Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Preacher flashes a crooked grin. “Welcome to the world of a different kind of one percent, brother.”
We park our bikes at the end of the block and circle around to the back entrance, where we find a servant’s entryway unlocked. Preacher and I creep inside, but it becomes apparent after the first minute that there’s no need to creep around. The place is empty.
“Basement,” I whisper and point to a door just off the kitchen.
Preacher nods and motions for me to go first. We descend the steps, silent and methodical just in case someone is still here. I hit the bottom of the staircase and scan the dark basement for threats. Thanks to the moon and the street lights outside, I spot the silhouette of a lone figure tied to a chair.
The guy calls out, “Whoever the fuck you are, kill me or untie me.”
I pause. “Dix?” It’s difficult to see much of anything in the dark, but I know his voice as well as I know his face.
“Joaquin? Oh, thank fuck, brother. Hope you brought a blade.”
I pat my side and grin in the darkness, even though he can’t see me. “I don’t go nowhere without my blade, brother.”
“Good. Get your ass over here and cut me loose.”
Preacher messes around with a fuse box in the corner, and a second later, the basement is full of light, showing Dix zip tied to a chair, bloody and bruised.
Preacher says, “As the big guy said, let there be light.”
Dix rolls his eyes, but there’s a glint of humor and relief in them too. “Just fucking untie me, would ya?”
I cut him free. His legs are weak, shaking when he tries to stand, and I have to hold him up. “You all right?”
“Fuck, no. Those Colombian assholes beat the shit out of me and then Aria before they took her. We need to find her. Get her back.”
His breathing is choppy and excited, and I wonder what—if anything—happened between Dix and Aria over the past few days.
“We’ll get her, man. Just tell us everything.”
Dix swallows and nods, his eyes slightly haunted by what he’s seen. “My Spanish is rusty as fuck, but I got the gist of it. They think Geoffrey double-crossed them, and they mentioned us, which means they’ve been watching us beyond shooting at you and your girl.”
He nods at me and spits out a mouthful of blood.
Watching us. The Los Tres Colombianos are watching us. All of us. “Did they say anything else?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t hear much after they stomped my ass into the ground. They’re pissed off, and it sounds like we are definitely in the line of fire.”
Dix spits again and looks from me to Preacher. “Did you find my bike?”
Preacher’s shoulders fall in disappointment, and he shakes his head. “It wasn’t at Morgan International, and it’s not here.”
“Motherfuckers.” His loud roar echoes in the basement. “Well, I guess I’m sitting bitch with one of you boys.”
Preacher laughs, shaking his head. “You and me both won’t fit on my bike, so you ride bitch with the kid.”
I pat Dix on the back. “Let’s go, bitch.” I laugh when he shoves me before we leave Aria Morgan’s house and head back to the clubhouse. “Don’t hold me too tight,” I joke. “I only like it when Willow gets frisky on the back.”
Dix barks out a laugh, and twenty minutes later, we roll onto the parking lot at the clubhouse. Ace, Shades, and Coop meet us outside, eager to hear what the fuck kept Dix away for so long.
“You all right, brother?” Ace steps forward and grips Dix’s shoulder as soon as he hopped off the back of my bike, staring at him carefully to take stock of his injuries. I know he’s doing what I did, taking stock of what to do to those assholes when we find them.
Dix nods. “A little worse for wear, but I’m fine. We need to talk.”
“We’re listening.”
Dix outlines what he already told us about the LTC, but his anger is worse now than at Aria’s place.
“If they think we’re involved in this, then they’re acting as if we’re involved. The only option is to intercept the next shipment Morgan’s expecting and use it for leverage. We can’t let these fuckers, not Morgan or LTC, make demands on us or dictate how we run shit. Feel me?”
We all nod because none of us are here to let other assholes run our lives, especially some cartel from a million fucking miles away. We’re all with the Reckless Souls because we want to be in charge of our lives, our goddamn destinies.
Ace agrees with a simple nod. “What do you know about the shipment?”
“Not much,” Dix admits and scrubs a tired hand over his face. “What I do know is that it’s important to the LTC. They’re practically foaming at the mouth to get access to it, which means they’ll bargain with us to get it back.”