by Amy Love
He thought of his raided stashes, and the answer became violently clear. Fuck!
He shook himself and then calmly said, "You ask too many questions amigo. I guess I'll take care of this back in Houston where I have people I can work with."
Silence, and then, "As you wish." Then the man broke the connection.
Tomas pulled to the side of the road and hammered his fists against the dashboard of his Chevy Nova. "Fuck!"
He was completely screwed now. They had to know he was on their trail because of that stupid fucking wet-back Juan getting caught. Elias would know that he would be the one to be expected to go for Chelsea. This could be a decoy run, just to get him out of town, or this could be a decoy pickup so that he didn't notice that a small group broke off and went for Chelsea in San Diego, because that's where she was—San Diego. Every fiber of his being told him that's where she was.
Leaning back he looked at the black ceiling of his car and tried to calm down.
"Alright," he said to himself. "This is a decoy. She is not, no fucking way, in El Paso. So I just saved a shit load of money and time. But what is their play, and how do I salvage mine?"
Reaching over to the glove box he pulled out a pack of Camels, rolled down the window, and lit one up. After taking in the harsh blue smoke, he blew it out in a long deep exhale and let his mind go blank.
Fifteen minutes later he watched the pack of bikers fly pass him, running down the freeway, the trike coming up at the rear.
He looked at the trike, and then sat forward. "Follow the trike," he said to himself. "That's how I weed through whatever decoys they have. That trike is going to Chelsea. All those men have one thing in common—they are tough, trained badasses except for the mechanic, who is old, thin, and rides as stupidass fucking trike. He's got personal reasons for being out here, and he wants to see Chelsea."
Tomas smiled, put the Nova in gear, and pulled onto the empty freeway, tossing the cigarette out the window as he picked up speed.
CHAPTER NINE
Tomas followed the trike. Groups of two and three peeled off from the pack, taking different exit ramps as they came into the city proper, and Tomas let them go, giving them no more thought than the cigarette butt he tossed out the window. Tomas stayed on the trike.
Tailing is a skill—a skill Tomas understood. He was better at tailing than he was at anything else. Luckily, he knew El Paso. He spent a couple of years here in his teens with his drunk bitch of a mother before he left the whore and drove to Houston, never looking back. So he knew parallel streets and places to duck into. He followed like a ghost, through the city and down into a residential area. By this time the pack was broken completely up, the trike was all alone. He was tempted to take the old man now. Just pull him over, and force him into the truck of his car at gunpoint.
He had nearly convinced himself to do this when two bikes came in off of a side street and fell in with the trike. The moment was gone. Not to worry, though—it wasn't really a missed opportunity, just a thought. A passing thought.
More bikes fell in with the small group. The pack was reforming. There were thirty of them in the group with the trike when they pulled into an apartment complex. Not liking the looks of that, Tomas pulled to the side of the road, blending in with the other parked cars. As luck would have it, the group stopped where he could see them.
The men got off their rides and began taking up positions of defense. Tomas watched and recognized the tactic for what it was. They were getting ready to bring someone out of an apartment. They were getting ready to be hit, hard. Guns began appearing in hands.
Could he have been wrong? Was Chelsea really here? No, no, Chelsea is not here, just stick with the trike and keep cool, he told himself. This is the decoy, and he had to admit, it was a very convincing decoy.
Minutes passed. No one made a move for any of the apartments. Riders continued to come into the complex parking lot, in twos and threes. After another ten minutes passed, most, if not all, of the White Wolves were accounted for in that lot.
Then, after another five incredibly long minutes, a short, black limo came slowly down the street, and then turned into the parking lot. The limo pulled up, and the bikers went on high alert. Six of them left the main body heading straight for an apartment door.
The doors of the limo opened and two large men got out. One was riding shotgun, the other riding in the back. The driver remained where he was.
As the six men going to the door reached it, six bikes started up and pulled out of the parking lot, fanning out, and heading back into the city. He watched them go, while keeping an eye on the six at the door. "This is too convincing," he murmured.
The door opened, and a redhead was there. She looked out at the bikers and then allowed the six men to come inside.
Two more engines started up, and Tomas' eyes shifted in that direction. These riders came out of the lot, but then parked on each side of the entry drive, with the men on them scanning the road. Tomas slid down his seat so as not to be seen.
The six who left before had to be some kind of outrider guard—group of riders to come in from behind an assaulting group. These two, the ones on each side of the entrance, were first defense and warning men. They would probably fire at anything that twitched suspiciously, warning the others that trouble had arrived.
Sure enough, both men remained on their bikes but pulled out their guns, checked them, and continued to scan the neighborhood.
Tomas waited, refocusing his attention on the apartment door. After another long minute or so, the door opened, and two men came out, guns drawn and looking for trouble. Once they were convinced that no trouble existed, one of them motioned with his hand and a smaller person came out of the door, followed by the other four men. The smaller person was in a black heavy jacket, baseball cap, and sunglasses. It was only when she got to the limo and turned back to the apartment to wave that he saw the blond pony-tail.
