Tread: Biker Romance (Ronin MC Series Book 1)

by Morrow, Justin

  A puzzled look crossed her face as she let go of the glass in front of Royal. I approached him, still watching her go. She was in normal, clean clothes, looking like her regular sexy girl-next-door self. She shot me a look over her shoulder with one eyebrow raised, like I was acting weird. I plopped down in the stool next to Royal.

  “Can I get a beer, babe?” I asked her.

  “Sure,” she replied with an uneasy look plastered on her face. I left it alone until I was in a better frame of mind.

  “What’s up, bro?” I nudged Royal who was paying no one any mind and giving all his attention to his electric leash.

  “You gotta hear this shit.” He pushed a few buttons on his phone and set it down between us. “It’s the sheriff on my voicemail, calling from his issued phone. Apparently, he didn’t like us getting there first.”

  “Listen up, you goddamned biker punk. You may have the folks of this town fooled with your good ol’ boy charm, but your cut don’t mean shit to me. You ain’t the law around here. I am. You don’t investigate a crime. I do. You don’t do a goddamned thing at a crime scene unless I’m there and I ask you to help, you got it? While I hold this office, you will not fuck up my town, and if I catch y’all doing it, or causing it, I’m going to fucking fry your asses.”

  Royal chuckled. “This dude used to be chill, man. We could work with him. Now he’s too good for us, especially since we sponsored his ass when he ran for sheriff. What an ungrateful prick.”

  “He sounded pretty fired up. Either he thinks we caused it, or we did it. When is his term up?” I asked.

  “Next October is the elections.”

  “Well, he better check the attitude. We aren’t the waiting types. And to threaten us? I hope he’s a man, Jesus!” I smiled at Royal as I raised my praising arms to the sky.

  “Yeah, no shit. We’ll bring it up at the meet when Prez and the boys get back from this short run.”

  “How’s that shit going, anyway? Did they make the last check in?” The church meeting was canceled today because Prez got a lead on an incoming illegal. Not something we’d ever done, and in complete opposition to everything we’d stood for as an MC for almost thirty years.

  “Yeah, they’re good. They got some dirt bag from Mexico City and they’re taking him to Austin.” Royal stared at his beer for a moment, and I figured I’d steer the conversation before I lost him to thoughts of Kit and what it meant that her father was the one making this country less safe.

  “What are we going to do about those Cholos who shot up our town?” I asked.

  He snapped out of it and thought a second before answering. “We have to bring it up at church. I don’t have any ideas yet, other than setting up SKTs along the roads around here waiting for outsiders to waste. Regardless, shit like that doesn’t happen in our town.”

  The small kill team idea poked at the homicidal maniac in me. Fuck off, demons.

  “Sheriff Douchebucket will blow us out of the water if we were setting up on the side of roads with thermals and heavy artillery,” I chided.

  Royal chuckled. “He better hope we don’t set one up for his ass.”

  I tried to hunker down and think of a way to filter the folks coming through our town. I wanted revenge for what happened at the vet clinic and the cherry that got shot, but that would just bring more heat. There had to be some way to ensure the town was safe from these druggies.

  Suddenly, I had an idea. Not a very bright one, but it was a start.

  “Checkpoints,” I blurted out.

  “What are you talking about?” Royal asked.

  “We set up TCPs along the routes just north of the border.”

  “You want us to go in to church and recommend a bunch of PTSD’d out veterans to run a traffic control point in our backyard?” Obviously, Royal didn’t like the idea much, either.

  “It’s a start. I’ll mull it around a bit and see what I come up with.” I finished my beer and patted Royal on the shoulder as I stood up.

  “The hell happened?” He shot a look to my hand and back to me with a concerned look.

  “Bah, nothing. Just a tragic masturbation accident.” The truth was always the best lie.

  His face softened. “That’s a fuckin’ real travesty, apparently.”

  “See you at chow,” I called over my shoulder as I made a beeline for the door. “Gracie, I’m going to pop your hood later if you’re interested.” I managed a wink to her over my other shoulder.

  “Always,” I heard Gracie respond as I shoved the door out of the way.

