BROKEN ANGEL: Devil's Route MC

by Nicole Fox

  He turned to address Jace. “Nah, I mean, I'm sure you can.”

  “That's not what it sounded like to me, Fed,” Benji said, coming up beside him and pressing herself into his side.

  He rolled his eyes and turned his attention to Benji.

  I could see what was going down, but I didn't want to ruin the surprise. The trucker wouldn't have a buddy watching his back like Fed did, right then. Jace had the old rag we'd been using as a chloroform prop in one hand, just barely out of sight.

  “Nope,” Jace said from Fed's other side, “that's definitely not what it sounded like. You think poor, meek little girls like us need big bad bikers to protect them.”

  Fed gave an exasperated sigh and looked back to Jace. He gave a surprised yelp when his nose went straight into the fake chloroform rag, then a frustrated sigh. “Fine,” he said, his voice muffled from the cotton overlaying his nose and mouth, “I see your point.”

  Both women burst out laughing and gave Fed, and each other, a hug.

  This plan was perfect. I was grinning from ear to ear, and the way Jace had handled herself was almost effortless.

  I hadn't been able to take my eyes off her all day. I kept wondering if she'd followed my orders the night before, or if she'd disregarded them the moment the door to the guestroom was closed. Either outcome was hot, as far as I was concerned. Somehow, though, I doubted she'd followed my instruction to a “t.”

  I wondered, for probably the thousandth time, if she would ever come into my arms willingly, or warm my bed without it being her “job” or responsibility. The idea of having a woman like her, it was appealing. But, that gold lost its glimmer if I knew it was all just the same as her last career.

  I sighed and drank my beer down. No matter my feelings for Jace, and whether I'd ever have her completely willingly, today allayed my doubts about the plan. This thing was solid, and the ladies could pull it off no problem.

  # # #

  Jace

  Koen's plan was solid enough to work, especially if Benji and I worked together like we were supposed to. That wasn't going to be a big deal, either. We'd seduced men together plenty of times, and we always knew we had each other's backs.

  The only question hanging out for me was what happens next. I would have to figure out a way to get Benji moving, and away from the truck, so I could have a chance to “disappear.” Hopefully, in all that running around and other craziness, the bikers would forget about me. After all, I wasn't an important part of their world after this. It wasn't like they'd care if I disappeared, anyways. I was just another hooker to them.

  I'd ziptie my own wrists, instead of the driver's. When the trucker came to, I'd tell him Benji stabbed me in the back and cut me out of the deal. I'd give him a chance to redeem himself in front of his higher-ups by offering to give the real culprits to the boss. Then, when we got in front of Aleksey Volkov, I'd play it by ear.

  That'd be my chance to get the bastard who was responsible for Tommy's death.

  Not a perfect plan. Hell, not even as good as the one Koen had setup. But, still, it was better than nothing.

  A thought did occur to me, though. And getting it answered would be good in the long run. It'd make me look more invested in the job.

  “Alright, Koen,” I said after I finished off my beer. “You got Fed on board with your plan. One last thing.”

  “What's that?” he asked.

  “Say Volkov's got extra security, someone watching the trucks. What do you guys do to get away?”

  “Mean like if we're followed or something?”

  “Or something.”

  “Fed and me, Hell, any of our guys, we can lose anyone on those back roads. Most of the roads are halfway decent, and we can really open up on our bikes.”

  I twisted my lips a little, giving him an unsure frown.

  He rolled his eyes. “Don't believe me?”

  “Well, I mean, I just wanna be sure.”

  “Yeah,” Benji spoke up, adding her voice to mine. “How can we be sure we'll be as free and clear as you guys think?”

  Fed and Koen both laughed. “How about this?” Koen asked. “How about we go for a ride?”

  Benji almost clapped her hands together, she was so damned excited. And, thing about Benji was, her excitement was damn-near contagious.

  I grinned as I kept my eyes on Koen. “Sure,” I said. “Let's go for a ride.”

  Thirty minutes later, the four of us were ripping off down the back roads near the truck stop we were going to start the ripoff, the bike humming between my thighs like a vibrator big enough for King Kong. I gripped Koen tighter out of one part excitement, and another out of fear.

  I could feel his wide, muscular chest and his rippling abs beneath his shirt, and I didn't mind one bit that I had to hold onto him for dear life as we rocketed down the blacktop.

