Ride Wild

by Laura Kaye

  “Yes. He said he and Haven would hang with you wherever you wanted to be.”

  “Then I’ll go there. The boys love Dare anyway.”

  The bus pulled up just then. “I’ll get them,” Slider said. And it was such a normal thing. A dad meeting his kids off the school bus. It was hard to believe that in just a few hours, that same dad would be walking into the middle of a bunch of criminals betting on animals attacking each other, all while also trying to nail a dirty cop.

  Cora just hoped with all her heart that he’d be walking back out again, too. And coming home to her.

  Chapter 23

  “This ends tonight,” Caine said, a beat-up John Deere baseball hat on his head. In baggy jeans and a gray hoodie cinched at the neck to hide his ink, he almost looked like one of the skate rats they’d seen.

  “A-fucking-men,” Phoenix said from behind the wheel. A cowboy hat sat beside his lap.

  “In and out, just like we talked about,” Slider added, hoping like hell that nothing diverted them from the plan.

  They rode to the fight in one of the old pickups used for the Ravens’ track business, not wanting to put anyone’s personal vehicle in the 301 Crew’s sights. The address they finally received was located about forty-five minutes away, and luckily the early sunset of the season meant they’d get to go in under the cover of darkness. Martin and two of his officers followed in unmarked cars, giving them at least a little backup in case shit went south.

  As shit was wont to do.

  Which was why they were all riding hot. Slider fucking hated it—hated the risk of it—but they’d be stupid to go in unarmed with the Crew involved.

  The address led them to a long gravel driveway that cut through a stand of woods and emptied out into a big field. A barn sat at the center with maybe forty cars and trucks parked all around, many of them with trailers attached—likely belonging to people who’d brought their own dogs to fight.

  They could hear the barking and howling before they even got out of the truck.

  “This is going to suck ass,” Phoenix said.

  Slider thought about Bosco back at home. Bosco, who would roll over onto his back to get a belly scratch, and who came running every time Slider opened the freezer door because he loved to chew ice cubes, and who often fell asleep with his droopy head propped on a stuffed animal squirrel the boys had picked out for him. Yeah, this was going to suck. The last thing Slider wanted to see was an animal getting hurt.

  They piled out, Caine and Slider in baseball hats and Phoenix wearing a brown cowboy hat that hid the scar on the side of his face, cowboy boots, and a pair of black-framed glasses. They weren’t perfect disguises, but none of them looked like they normally did, and Slider hoped that would be enough.

  Even as they made their way toward the barn, a few more cars pulled into the field, and the noise coming from inside made it seem like this was going to be a decent-sized event. That suited Slider just fine, because it meant a bigger crowd to get lost in.

  A blue pickup—a blue Datsun—sat at the end of one row. Satisfaction rolled through Slider as he nudged Caine’s arm and pointed. “Heads-up.” Curt Davis was here, just like they hoped he’d be. Now they’d just have to be careful about being spotted by him.

  “Fucking perfect,” Caine said, his tone like ice.

  Two men stopped them at the door, small 301 tattoos on their necks identifying them as part of the Crew. “Name?”

  “Chuck Mason,” Caine said. Their master of new identities for their protective clients no doubt had a few set up for himself as well.

  The men gave the three of them a once-over and waved them in.

  “Jesus,” Slider bit out under his breath. It was as bad inside as he feared. Fighting pits filled the barn’s four corners. Maybe twenty square feet, there was nothing fancy about them—they were constructed simply out of plywood fencing that stood about three feet high. A pair of dogs fought in three of the pits, and thirty or forty spectators stood around each one, cheering and yelling and booing. A betting booth stood at the center, and a concession stand filled the far wall. People milled around both and wandered up the center aisle.

  “Who could eat?” Phoenix said. He wasn’t wrong—the stench of animal blood and other bodily fluids hung in the air.

  “Come on,” Caine said, leading them to stand at the railing of the closest fighting pit where it appeared a fight was about to begin. Blending in necessitated acting interested, so Slider braced his arms on the edge and paid close attention to the two pit bulls being restrained on leashes in opposite corners. Deep lines had been scratched diagonally into the dirt in front of each corner.