"Well fuck me," Tomas said.
The woman—Chelsea—got into the back of the limo, and one of the men followed her inside. Another got into the shotgun seat. The doors closed. Riders ran for their bikes. Engines started up. The limo began backing up. Pairs and trios of bikes pulled out of the lot, driving past the slow moving limo, and fanning out into the city.
Then the trike was one of them.
"Shit!" Tomas growled.
Chelsea was in the limo, but the trike was leaving ahead of her. He couldn't stay with both. He had to decide. The trike pulled out of the lot with two other riders, and headed toward the main drag. There was a freeway on-ramp in that direction. He had to decide. Limo, or trike.
"Fuck me running!"
His gut screamed at him that Chelsea was not, could not, would not be in El Paso. She was hundreds of miles West of here, and if he didn't follow that damn fucking trike now, he was going to lose them!
He started the Nova, then hesitated. The trike turned the corner, and went out of sight. The limo reached the street, its blinker indicating that it was turning in the other direction, with bikes in front and back. Another group broke off and gunned down the road past Tomas, taking a third option out of the area.
Tomas made his decision, and pressed the gas petal, bringing the Nova out of his spot, and took off after the trike, while screaming in his head that this had better be right.
CHAPTER TEN
"Got you, asshole," Elias said, and then looked over at Eric, "Blue Nova!" he yelled above the din of the engines.
Eric was already pulling out from behind the limo, and heading for the street. Elias gunned the V-rod and beat him there, then turned left, following the Nova. The remaining Wolves fell in behind them, ignoring the limo now. Bikes that had taken off previously were circling back around. When they spotted Elias' V-rod heading down the road, they followed at speed.
The pack reformed up behind Elias and Eric as the two of them roared down the roads chasing the Nova, which was in turn chasing Duffy's trike.
Elias and Eri
c were careful not to get too close. They needed to be on the freeway, outside of the city, before they made their move, but they knew the car now, and Elias knew in his gut that the driver was Tomas.
"You're fucking mine, asshole," Elias growled as he and Eric turned a corner just in time to see the Nova turn at the one ahead of them.
They knew where Duffy was taking Tomas, and the riders behind them began to break off from the pack again, this time running ahead, getting in front of the trail, preparing the ambush.
Elias and Eric stuck to the Nova's tail, keeping their distance but still keeping the vehicle in sight. Elias kept an eye on the Nova without actually looking at it so that Tomas wouldn't feel him.
People get insights and can feel someone's intentions. Ask any experienced special ops member about it, and he'll have a hundred stories about sentries turning around at nothing and looking straight at them. No sound, no scent, just the feeling of being hunted creeping up their spines. Call it what you would like—ESP, collective unconscious, whatever. The fact was it existed, and it seemed to be most active during high stress situations.
That's why Elias and Eric stuck to the Nova. Tomas might suddenly feel the ambush ahead, and take off and bolt. In that event, they were the ones responsible for riding him down and taking him out on their own.
The Nova hit the entrance ramp for the freeway and began chasing Duffy west. The other riders would have made it to the freeway by quicker means, and should now be well ahead of the Nova and Duffy, running hard to prepare for the kill. The limo should be on its way back to its garage, and the girls returning back to their homes.
They were just outside the city limits when the Nova slowed down a bit and let Duffy get further ahead of him. Tomas apparently knew how to follow someone, which made sense, him being a cop. He was probably better at it than any of the Wolves, including Eric and himself. Elias slowed down with the Nova, falling back enough that they wouldn't spook Tomas.
They ran herd on Tomas for nearly twenty miles, and then Duffy, far ahead now, ran into the dirt way between west-bound and east-bound, bounced back up on the East bound side, and opened that racing Porsche motor of his up full bore. Elias swore he heard Duffy screaming Whaa-hoooo!
The trike lifted up. The front end left the ground as the back tires torched with power. Duffy road the trike that way for over a hundred yards before he could get the front end back down.
The Nova kept going west much longer than it should have. Tomas was supposed to chase Duffy back toward the city—the double blind convincing him that Chelsea was actually in the limo, and Duffy just took him for a stroll, the idea being that Tomas would be so worked up he would never see the ambush coming—one of Eric's little spins. But the Nova kept going, and the trike was running faster than Elias expected it to run. The damn thing was fucking fast.
Elias felt his gun, and was just about to give his V-rod its wind and ride Tomas down, when the Nova suddenly cut into the dirt divider and came back up on the east-bound side with surprising grace, and a shit load of power. Smoke poured out of the back tires as the obviously powered-up, after-stock engine came to life and was given its freedom to run.
