Thrash (Rebel Riders MC Book 1) Page 6

  “Excuse me, Ms. Alice? I thought you wanted to set this deal up?”

  I nod. “I do, but I’m not giving you his number. He has trouble socializing with his fucking Alexa, do you think he’s going to want to talk to you? Do you think you’ll know how to talk to him? To be perfectly honest, you’d scare the shit out of him and he’d weird the shit out of you.”

  “Fine,” Lucky says, throwing up his hands. “You get the cash, bring it to me, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  “How much ecstasy do we have? I don’t know anything about it — if he asks, do I tell him it comes in pills or powder or what?”

  “We have more than enough pure Molly for him. High-quality stuff. It’s in a pill. Just get the money, alright? Bring the cash here and then I’ll get you the drugs for your friend. And before you ask — that’s how we’re doing it. I’m not letting you out the door with product until we get the cash.”

  I clear my throat and get to the part that I’m both aching to talk about and wholly afraid of. “I get a cut, right? For bringing in the deal?”

  Lucky grunts, in a way that says both ‘yes’ and ‘chill the fuck out’. “Yes, you’ll get a cut.”

  “How much? I’m new at this. Sorry, they didn’t cover drug dealing in college.”

  He shoots me a dirty look. “You’ll get zero if you keep yapping. But if you close your mouth and do the job, you’ll get a fair percentage. That’s all you need to know.”

  I take the hint and head for the door. Even though we haven’t talked about it, I know Lucky will cover for me at the bar — he has no problem stepping up when business demands it. Especially when it’ll make him look good to Hammer.

  It takes me more than an hour to drive to the meeting point Thrash and I picked. The Roadrunner Cafe. It’s a small place on the outskirts of San Luis Obispo that looks just one bad business day away from going bankrupt. It’s quiet, and there are no witnesses around.

  He’s sitting there in the parking lot of a small, run-down cafe called The Roadrunner, reclining against his bike. Thrash was insistent on actually doing it this far out of town, away from the Reaper’s Sons and any other prying eyes.

  I think he also wanted to do it here just to fuck with me. A little inconvenience in making me drive so far just to show me that he’s the one in control.

  I’m hardly out of my car and standing in front of him when he tosses me a thick, rubber-banded wad of bills. I catch it and look at it like it might disappear at any moment.

  I don’t think I’ve ever held this much cash at once.

  “Three grand,” he says.

  “You sure you want to do this? There aren’t enough teenagers in two-hundred miles for all the pills this much money will buy you.”

  “I thought you’d be happy for the cash, Ms. Alice. You re-thinking our deal?”

  “This almost feels like I’m taking advantage of you,” I say, warily.

  “Well, for the price I’m paying, that kind of service should be included. What should your safeword be?” He says with a grin.

  “My safeword? Don’t you mean our safeword?”

  He shakes his head, still grinning.

  “If we really got in bed together, I’d have you begging in minutes. So, what is it going to be, Ms. Alice?” He says.

  He’s maddening. And I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

  I shake my head and shove the wad of cash into my purse. It’s surprisingly heavy.

  “Why the hell are we even talking about this? We’re in business together, but not in bed together. Not now, not ever.”

  He steps closes. This near, I can see every hard-muscled inch of him beneath his clingy t-shirt. I can smell the scent of whiskey and spice that clings to him. “You sure? How do you know you can trust me on this unless you really get to know me?”

  I take a step back to clear my head. “Because you want what I have: access. And I want your money. So, let’s stop messing around. You gave me the money, I’ll go get your pills.”

  He smiles in a way that makes my knees weak. “If that’s what you really want, Alice.”

  “It is. Wait here.”

  I make the drive back to Crescent Falls in record time, breaking the speed limit the whole way. The money just feels so heavy in my purse and I am anxious to get this deal over with so I can get my cut.

  Lucky looks at me with wide eyes when I hand over the three thousand dollars.

  He counts it twice.

  “Three grand? Your friend wants three grand worth of Molly? What the fuck kind of party is he throwing?”

  I have to think on my feet. And fast.