  As they watched, a referee supervised each dog getting washed down with sudsy water from the same bucket. Listening to the chatter of other spectators, Slider learned that was to remove any chemicals or poisons that a dog’s owner might put on the coat to make the opposing dog sick, which just proved how truly twisted this whole thing was.

  “Okay,” the referee called out, his voice drawing new attendees. “We’re playing by Cajun Rules, gentlemen. Let the show begin. And may the best dog win.”

  Slider assumed the men holding the leashes were the dogs’ owners, and as they released the pit bulls into the ring, both men stepped back into their corners but stayed in the pit. The dogs went at each other so hard it made Slider sick. They bit, snarled, tackled, and jumped. As their attacks landed, new bloodstains soon joined older, faded ones on the floor. The owners in the corner shouted commands and encouragements, and it was clear that one dog was a favorite among the gathering crowd.

  Something caught Slider’s eye on the opposite side of the fighting pit—a kid. Maybe Sam’s age. Watching the fight. “Who the hell would bring a kid to this?” he asked Phoenix.

  “That’s some messed-up shit.” Phoenix leaned in closer, so his words wouldn’t carry to the other spectators. “I’m gonna wander. Take some pics. I’ll text if I see Davis and get what we need.”

  Slider nodded and watched as Phoenix moved away, his hat tilted down low. Turning to Caine, he said, “No one of interest here. Wanna move on?”

  At the next fighting pit, the dogs appeared in bad shape. “How long’s this been going on?” Caine asked a man at the fence.

  “Thirty minutes,” the guy said. “They have great fucking stamina, don’t they?”

  “Yeah, man, they do,” Caine said, leaning over the fence a little like he was interested. Slider scanned the crowd around this pit, but still didn’t see who they were looking for. His phone vibrated in his pocket.

  Surprisingly, the text was from Martin.

  More backup en route. Text when departing. We’re going in after.

  That was the best news Slider had heard all day. When the date changed, they’d resolved themselves to having to walk away and leave these fuckers to fight another day, but maybe now the authorities would break up this ring once and for all.

  Caine arched a brow at him, but Slider just shook his head. He’d fill the others in when they were out the door.

  At the third pit, a fight had just ended, and people were moving away from the fence in search of new action. Surreptitiously, Slider scanned the faces. But still no Davis. Where the hell was he?

  Slider’s phone vibrated again. And Caine’s must have, too, because, he pulled his cell out at the same time. The text was from Phoenix.

  Found Davis. Took pix. Bigger problem: that fucker Dominic from the Iron Cross is here. Head out.

  Caine turned to him, eyes wide. “Crew’s Cross. Sonofabitch.”

  They turned and made for the nearest door as Caine’s meaning sank in.

  Though Slider hadn’t dealt with them personally, he knew who the Iron Cross were—they were the Baltimore gang who’d worked with Haven’s father to try to kidnap her. The Raven Riders had first interacted with the Iron Cross when the Ravens reluctantly sold them some arms the club was trying to unload, but that’d blown back in their faces, proving the wisdom of why the Ravens
usually stayed out of the dirtier shit like guns and drugs. Next thing the club knew, the Iron Cross had learned that Haven and Cora were under the Ravens’ protection and were threatening to tell Haven’s father if they didn’t pay up.

  But the Iron Cross had gotten theirs in the end when the Ravens had helped the authorities take out their Baltimore headquarters. Their contacts had told them that all the Iron Cross were either dead or in custody, but clearly they’d missed one. And not just any one, but their fucking leader.

  Phoenix caught up with them at the door. And then they were out in the night, and heading for their—

  “Leaving so soon, gentlemen?” came a voice from behind them. “I don’t think you placed any bets.”

  Ice formed in Slider’s gut as they turned. The man was tall, bald, and had bright blue eyes that glinted dangerously in the barn’s exterior lights. “Got a sick fucking kid at home,” Slider said. “My only night out. Figures.” Keeping his body loose and relaxed, he stepped forward, sensing his friends’ tension.