  Back in the shop, I didn’t pay any attention to the broken glass crunching under my feet. I had to swap a water pump and rewire an airbag sensor before I could get to my project car, and my project girl.

  I used thoughts of Grace’s body as she came, the damp heat of her pussy on my thigh, and the taste of her sweet mouth as I worked on a piece of shit car for a distraction from today’s problems.

  Thinking back to the voicemail Royal got from the sheriff, I couldn’t help but think of the irony that I was working on his mom’s car. He should be nicer.

  After I finished that car, I pulled it out of the shop and brought in the ‘74 Camaro. I popped the hood of the car and was astonished again that it wasn’t that shitty. Someone put an LS2 in it along with a couple bolt on mods. Unfortunately, it was all junk now, as the previous owner had thrown a rod through the block. I detached the transmission and the motor mounts then hoisted the blown monster out. Once it was off to the side, I inspected other parts to see if anything was still useable.

  The camshaft was. It was some light alloy cam. It made the car sound badass, but mainly reduced weight. The valves and headers were still good, but that was it.

  I was sitting at the workbench with parts fresh out of the tank when Royal walked up and called my name.

  “Tread, I got something to ask you.”

  “Oh, great. You know that’s how every bad story starts?”

  “Yup, this one shouldn’t be that fucked up, though. I want to take an overnighter out at the border. Talk to our BP fellas. Get a gist for what’s happening down there. Are you up for going?”

  I thought about an excuse not to go. I wanted to fix this car while I worked on its new owner. “Well, I gotta babysit the new girl.”

  “Ah, that’s nothing, Tatum is going hoggin’ tomorrow. She’ll take her.”

  “Man, you got it out for Grace, offering her up to Tatum and wild boar.”

  “She’ll be stronger for it. Besides, we gotta get eyes and ears down at the border. Derrick is your contact. It would be fucked for me to approach him asking all these questions without you there.”

  Royal had a point. As much as I didn’t want to go, it would be unsuccessful for him to go down there asking all those questions to guys that didn’t trust him. As future Road Manager, it was my job to have the connections along the roads we might have to travel.

  “All right, boss.”

  Royal gave me a friendly punch on the shoulder then turned to walk out.

  “Veesa said chow in twenty. Thanks, bro.”

  “You got it.”

  For dinner, Veesa prepared chicken enchiladas. My fucking favorite. The rice was a perfect mix of tomatoes and peppers. The enchilada sauce, Veesa’s well-guarded secret, I would literally perform armed robbery for if it wasn’t served up in my own kitchen. The girls were down at the end of the bar, and I needed to talk to them. That would have to wait, though. I loved these damn enchiladas.

  “Did you break the news?” Royal nudged me with his elbow. He knew better.

  “Nuh mmm.” I didn’t even take my eyes of the food. Hopefully, Grace didn’t see me eating like an animal. She wouldn’t understand. Not only did the Army drill eating fast and silent, but this was chicken enchilada night, damn it!

  “You’re gonna do it before you leave, though, right?”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “All right, I get it. Eat your damn precious food.”

  And eat
I did, every piece was gone, every grain of rice devoured. I was so full, I could have passed out on the bar right where I sat.

  I eventually worked up the strength to push away from the bar then headed towards the girls. As I approached, I heard them talking to Grace about their philosophies and what not. I loved these girls to death, but I was pretty sure they might love their group more. They were the sisters to our brothers in the MC. They took a lot of shit, had to learn how to manage us men and our set ways.

  Marley had an arm around Grace as she ate. Tatum picked at her drink nearby. Grace’s hair was still put up, and her slight makeup she did wear was fading away. She must have just gotten done behind the bar. When she saw me approaching, she kind of slumped down, trying to hide herself somehow. Not the reaction I got a few hours ago.

  “Hey, gals. Hey, Grace,” I blubbered out, not sure if I had green pepper in my teeth.

  “Hey,” they said in unison.

  “So I got a trip I got to take tomorrow, Grace.”

  “Oh? Okay. Where are we going?”

  “Not we, just me . . . Well, and Royal. It’s a recon, and I’ll be gone probably overnight. Tomorrow, I need you to hang with Tatum, okay?”

  “Were you going to ask me?” Tatum interrupted.