  Lucky actually sounds kind of interested in an invite.

  I shrug. “I’m not sure, honestly. He was trying to tell me about it, but I zoned out after he mentioned something about a DJ from Japan and how many guys from his anime appreciation group were coming.”

  Lucky snorts. “You keep some fucking strange company, Ms. Alice. But at least their money is good. Here’s your product.”

  He hands me a bag that’s nearly bursting with little capsules.

  “That’s a lot of pills,” I say.

  “Sure as fuck is. Tell your friend to call again if he needs supplies for another party,” He says, and then he peels a wad of bills off the stack. “Oh, and here’s your cut.”

  Four hundred dollars. Just a little bit of breathing room. It’s not all I need, but it does make me feel a little better about my situation.

  I drive back to San Luis Obispo. Slow and steady this time, well under the speed limit and checking my rearview mirror for police cars the entire time. There’s a big bag of drugs in my front seat and I’d be completely screwed if I got pulled over.

  He’s not there. I’m the only one in the parking lot at the Roadrunner Cafe. I start to get nervous. Carrying this much drugs, if anyone got suspicious or if a cop came by, it would be enough to put me away in prison for a long time.

  Is this a setup?

  Wait, how could this be a setup — I already got his money.

  After almost two hours of waiting, just when I’m about to leave, he tears into the parking lot on his bike.

  “What the hell took you so long?”

  “I had to check something out,” he says, in a tone that’s way too casual for me.

  “I don’t appreciate being left hanging out here with this huge bag of drugs.”

  “You don’t have any problem smuggling drugs for the Reaper’s Sons, why should waiting here bother you?” He says and I flinch. I’m not proud of what I do and I don’t like the reminder. I do it because I have to, because I don’t have any other options, not because I like it. “Sorry, Alice, I’ll ease off a bit. I was late because I had to look into something. That’s all you need to know.”

  “Other business for the Rebel Riders?”

  He rolls his head from side to side, in a way that makes his already-tousled black hair look even more ruffled and sexy. God damn, this man is a heartthrob and a frustrating menace, and he knows it. “That’s on a need to know basis. Just give me the pills and get on home, Ms. Alice.”

  I fetch the bag from my car and toss it to him, happy to be rid of it. It’s heavy, and I actually have to put some effort into throwing it.

  “There you go. Have fun.”

  He catches it, then stares at the bag in his hand for a moment, surprised. “Jesus, that’s a lot of Molly.”

  I nod, still staring incredulously at just how much ecstasy he’s got in his hands. “Yeah. What exactly are you going to do with all that? You have enough there to rave for a lifetime.”

  “Maybe I really like to roll. I do spend a lot of my time on two wheels, after all.”

  A biker with dad jokes, God damn.

  I gag, audibly. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Listen, have fun with your drugs, I have to get back to Crescent Falls.”

  He smiles at me invitingly and I blush.

  “Let’s go get a drink. San Luis isn’t so bad a plac
e to kill some time after a drug deal.”

  I’m tempted, but I have to stay focused. I shake my head. “It’s a tempting offer — really, it is. But I can’t.”

  “That eager to get back to bartending, huh?” He says, teasingly.

  “Look, I love San Luis. I have a lot of good memories here, I came here almost every summer during college. And, when my mom was first diagnosed, I took her here for almost a week just to have some quality time together. There’s a bed and breakfast near here, a few miles south of town called ‘The Old Spanish Mission’. It’s the most peaceful place I can imagine. We stayed there for the whole time while we went to every beach in a fifty-mile radius. But I can’t stay. I have to get back to Crescent Falls. I’ve got a job to do. Goodbye, Thrash.”

  I turn to head back to my car. This has been a welcome diversion, and even if he’s frustrating, there’s something about Thrash that draws me in, but I’ve still got so much to do today, and part of me is still worried that I’ll get a call from Janet in accounting at the clinic, telling me that insurance is declining, again, to cover all of my mom’s treatment and I need to come up with another seven hundred dollars and eighty-two cents.

