Ride Rough (Raven Riders 2)

For just a moment, her mother gave her the softest, most sincere smile. “You’re a good girl.”

“I try, Mom.”

“I know.” Her mother came right up to her and did something she didn’t do often—she hugged Alexa. “My baby.”

Closing her eyes, Alexa soaked in the unusual show of affection. After Tyler died, her mom had become anxious about being touched. She only seemed to tolerate it from people she knew well, and even then, she allowed it infrequently. Just another of the issues that had manifested as she’d tried to cope with Ty’s loss. Unlike her mother, Alexa never had the luxury of falling apart because someone always had to hold Cynthia Harmon together. More often than not, even when Tyler had still lived, it had been her.

“You ready?” Alexa asked quietly.

“I hate doctors,” Mom said, pulling away.

Alexa nodded. “I know you do.”

“But whatever. I’m ready. The sooner we leave, the sooner we get back. I don’t want to miss my shows.” As she moved toward the kitchen doorway, her purse caught a cracker box stacked in a recycling bin on the floor, causing an avalanche. “Just leave it,” she said when Alexa went to right the pile.

“Okay,” Alexa said. She stepped over the mess. She could deal with it tomorrow. Besides, there were only so many battles she was willing to fight today.

CHAPTER 6

The Ravens rolled into Baltimore under the cover of darkness on Friday night, the warm, humid air crackling with the electricity of an approaching summer storm. They’d ridden in six groups of five, each set of riders set to converge on one of two agreed-upon meeting points from different directions to hopefully make their approach less noteworthy. Maverick wasn’t usually one to believe in fate or any of that bullshit, but it was at least lucky that the weather might offer them some additional cover.

Maverick pulled his Harley into an underground parking garage about four blocks from their target, the Iron Cross headquarters, joining two groups that had arrived before his. A box truck waited nearby to carry any acquisitions home. Their engines rumbled inside the subterranean space, but it was far enough away to be secure, to give them a place to wait, and to make sure their efforts were coordinated with the team meeting in the second location.

Their plan wasn’t particularly sophisticated—they’d converge at one time on the location from two different directions. Infiltrate the building via multiple entrances, acquire any assets inside, and then set the place on fire, leaving the Iron Cross with nothing and pulling the rug out from underneath their efforts to take control of the city’s underworld. More than that, their loss of power would encourage the city’s other criminal elements to pick them off like sitting ducks—exactly what’d happened to the Church Gang. Hopefully the Feds would take care of the rest. And if they didn’t, the Ravens just might have to come back for more. And put these fuckers to bed once and for all.

Maverick dismounted as Dare did. They tugged off their helmets and joined the guys milling about at one end of the lot.

The cold, hard press of his handgun in the small of his back felt too damn familiar. He usually only carried when they were actively involved in a protective situation with a client, but lately it’d been one shit storm after another that’d demanded they ride hot. It was hard as hell in Maryland to get a license to carry, but the Ravens had a friend and ally in the sheriff’s department who’d helped a number of them get a permit over the years because of the protective work the club did. Not that a permit would’ve been important for a night like this, because carrying without one would be the least of the lines they were crossing.

“The storm will work in our favor,” Mav said.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Dare said, wincing and holding his arm close to his side. Maverick was worried about the guy. His injuries and surgery were too damn recent and he wasn’t supposed to be riding, but Dare wouldn’t hear of staying behind or driving his truck. Mav couldn’t really blame him on either account. “Shit, hold on.” On a grimace, Dare yanked his cell out of the pocket of his cut. “Nick, not a good time, man,” he said by way of answering.

Maverick frowned.

“What?” Dare whipped around to look at the entrance through which they’d all come. “Who?” Pause. “Sonofabitch.” Another pause, and the adrenaline Maverick had been riding all day turned pause by pause into anger. What the fuck was Nick doing? “I’m not making any promises.” Dare hung up, his hand going as if to tug at his hair, an old habit, despite the fact that it was covered by a black bandana.

“What the hell was that?” Maverick asked, the guys circling around them.