  “Yeah, I was,” I replied sharply.

  “Fine,” she huffed. “Gracie, we’re going hoggin’. We’ll get you some gear in the morning.”

  Grace looked confused and a little worried.

  “It’ll be fun, killer. Go get ’em,” I reassured her.

  I squeezed her shoulder and inhaled that apple scent as I pushed by her and out the door. It looked like I wasn’t going to get into the Camaro anymore, tonight. I had to pack for the trip.

  At almost noon the next day, I did my checks and inspections of my gear. My medium rucksack, camouflaged in multi-cam would be perfect for this little deal. It was a lighter toned camo fabric compared to the regular hunting shades of green. It would fit into the desert seamlessly.

  I always carried more than I needed. It would be cumbersome to ride with, but I wasn’t even sure how Royal wanted to roll, anyway, truck or bike. It would depend on the presence he wanted at the border.

  Anti-anxiety meds. Sleeping mat. Sleeping bag. FNP. I picked up the pistol and worked the action to check how well the lube was holding up. Placing it into a hideaway pocket in the side of the bag, I followed it up with my silencer case and six seven-round magazines. I put in a carton of smokes. Throwing my hygiene bag on top, I zipped up the pack and I was ready to roll.

  I walked out of my room, down, and out the back door of the saloon. Royal was waiting in plain clothing: tactical khakis, ball cap and shades. Low profile it was, then. I tossed my pack in the back and hopped in the driver’s seat. I pulled out my phone, noticing I had a text from Derrick; which was just what I wanted.

  “Derrick’s working today. He’ll still be on when we get there, for at least a couple hours.”

  Royal just nodded as I fired up the truck and rolled out of the parking lot.

  Around the front of the saloon, I saw Grace carrying a large rucksack that looked pretty full. She was sulking already, God help her. She noticed the truck and tried to wave, but the gesture almost toppled her over.

  I smiled and nodded as we flew by. Looking in the rearview, Marley and Tatum grabbed the ruck and chucked it in the back of their SUV easily. Good luck, Gracie.

  WE MADE GOOD TIME TO the border and our contact was waiting at a command tent set up on a hill overlooking the surrounding valley and mountains. Derrick was waiting for us, smoking a cigarette in front of the door flap.

  “Come in, boys,” he said as he lifted the flap for us to enter.

  Derrick was a black man with a close cut beard and a standard issue high and tight. It seemed like every time I saw him, more and more gray hair appeared at his temples, taking over his jet black hair. He was a stocky guy, but ‘retirement’ and long nights had grown a gut on him.

  “Hey, brother, how’s the family?” I asked.

  “Fuckin’ miserable. Don’t get me wrong, I love this job, and it’s good money. There just ain’t shit to do in these border towns,” he bitched.

  “Yeah, no kidding. Hey, you’ve met Royal before, right?” I gestured to my VP behind me as I slid into the tent. “He was at Benning with us.”

  “Yeah, I remember goldie locks. How’s it hangin’, brother?”

  As they shook, I surveyed the command post and let out a low whisper.

  “Shit, the G-man still isn’t skimping on the commo gear, huh?”

  “Hell nah, I’m signed for over eight hundred thousand dollars in this damn hundred dollar tent.”

  I sat in the RTO chair and Royal posted up against the fridge. Derrick sat in his nice leather, duty chair. He pulled out a wireless keyboard and mouse from a storage compartment under one of the arm rests and started punching commands into the messenger program, mIRC. His input devices hooked up to a computer putting an image on the side of the tent via projector.

  “So what’s the last twenty-four looking like, and what do you think the next forty-eight to seventy look like?” I asked him.

  He pulled up a topographical map of the area. It had overlays put on it, showing patrol routes, listening outposts, and command posts all along the border from south eastern Cali all the way to El Paso. Along the border there were red triangles flashing.

  “These triangles are clashes between BP and violent illegals getting across the border. They’ve been packing everything from a compound bow to automatic weapons. Some of them have demonstrated tactics that usually signal cartel soldiers or Mexican Army. So far, it’s just been potshots, nothing substantial yet. At least as far as command is concerned.”

  “Potshots is nothing to be concerned about?!” I asked.