  I’m desperate. And until I get some more breathing room, there’s no time for temptations like Thrash. Even if he’s really tempting.

  “Hold on a second.”

  Something in his voice — a catch that’s more serious than usual — makes me stop. I turn around.

  “What? Why? I’m tired of waiting around here and I’m tired of your games,” I say.

  “I kept you waiting. That was rude, and since this is business and I want to keep our working relationship in good standing, I’m throwing in a bit of a tip. Here.”

  He steps to my side and puts a wad of bills in my hands. I count it quickly: three hundred and one dollars.

  I count it again, just to make sure.

  “Are you sure?” I say.

  “Take it. Put it to good use,” he says. His voice is warmer and more caring than usual. “Take care, Alice.”

  He knows.

  He knows exactly what I’m going to use it for.

  I smile after him as he gets back on his bike and puts on his helmet. Through the tinting of his sun visor, I swear I catch a glimpse of a smile. It’s faint, but I’m positive it’s there.

  I start to open my mouth — I remember in times like these, you’re supposed to say ‘thank you’ — but he kick-starts his bike to life and the rumble of the engine drowns me out.

  He waves to me as he starts out of the parking lot.

  I watch as he pulls onto the road. I watch as he speeds away.

  I watch until he turns into a small speck that disappears over the horizon.

  He knows.

  My mind dwells on that the entire ride back to Crescent Falls — all ninety minutes — but, for that entire time, there’s a small, relieved smile on my face.

  My eyes shoot open wide. There was honesty in his voice. And respect. That wasn’t just him trying to get on my good side. I’m sure of it.

  He cares.

  Chapter Ten

  Thrash

  The Steel Horse sits on the opposite side of town as the Smiling Skull. It’s an old building going back almost a hundred and fifty years, back when Crescent Falls was nothing more than an old logging camp. It’s full of a hell of a lot of old wood furniture, reclaimed from the building’s past and glistening with age. The bar is crafted from aged oak and glistens with polish, age, and shines a deep brown color.

  Stepping in here is like coming home. No matter what I’ve been up to, even if that includes buying a bunch of drugs that I really don’t need, it always feels good seeing this place and having my family around me.

  Most of my brothers in the MC are in the bar right now, though I zero in on a corner table, where Riot’s sitting by himself. I slam the bag of Molly down on the table of our booth at The Steel Horse Tavern. Riot does a double-take at the sight.

  “Holy shit, Thrash, have you lost your fucking mind? What the fuck are you going to do with that much Molly?” He says.

  “I have no fucking clue. When’s Coachella?” I say.

  “Next April.”

  “Seriously? That’s a long ways away.”

  He shrugs. “Yeah.”

  “What about Warped Tour?”

  “That’s over, man. And this year’s was the last one. They’re done for good.” He says.

  “Are you kidding me? The last one? That sucks ass. They always had at least a couple good bands every time.”

  “Yeah. They announced it last year. I grew up on that shit. I thought you knew, man.”

  We both go quiet for a second, sharing a moment of silence for a great music festival.

  I sigh. “No, I didn’t know. What about any rave festivals? There’s got to be something going on down in LA or San Francisco.”

  Riot shrugs. “Do I look like I keep up on raves?”

  We both go quiet again, Riot probably lost in an old memory about Warped Tour, and me, staring at a giant bag of pills that I have no fucking clue what to do with.

  After a second, I decide that it’s no use feeling regret. It might suck to be saddled down with a ton of ecstasy, but I have to keep my eye on the prize: taking the drug business from the Reaper’s Sons.

  “You know what, I really don’t give a shit. It was worth it,” I say.

  “How much did you pay for all this?”

  I don’t skip a beat answering. “Three thousand three hundred and one dollars.”

  He whistles. “That’s street price. What the fuck are you getting at, man?”

  “I’ll tell you later. I’ve got something in mind — a way to get to the Reaper’s Sons drugs and their cash all at once — and I’ll need your help on it when it’s time. But, right now, I think I’m going to pop a few of these babies to see how potent they are and roll solo for a while. Maybe watch Face/Off or The Fifth Element.”