  Slider hadn’t ever interacted with this Iron Cross asshole, but Phoenix and Caine had. At that arms deal. What kind of luck was it that they’d managed to steer clear of Davis but gotten nabbed by an old enemy they hadn’t even known to look out for?

  Dominic crossed his arms over his broad chest. “It’s not really good form to leave without supporting the operation, if you know what I mean.”

  Slider inhaled to respond when he noticed a series of puncture wounds on the guy’s left wrist. And then it was like being sucked back in time. To the hospital, the day that Ben broke his arm. The tall, bald man with the dog bite injury, bleeding all over the desk . . .

  Jesus, he’d seen this man before after all. He’d seen him, but because of all his baggage and bullshit, Slider hadn’t known who he was seeing, or the kind of danger he represented. His gut twisted. That night, if Dominic had turned and seen Cora, who he’d conspired to sell back to Haven’s father . . .

  He scrambled to respond normally. “Look, man, we don’t want any trouble. I’d like to stay, but when the wife calls because your kid needs to go to urgent care, what are you supposed to do?”

  Dominic stepped closer, and Slider made sure to make easy eye contact with him. Nothing to hide here. Nothing to hide here at all, motherfucker.

  “And what about you two? You got nagging wives and sick kids, too?” he said, suspicion and agitation rolling off him. Slider didn’t know whether those were directed specifically at them, or were simply the result of his previous gang having been obliterated. No doubt being the sole survivor of a once powerful organization could lead to some serious paranoia, paranoia likely compounded by being an Iron Cross island in the middle of the Dead Men’s violent sea.

  “Naw, man,” Phoenix said, peering up from under his hat and laying on a thick Southern accent. “But he’s our damn ride.” Caine nodded.

  Dominic eyeballed Phoenix and Caine for a long minute, then shook his head. “I don’t want to see you assholes here again. I do and I’ll throw you in one of the pits. Now get the fuck out of here.”

  Just as he spat the words, Slider spotted Davis over Dominic’s shoulder, wearing civilian clothes and heading toward the door. Straight toward them. “Yeah, man. Okay. We’re out.” Slider turned and hustled his friends ahead of him.

  And then they were through the parking lot, inside their truck, and pulling out—fast. “Holy shit, do you think he recognized us?” Phoenix asked.

  “Dominic or Davis?” Caine said, slapping his baseball hat against his leg.

  “Neither,” Slider said. “I don’t think either one did. Davis was too far away. And no way Dominic would’ve let us walk out of there like that if he recognized either one of you.”

  “No, because there’s no way he wouldn’t have heard the word on the street that the Ravens were involved in talking out his club,” Phoenix said, speeding out the long gravel driveway to the road beyond. “Jesus. Jesus. That was some unexpected shit right there.”

  Guilt sloshed in Slider’s gut. “I fucking saw that guy at the hospital. The day Ben broke his arm. But I’d never seen him before and didn’t know who he was.”

  “No reason you would’ve known,” Caine said. “But you’re right, he wouldn’t have let us go, so let’s all fucking breathe.”

  “Yeah, and anyway, Martin texted while we were in there. He managed to round up some backup. They’re raiding the fight after all. Speaking of which . . .” Slider tugged his phone from his pocket and pecked out a text.

  We left. Got over 100 people in there, including Davis and the fucking leader of the former Iron Cross gang. And some kids. We got pix. Be careful.

  Less than a minute later, Martin replied: Roger that. We’re going in.

  Within another three minutes, a line of police vehicles whizzed past them, lights flashing but sirens off.

  “Woohoo!” Phoenix yelled. “Go get ’em, boys!”

  Slider grinned, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. “I’m too fucking old for this shit.”

  That earned him some laughter, and Slider didn’t mind. Because they’d gotten the evidence on Davis, helped set up a raid on the dogfighting ring, and even managed to learn that an old enemy remained—though he was about to be taken down once and for all.

  That was about as much as they could’ve hoped for. And now all Slider wanted to do was go home to his woman and his boys and live their lives free from the pull of the past, their eyes set firmly on the future.