  “Seems like they don’t want it reported any higher than them if you ask me,” Royal added.

  Derrick shot a finger at Royal.

  “Winner winner chicken fuckin’ dinner, my man.”

  “So they’re just turning a blind eye to Border Patrol in contact in numerous places on the border? What kind of folks have been crossing that aren’t armed to the teeth?”

  “Well, the guys that ain’t shooting at us, we’ve been rounding up and holding. There’s still a delay for when this amnesty plan goes into effect. Also, we don’t know if command will let them in or let us take them back.”

  He leaned forward and grabbed his Mountain Dew. He took a long swig before continuing.

  “Mostly people just want a fresh start, just like them all. They wanna see what the American dream is all about. I swear, sometimes I don’t know why they still come, especially when the economy has been such shit lately.”

  “Do the adventurers have money or are they the usual broke fuckers looking for education and a job?” Royal asked.

  I shot a ‘really man?’ look at him. Sometimes, I swore he’d forgotten that’s how my mom got to the States. I uncharacteristically turned my back on my VP and carried on.

  “Any surge in drug trafficking on the border?”

  “Yeah, I don’t really know why. Amnesty doesn’t mean shit if you’re carrying thirty keys of yay.” Derrick shook his head. “We turned those bastards over to the ATF. They’re doing the usual back trace on the coke. One second, gotta call my boys on patrol.”

  He picked up a hand mic from an adjacent desk and called his men. Seconds later, they responded in order.

  “Still a stickler for radio etiquette?” I asked.

  “Better believe it. When they get in to the command tent, I still make them talk as if they were talking on the radio.”

  “Best way to learn,” Royal chimed in. “Bro, we came down here to try and spark some ideas. I know you don’t really know the MC, but you know our little town. We had some gun wielding assholes from across the border rob and kill some folks at the local vet.”

  “Yeah, I read about that shit. It’s a damn shame.” He stared off for a sec
ond. “What can I do to help?”

  “Anything you can, or will, do. We can pay for services if need be.”

  “Depends on the mission, but I really ain’t starving if you know what I’m saying.” He patted his gut.

  “We appreciate that a lot. We have to do something to steer assholes away from our town. I don’t give a shit where they go; they just need to stay out of our neck of the woods. We got some ideas cooking, but we gotta vote them in and revise them before we can play,” I said.

  “No problem. I can offer surveillance and intel from here, and for free, but you know how New Mexico is. This post is as good as it gets. I know y’all got your hands full on your own property at the border. As for actionable shit, I can’t risk my guys’ careers chasing down some particular bad guy y’all don’t like.”

  “Sounds perfect, man. We’ll be in touch.” I shook his hand and stood up.

  “Do you mind if we poke around your area of operations for a bit? Not going to cause any trouble, just want to survey the tactical routes around here,” Royal said.

  I didn’t know we were staying and I couldn’t lie. I wanted to get back home, but I squashed it. I exited the tent with Royal in tow. I looked over my shoulder to make sure Derrick wasn’t seeing us off.

  “We going to be home when first gen gets back from their run?” I asked him.

  “They aren’t getting in ’til almost noon tomorrow. Apparently, Lonny fucked up the route. Prez ain’t happy. We’ll be there, though.”

  When we got back to the truck, we tossed on our packs. It was all on foot from here. Breaking bush was shitty going: slippery rocks while you’re climbing inclines, sticker bushes, snakes, all kinds of bullshit out here. Turns out walking around the swamps of Florida and the mountains of Georgia prepped me well for my after Army life. At least I was not wet. I was a whiny bitch when I got wet in the field.

  Royal took the lead and we shot up a tall, pointed hill adjacent to the command post. As the crow flies, I was guessing we were about a click, or kilometer, away from Derrick’s command post. I surveyed the surroundings. Draws and spurs traced the sides of the mountains, hills, and faded into the valley. A lot of hiding places, but not at night. At night, these parts were brutal. Any temperature was cold when it’d been one hundred and eight degrees all day then dropped to sixty degrees at night with a fifteen mph wind. Knowing that, people hiking this terrain would use those draws to sleep, block the wind, and stupidly start a small fire for heat. That’s when we’d get them. That’s what we had to do.