  Riot leans forward, eager.

  “Can I join? Hawk gave me the fucking third degree earlier earlier over the car ambushing we did the other day. I could use the chance to unwind.”

  I flinch. I hate that Riot took some of the heat for my plan. Not that I wouldn’t do it again, but, if I had the chance, I’d be a little more circumspect about it so my friend doesn’t wind up on our club president’s shit list. I’ll have to be more careful.

  “Fuck, man, I’m sorry. That’s on me — it was my plan after all. But, trust me, once I get everything lined up, it’ll more than make up for the trouble we’ve been in. So, yeah, come on, let’s roll and watch some movies.”

  * * * * *

  An hour later, we’re back at my place. Nic Cage is giving his typical, over-the-top performance as a lunatic terrorist and John Travolta is doing his best to keep up. There’s a half-finished sixer between us on my old couch and the bag of pills on the table in front of us. My house isn’t the nicest in town, it’s an old single-story craftsman that could use a paint job and some redecorating, but it’s got good bones. And it’s all mine. Real estate is always a good investment and I’m always keeping my eye on the future.

  “What’s with the chick, man?” Riot says to me, during one of the few breaks in the frenetic action extravaganza that is Face/Off. “Is she going to stick around?”

  “You mean Gina Gershon’s character, Sasha Hassler? She’s Nic Cage’s woman. But she’s going to double cross him after Travolta promises to help to keep her son out of the criminal life. You know this.”

  At least I hope he knows it. Though I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. This Molly is potent, high-grade stuff, and it might be laced with a trace of something hallucinogenic.

  “No, no, I know who she is, we’ve seen this movie probably a dozen times this year — and I’m not complaining, it’s an awesome movie, and I’d support making it a regular thing, like ‘Face/Off Friday’,” he says, then he pauses to shake his head clear. “I mean the drug mule chick from the other day. What�
��s with her?”

  “Alice? She’s a means to an end, that’s all. She’s got perfect access to the Reaper’s Sons. Hammer trusts her, she works at one of his establishments, and she’s desperate enough to double cross them to get ahead.”

  “Oh, so this ‘means to an end’ has a name, now?” He says, eying me sideways.

  “So what if I know her name? Like I said, she’s just there to help me get where I want to be.”

  “Yeah? You sure? Cause I’ve never seen you be as soft on someone as you were on her. Anyone else, you would’ve shot them and taken that car. Never seen you care much what a chick’s name was, either. Admit it: you actually give a shit about her.”

  Riot’s always been good at calling me on my bullshit. Even when I don’t want to admit it to myself. Alice has been in my head since the second I saw her.

  There’s more to her that draws me in than her curves alone, or the way her brown hair falls just so over her shoulder. There’s a desperate ambition to her, this fervent need to get ahead that is similar to what’s driving me. She’s aware of how fragile the world can be and she wants to do whatever she can to protect herself from it all crumbling to dust.

  Still, if I say my feelings out loud, I’ll just be admitting defeat, and I sure as hell can’t do that. Not when I’m finally getting traction. Not when success, and cash, is just within my grasp.

  I have to keep things with Alice to just business.

  “I sure as hell don’t give a shit about her. Not more than I have to. I need to keep her on my side, brother. At least as much as she can be working for the Reaper’s Sons,” I say. “She’s our ticket in. This can go bigger than just stealing some drugs and pissing off Hammer enough that that vein stands out on his forehead.”

  “Sounds like you might be getting a bit greedy. The bigger the heist, the riskier it is,” he says. “Are you ready for that?”

  I shrug. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Besides, we can’t let those bastards get ahead of the club. Someone’s got to do something about them, and if Hawk won’t, than it falls on us.”

  We both pause and turn our attention back to the TV. The movie is getting to one of our favorite parts: the final showdown between Travolta and Cage. They’re carrying pistols in both hands and having a balls-to-the-wall shootout in a chapel that’s inexplicably filled with doves. It’s utter insanity. Even if I were stone-cold sober, I would acknowledge this as one of the greatest movies of all time. Because I’m not, it’s even better.