’t be the first to die after all.

“Gentlemen.” Carlos smiled and nodded as he took a seat at the end of the table opposite the girls. “I trust you’re enjoying the famous Diablo Familia Cartel hospitality.”

“What was that? I can’t hear you with all the cock in your mouth.” Royal had a hand pulling the hair back from his ear.

“You sound like Charlie Brown’s teacher when you gargle jizz like that,” I added.

“Real mature. Mr. Montega, I told you these two are children. These adolescent boys cannot negotiate on behalf of the MC,” he whined with a dismissive flick of his hand.

“What’s your piece in this, Carlos?” Royal asked. I could see his hand flexing into a fist on the table.

“Oh, nothing. Just tired of getting ripped off by you fucking gringos.”

“Oh, come on. We’ve always given you your share.”

“Very fucking funny, man. When I was approached to sell information on the MC, you can see why I accepted. These men see my worth.”

I couldn’t help but smirk. “So basically, you’re a snitch. Nothing but a two bit whore.”

“Mr. Montega, you’ve made my point for me.” Carlos turned to Montega. “These two come to ‘negotiate’ with nothing but crude dick jokes about poor Mexican women.”

“Yes, yes, I see.” Montega waved him off. “That would be rather suicidal of them if they showed up to negotiate without proper authority.” He eyed us and raised his unibrow as his face turned red. “And you two will not use such harsh language at my table! In front of the ladies, even!”

“You got it, chief. Just keep a muzzle on that dog.” Royal pointed at Carlos.

“Very well. Now . . .” He paused to fold his hands and place his elbows on the table, “you gentleman have something of mine and, as you see, I have something of yours.” He nodded to the girls.

“Yeah, are we going to do something about that?” Royal questioned with his brow furrowed.

“Indeed we are. My conditions: number one, my mules will pass through your property unhindered. Number two, you will defend my people from the authorities if needed. Number three, no less than eighty keys of cocaína will cross the border on your property and
all
eighty keys will reach their final destination in Albuquerque.” He paused to drink his coke. “You do this for us and we will give you, not only the girls, but one percent of the take.”

Royal opened his mouth to speak.

“Ah! I must also add, gentlemen, that the conditions are non-negotiable. Simply a yes accompanied by a hand shake or . . . I kill everyone here. Carlos will be your contact with my familia from here on out. Deal?”

Luckily, we had a contingency plan for this. Ronin wasn’t going to work with the cartels. We never had, and we never would. Where I would have been uncertain if Harvey was here, I knew exactly where Royal’s head was at.

I leaned to my right to whisper in Royal’s ear. With my empty left hand, I pulled the .45, brought it up and across Royal’s face then shot Carlos. The bullet went in, then out of his neck at approximately his Adam’s apple.

I heard Grace let out a startled scream behind her gag, but made myself turn to the next target. The shot startled Tatum awake, who still lay in the sand.

As Tuxedo Jackass was reaching into his jacket, Royal drew and shot him twice in the chest and once in the head. As the additional Tuxedo came around the corner wielding an MP5, we both shot and killed him with a volley of .45 ACP. Finally, both our smoking barrels came to rest squarely at Montega.

Instead of fear—considering his likely imminent death—Montega let out a bellowing laugh. A rumble caught our attention as five SUVs rounded the side of the draw, heading to surround our position.

“I do not think I will be dying today,” Montega said as he pointed to the ridges above him.

I caught sight of a shimmer, immediately recognizing the reflection of the sun on a riflescope. My adrenaline released into my bloodstream like speed to a junky.

A muzzle flash followed immediately by shattering glass, which sprung us into action. I jerked up and dove across the corner of the table for Grace and Tatum.

Royal stood and flipped the table over in the direction of Montega, who stumbled backwards and eventually fell to avoid the table pinning him down.

I pulled Grace and Tatum up, then gave them a hard shove towards the truck.

The girls didn’t waste time, full on sprinting the whole way. I followed closely behind while Royal provided cover fire. He presented an immediate threat to the cartel, who focused fire on him instead of the women. A few rounds here and there kicked up sand around the women and I, but nowhere near what it would have been without Royal making them duck and cover.

“Around back! Around back!” I yelled over the gunshots. The women veered around the backside, effectively putting the most steel between them and the bullets.

I dove into the bed, barely slowing, and rolled to a stop against the wheel well. Grabbing fists full of cloth, I flung the duffle bag towards the girls in one solid motion.

“PUT THESE ON!” I shouted. No time for ‘I missed you.’

“Our hands! Tread, we can’t do shit,” Tatum yelled, turning her back to me. I glanced down and gritted my teeth. No time for bolt cutters.

“I’m gonna pull your hands away from your body. Bend over.” I fisted the chains between her hands and shot the links at point blank range towards the cartel. Tatum moved to the side and Grace backed up towards me hunched over.

“Hi, baby. You good?” I asked, not giving her a chance to answer before shooting the chain. I pushed them down and turned back to the fight.