  Even though the others had done their best to distract her, Cora was strung tight waiting for some word from Slider.

  Dare had invited Maverick and Alexa to come over, so Cora and Haven had made a big, hearty dinner of chicken pot pie. They’d sat for a long time around the table, everyone talking and laughing, and the men even shared some funny stories about a much younger Slider that made Cora and the boys laugh. Like the one where a female park ranger caught Slider skinny-dipping at night up at the South Mountain lake, the rest of them having run into the woods in time. Unable to find his clothes in the dark, he’d simply walked bare-assed through the woods to the parking lot while the ranger followed him out, her flashlight guiding the way and throwing a spotlight on his behind.

  Cora almost couldn’t imagine such a ridiculously carefree version of Slider, but it all just made her realize how deeply she loved him, and how much he already felt like family. She couldn’t lose that. Not when she hadn’t thought she’d ever find it in the first place.

  At some point, Ben slid into her lap to listen to everyone talk, but when he started yawning, she suggested he grab some sleep in Dare’s bed until his dad got back.

  “Okay, Cora,” he said, yawning again.

  She took him by the hand. “You good, Sam?”

  The older boy nodded. They hadn’t told him what was going on, but he was old enough and had been around Dare and Maverick long enough to sense that something wasn’t right. “I don’t want to sleep yet.”

  She read the concern on his face loud and clear, so she just nodded and led Ben upstairs. She turned on the lamp on the nightstand and tucked him in, then sat on the edge of the bed. “Okay, Mr. Bean, close those peepers and get a little sleep. Your dad will be back before you know it and then we’ll go home.”

  “I love you, Cora,” he said.

  The words made her throat go tight and her chest feel too small for her heart. “Oh, Ben, I love you, too.”

  He threw his good arm around her neck, and then he turned onto his side. “Wake me up when Dad comes.”

  She nodded and smoothed the cover over his shoulder, then closed the door on her way out.

  “Did he get settled down okay?” Haven asked, when she returned downstairs.

  “Yeah,” Cora said, hugging herself. “And he told me he loved me.”

  Haven’s expression went so soft as she pulled Cora into a hug. “Of course he loves you, sweetie.”

  “I want Slider to come home,” she whispered, trying s
o hard to keep her worry in check. She didn’t want Sam to see it, not when his worry was already so clear on his little face.

  “I know. Soon. Just hang on a little longer,” Haven whispered back. They’d been through this before, but in the past, Cora had been the one comforting Haven while Dare was away.

  Finally, Cora’s phone rang. “It’s Slider!” she called out, and everyone gathered around. She pressed the cell to her ear. “Are you okay? What’s happening?”

  “Yeah, we’re all fine. Put me on speaker?”

  She did, but her gaze went to Sam. “You’re on, but Sam’s here.”

  The boy shook his head. “I know something’s going on. I’m not leaving, Dad.” Cora traded glances with Dare and Maverick.

  Slider’s voice came through the cell. “Sam, everything’s okay—”

  “Something’s not okay, and you’re out there in it, so I deserve to know,” he said, giving more than a hint of the man he was going to become. Slider’s son, through and through.

  Nodding, Dare finally asked, “How’d it go?”

  “We got in and out. Phoenix got the pictures. And we just passed Martin leading a raid on the location after all,” Slider said, his words breaking up a little. “But we hit a complication, too.”

  Cora’s belly threatened to fall to the floor.

  “What’s that?” Dare asked, his expression fierce.

  It was Phoenix who answered. “You’re not going to like this, Dare. But Dominic Hauer was there. He’s the one who’s running these fights on behalf of the Crew. That’s why it’s so new.”

  Haven gasped, and Cora clutched her hand. The guy who’d blackmailed the Ravens over them was still alive?

  “Aw, Christ,” Dare said, and then he grimaced as he looked at Slider’s boy sitting there taking it all in. “Sorry, Sam.”

  Maverick met Dare’s stormy gaze. “But you said Martin’s raiding the place, right? So that should take care of him?”

  “That’s our read.” Caine’s voice now. “Listen, you’re breaking up . . . storming . . . bad here . . .”