  I closed my eyes as we rode, and I saw myself with a man like Koen, one who'd protect me the way he had already. And, of course, one who was sure of himself, the way Koen was. Sure, he had an ego. But, at least he knew what he wanted out of life. And that right there was more than you could say about a lot of men.

  Too bad I was going to throw him away to get at Aleksey. In life, I'd realized, there was sometimes a price to pay.

  But, when it came to revenge, there was always one.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jace

  Benji and I stood outside the truck stop together. We'd dragged Koen to the shops with us the day before, out to a Target and Old Navy, so we could find just the right set of clothes for the two of us. New makeup specifically for this. We were both hookers by trade, and when you're a working girl you quickly learn that seventy-five percent of your job is playing a part.

  Normally, that part was being a sexy seductress that hung on a man's every word, a pure fuck-kitten that even found his beer paunch and bad breath attractive. In short, you had to play at make believe a lot.

  For this part, though, we had to come at it a little bit differently. We had to be teenagers, through and through. Lip gloss instead of heavy lipstick, lighter makeup, less trashy clothes. Even a new cell phone with a different case.

  So, there we sat, looking out over the lot. And what should pull in, pretty much right on schedule, but the truck under the false name it was using? Just like Koen's guy had told him it would be.

  I nudged Benji a little bit with my elbow till I got her attention, then gestured with my chin out to the truck driver hopping down from the cab and heading our way. “There's our man,” I said.

  “Yep,” Benji said, her voice low with nervousness.

  “You gonna handle this okay?” I asked.

  She nodded, her breathing coming a little bit faster than normal.

  I reached down and grabbed her hand, squeezed it. “It'll be okay, girl. We got everything we need,” I said, holding up my little purse I'd picked up at Target the day before. “Everything, alright?”

  She nodded and smiled a tight smile. “Let's just get this over with.”

  The man crossed the brightly lit parking lot and headed into the bathroom.

  We headed over to the bathroom door set into the outside of the building and waited for him to come out. He only took a few minutes, but soon came out, still wiping his drying hands on the front of his shirt.

  “Hey mister?” I started as we approached.

  “Yeah?” he drawled in some kind of accent I couldn't place. Maybe northern, or Canadian? It certainly wasn't from around here.

  “We, uh, I hate to impose,” I said, purposely pushing my nervousness, using it to my advantage. I was a teen runaway, after all, and asking a strange man to let me and my best friend hitch a ride. “But, well, see, we're trying to get out of town, to head up north you know . . .”

  He smiled warmly, his eyes flickering up and down our bodies in a very unfatherly kind of way. More like creepy uncle, to tell the truth. We were just wearing jeans, but we'd made sure our shirts were a size or two too small.

 
“Y'all need directions or something?” he drawled after a while.

  Benji shook her head, giggling. “No, we was wanting a ride, far as you can take us.”

  He looked from Benji to me, and back again as he scratched at the back of his head beneath the trucker gimme cap. “Well, I don't know. We ain't exactly allowed to do that kind of thing, girls.”

  “Even for us?” I asked as I took a step forward. “Promise we won't touch nothing in the truck. Not unless, you know, you want us to.”

  “Well,” he drawled in that strange twang of his, “rig's right over there. Y'all ready to head out?” he asked.

  Something about the man, and the way the word “y'all” seemed so forced in his mouth, made my skin crawl beneath my teenager attire. But, Benji and I had a job to do, especially if I wanted her safe, and I wanted Aleksey to pay. So, I nodded and we began to follow after him.

  Benji stealthily grabbed my hand as we headed out into the truck stop parking lot, with all its pitch black shadows, exhaust fumes, and oil-stained concrete. “I don't like this,” she whispered as we headed for his truck.

  “Why should you?” I whispered back out of the side of my mouth. “The guy's a creepy-ass trucker who's looking at us like we come with the legs-and-eggs special.”

  “It's not just that,” she squeaked back at me in protest as we went around a big tractor-trailer and came upon his truck. “This is too easy, Jace.”

  “Maybe we're gonna get a free lunch for once,” I said.

  She made a face and pulled me to a stop. Uncle Trucker, too, came to a halt and turned his attention on us, his eyes shifting in the dim light beneath the brim of his gimme-cap.

  I glanced from Benji to the man, and back again.

  I needed to keep character, even while having an argument. Which, surprisingly, wasn't that hard. I'd been right here just a few years ago, hadn't I? “Look,” I said, trying to stay as a teenage runaway, “we ain't never gonna get away from your asshole stepdaddy if we don't catch a ride outta here. Right?”