Elias watched it go, slowing down to cut the dirt divider himself with Eric. It looked like this was going to be a pack kill after all, which was fine with Elias just as long as the job got done.
Just as he was ready to go, Elias' hairs on the back of his neck rose up and he turned in time to see the Nova cut back across the dirt way and come up on the west-bound side behind them.
"Shit," Elias said, watching the same show as before of smoking tires, and then the Nova was suddenly hurtling at them—a clear and present danger with decreasing range.
He jerked his head toward Eric. Their eyes met, and the both of them gunned their bikes as hard as they could to bring them back up to speed and keep ahead of the Nova, which was gaining on them with alarming fury.
"Fuck, he figured it out. goddamn it," Elias growled.
Not only had Tomas seemed to figure out the ambush plan, but he must have also spotted him and Eric behind him as well. Elias had no doubt that Tomas' intention right now was to run them down, and as nice as a Harley is, it didn't stand a chance in a ramming contest with a fast-moving Nova.
It was just about three in the morning, and there were no vehicles other than the Nova and themselves to be seen. Duffy was long out of sight, and so was the rest of the pack. Eric and Elias were on their own against Tomas, who had the clear advantages of size, power, and range. They could run, but he would catch them. If they could get off the freeway into some kind of cityscape the tables would turn, but out here on the black, the advantage was clearly in his court.
Eric and Elias ran, and Elias had no doubt the other man was thinking the same thoughts he was.
The Nova was gaining. Slowly now, but gaining. The engine in that thing was definitely not stock. Elias still had some power available in the V-rod at 164 miles per hour, but the Heritage Eric was riding was pegged at this speed. He could hear it in the engine. Eric had nothing left. This was the max. And still the Nova was creeping up on them as they flew across the nightscape West of El Paso, heading into the black.
Elias kept pace with Eric. He wasn't going to leave him. Whatever they were going to do, they would do together. The Nova crept closer. It had to be doing at least 170 to be gaining on them like it was.
The V-rod was born for this. It ran hard, and seemed to suck down onto the road. Instead of feeling like he had less control, Elias felt like he had more, much more.
He wondered what Eric was dealing with over on the Heritage at this speed.
Then, in the mirror, there was another headlight back behind the Nova. Someone else was out here in the black with them. The headlight back there was gaining, growing larger. It had to be doing 200 plus to be coming up that fast.
"That's not a cop," Elias said to himself as he leaned into what would normally be an easy highway bend in the road, but instead was a turn he had to concentrate on.
The look on Eric's face told him that he was struggling with the speed they were at. The Heritage wasn't designed for this kind of riding, and it might not hold up much longer under the strain. If his engine blew at this speed, the Nova might not get the chance run him over before he was dead.
The light behind the Nova was even brighter now, and still seemed to be gaining speed and coming faster. 220mph? 230? What the fuck was back there?
Another bend, and the new rider was practically on top of the Nova and coming close to passing distance.
Then the Nova’s lights warbled and then then cut right toward the shoulder of the road.
Elias and Eric, in unison, and with no hesitation at all, let up on the gas, eased the breaks, and began to gear down. Engines roared in protest at being hauled back from the torturous speeds. The Nova hit the shoulder and continued to go off the road. The new rider roared past them at an amazing velocity, but no velocity was fast enough to hide the ear-to-ear smile of Duffy hurtling by.
Son of a bitch! Elias yelled in his head, and let out a whoop for Duffy and his trike with the hilariously over powered engine while also sending a silent prayer up that Duffy knew how to stop that thing.
Eric was all business as he powered the Heritage down in order to follow the Nova into the terrain on the side of the freeway.
The Nova crashed through a barb wire fence and out into a pasture, where it struggled for control. What Duffy did to it, Elias didn't know, but Duffy was carrying a shot gun on that trike of his, so it was likely that he blew out the back tire.
Dust rose in a blackening cloud from around the Nova as it did a half spin and then came to a stop. Eric and Elisa got their bikes slowed down fast enough to follow it through the hole in the fence and into the pasture. As soon as they were close, both riders braked and laid their bikes down into the dirt, sliding to a stop on their asses, guns drawn.
Gunfire roared out from the side of the Nova, splitting the night with barre
l flashes.
Eric returned fire first, even before he had fully come to a stop in his slide, but Elias' 9mm barked into the night right behind him like a fast echo. They aimed slightly to the right and left of the flashes coming from the side of the Nova, and then the flashes of Tomas' gun were vertical, shooting up into the stars above.
Elias emptied his clip into the shadowed area where training and experience told him a body would have to be according to the location of the firing gun.
Then it grew quiet, an eerie, deep night quiet all around them that seemed to devour the noise of the idling bike motors and the knocking idle of the Nova. The Nova's headlights cut the darkness with blinding beams, robing Elias' night vision. He got off his ass and began to move in a clockwise circle around the Nova. Eric followed suit, going counter-clockwise.