Hard Rider

Hunter led me towards the corridor, and I noticed the other bikers glance at us as we passed. They seemed to murmur among themselves, although a sharp eye from Hunter put these things to an immediate stop.

“Who was that guy?” I whispered.

“My second-in-command,” Hunter replied softly. “One of my best men, and an expert marksman. It has something to do with those pale goddamn eyes of his. Fucker’s saved my life more times than I can count…”

The sounds of clicking and loading guns receded as I followed him around a quick turn. A moment later, he pulled open an old, dusty door, beckoning me inside with a brief wave of the hand.

“Welcome to our chapel,” he explained.

A single exposed bulb above lighted the decrepit wooden room. It looked like something from below decks on a pirate ship – dark, dirty, and with rudimentary décor and a single large bookcase flowing with old hardbacks. The center of the room was dominated by a large, wooden round table – with large maps of the Southwestern states spread out, scattered with marks and small plastic pieces.

In a glance, I was taken back to the end of my youth – and that fateful last night together. I recalled stepping into a room that was filled to the brink with bikers from two distinct clubs, where Hunter had merely been the latest pawn on the table.

This meeting chamber was a hard change from the relative comfort of the strip club. It was significantly older, more fundamental, and clearly a place specifically for hard conversations and future planning.

“This is where the magic happens,” Hunter explained as he pulled me around to the table. He scrutinized the maps on the table briefly. I could see now that the papers were nailed down, likely to keep a stray hand from dismantling the entire top-down view.

“I see,” I murmured thoughtfully as I glanced over the maps along with him. The markings were in several different colors of ink – scribbles and patterns meant to indicate possible cartel locations, territory lines of other factions, and notices of who precisely opposed who, out here in the desert…

“There’s a bulletproof vest on the hook over there–” He pointed over my shoulder without looking up. “Throw that on.”

I did as he told, tossing the heavy material on and buckling it into place as I studied the tabletop beside him.

“A lot of thought that went into this,” I observed coolly. This table represented a view of the criminal underground any cop worth their salt would drool over.

“Yeah…” Hunter glanced up at me and nodded lightly. “This is what it takes to keep the peace. Even if we see eye-to-eye on outside forces crossing into our prospective territories, there’s still the threat of open war. Keeping the tenuous balance requires diplomacy, foresight, and a lot of grit.”

“I’m surprised you pulled it off,” I dangled in conversation, wondering where Hunter ranked in this outlaw ecosystem.

“A story for another time,” he spoke offhandedly, still studying the maps across the board before him.

Reluctantly, I resisted the urge to pout. I needed to know more about how he had accomplished all of this… and what he had done to enact the balance.

“More importantly…” he spoke, lifting his eyes from the maps and summing up my skill with buckling a bulletproof vest at a glance. “I need to know that you’re prepared for what we’re about to face.”

“I’m not,” I shrugged.

“You’re not?”

“Of course not, Hunter. I know why you’re after these guys, but you haven’t told me a whole lot about what to expect when we get out there.” I hated doubting him, but I wondered aloud: “Do you have any grasp of what’s on the horizon?”

Hunter grimaced. “That’s a fair point.”

“So, enlighten me,” I nudged.

He grabbed a pen and made a small mark approximately ten miles from El Paso, on the edge of the Mexican border.

“This is where we think they’re taking the girls,” he explained quickly. “As you can see, there’s not a whole lot out there. My scout says that he’s spotted a break in the fence here, marked by a small, abandoned farmhouse.”

“What about US Border Patrol? Wouldn’t someone have caught a big hole in the border fence?”

“There’s about seven hundred miles of fence down here, and the cartel pokes holes in it faster than the border agents can fix them… Makes it hard to lock down abductee routes, but if my info’s solid, then this is where it’s going down tonight…”

“When?” I asked.

He glanced at an old clock on the wall. It was a quarter to twelve. “We’re thinking they’ll move the girls at three o’clock. Pretty early in the morning. Less chance of any attention, especially outside of the city…”

“So you’re going to grab a bunch of tired, sobered up bikers and stake the place out until they show up? What if you’re outnumbered?”

Hunter took the criticisms in stride.

“This is our one shot, Sarah,” he patiently insisted. “Víboras Verde is a cartel that either works small, or they just can’t spare the resources. We’re not walking into a Bolivian army out there.”

“You’re thinking it’ll be a small operation?” I crossed my arms, glancing down at the maps. I couldn’t make heads or tails of the information spread out over the landscape.

“It’s probably going to be a couple of vehicles and a single van on the other side of the fence. They’ll run light. Whoever’s out there won’t be expecting any real firepower or resistance, but they’ll come prepared for a quick showdown if they find one. We can take them with less men than we already have.”

I opened my mouth to ask more questions, but the sound of breaking glass down the hall called our attention.

“That’s the signal,” Hunter told me.

“What, a shattered bottle of beer?”

“Classic sign of war, breaking a bottle,” Hunter commented, grabbing his leather jacket from the hooks by the door. “Which means that it’s time we show these fuckers what for.”

Throwing the jacket on over his bulletproof vest – his President emblem catching my eye again – he cast me one last quick glance.

“Are you ready for this?”

I nodded confidently. If tonight went well, I might not have to be back in Tucson tomorrow after all…

“And now, sweetheart, we ride.”

Chapter 48

I left the cruiser and its goddamned GPS tracker sitting in the parking lot of a nearby motel. There was no reason to give the Lieutenant any more reason to light me up in the morning. The crisp moonlight wind whipped at my hair; prepared for whatever was to come, I tightened my grip around Hunter’s broad, comforting torso. My legs straddled his throttling engine as we rode out towards

certain danger.

I glanced over my shoulder at the other bikes as they fanned out around and behind us. The night was ours as we hit the main highway, roaring towards the dark horizon. About half an hour later we left the asphalt behind, weaving and winding through the desert until I spotted a dilapidated farmhouse in the distance.

The rising tension amongst the Devil’s Dragons almost crackled in the night wind. Seeing our destination only made the imminent threat more tangible…

Hunter lifted his wrist and signaled to the others. The bikers fanned out over the dirt as we left the trail and traveled over the flat desert.

The farmhouse gradually rose in the distance. I could see now why he wanted to stake things out a few hours in advance – the engines were so loud that you could hear them from ages away out here, in the relative emptiness…

I sensed that something was wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

As the looming building came close enough to distinguish windows, a clenching sense of danger came over my chest…

BANG!

A bullet ricocheted nearby, and several bikers broke formation.

The bikers broke formation and soared towards the building, whipping out pistols and firing a few warning shots. Nobody fired directly at the building – they recognized the unknown on possible hostages.

Returning gunfire matched our efforts, and one of ours was knocked from his bike as we made it to the farmhouse. All around me, bikers dismounted and took tactical positions along the porch.

“Possible abductees. Known two, maybe more,” Hunter hissed quietly, before issuing brief objective reminders. “Shoot to kill. Save the girls if you can. Scour the house. Watch your six, and move in pairs.”

Everyone gave a rapid-fire nod.

He gave the order. “Dragons, move!”

The men immediately followed the commands, forming pairs that moved in all directions. The majority of the bikers descended into the house, kicking open the front door as Hunter hung back with me.

We remained crouched by the front steps as he quietly hissed to me: “We’ve got to get to that fence. The men will run distraction and back us up from doorways and windows as we make our approach. You ready and armed?”