  She frowned, glanced sideways at Uncle Trucker, then nodded.

  “Now, come on and smile,” I said, giving her a little, halfhearted grin as I squeezed her hand, “the road ahead's rocky, but at least we gotta ride. Right?”

  She grinned a little bit more and squeezed back. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Y'all girls ready?” he asked in that weird accent. “I'd hate to leave you behind because of scheduling conflicts.”

  “Yeah,” Benji chirped as we both turned to follow after him. “We're coming.”

  Uncle Trucker led us to the truck, and we climbed up on the passenger side. I hadn't been in the cab of a rig like this in years, not since I'd run from my own real-life abusive stepfather and had to catch a ride south. It looked and smelled a lot like I remembered, like stale man and a hint of body odor, with just a bit of added truck stop food spice.

  Yeah, just as gross as I recalled.

  Back, behind the seats, was a little sleeper cab area with the privacy curtain closed off. Benji and I, not wanting to get too far away from the man, stayed up in the front seat together, piled on top of each other like two kittens in a slightly ill-fitting basket. I didn't pay much attention to the back area, though, as we were both focused on Uncle Trucker coming around to join us.

  As we settled in, I unzipped my little teenybopper purse. A pungent, sickly sweet smell filled the cab as I grabbed the chloroform-soaked rag I'd been hiding there.

  “What are you doing?” Benji asked as the driver crossed in front of the rig as he came around to the driver side. “It's not time yet!” she squeaked.

  I hushed her as Uncle Trucker opened up the driver side and climbed in. He slammed the door shut behind him as he wiggled into the seat. “Y'all girls ready?” he drawled as he turned to face us.

  The look in his eyes was wild as I stuffed the rag over his face. I didn't pull any punches either, because I knew he wouldn't. I crammed it down over his nose and face, covering as much of it as I could with the chemical-drenched cloth.

  “Sorry!” Benji yelped from behind me as the man grabbed my wrists and tried to pull the cloth away.

  “Don't apologize to him!” I yelled back as I struggled to keep the cloth over his face.

  Behind the curtain, there was the sound of a gun cocking back its hammer. “Alright,” said a man with a Russian accent so thick you could slice it, pulling aside the drapery and led with his big, shiny automatic pistol, “that's enough. Hands off Petra.”

  Benji screamed in surprise and fright, sending a chill up my spine. I tried to look around Uncle Trucker's eyes rolled back in his head, and he began to slump in the driver seat, but I didn't want to take my focus off him, or his grasping hands.

  “Hands off!” the new guy screamed.

  I glanced over at him. He was younger than Uncle Trucker, more thuggish. He wore an Adidas jogging suit, its bright white stripes shining almost as brightly as his handgun in the dimly-lit cab. I could tell, though, that he was less-experienced than the driver.

  “Hey!” Benji yelled, leaping at him from out of the seat.

  “No!” I screamed as my best friend went for the man's gun.

  The man stumbled back a little bit, and his finger must have slipped. The pistol roared, filling the cab with the smell of burned gun powder and the sound of a hundred peels of thunder. Benji reeled back into the foot well in front of the passenger seat, still yelling, but now mostly in shock.

  My ears were ringing, my blood was pumping, my heart was racing. Benji had been shot! My best friend, just like my little brother, was lying in a pool of her blood in a strange place because of me! I screamed and leaped at the man, my chloroform rag held out in front of me like a deadly knife.

  New guy looked at me, his face surprised as he, hunched over, took a step back.

  I went for his face with the rag, trying to pull the same trick twice in a row.

  He flailed with his pistol, catching me in the side of my head with its barrel.

  My head exploded with lights and I tumbled to the floor of the cab, my vision fading as I heard Benji's surprisingly low-pitched sobs. “Oh god,” she repeated over and over as the man, maybe still surprised over what he'd just done, stepped over me and dragged Uncle Trucker out of the driver seat and took his place.

  The rig rumbled and came to life at just about the same time as my world went black, allowing me to slip down into beautiful, wonderful nothingness. A sweet, sweet oblivion where I couldn't get anyone else I loved shot . . . or worse.

  # # #

  Koen

  The muzzle flash lit up the cab of the tractor-trailer and the gunshot echoed throughout the truck stop. Me, Happy, and two F&B MC bikers were parked on the other side of the lot, watching everything unfold.

  We hadn't given either of the girls a gun, specifically because of this. Which meant it had to have been the Volkov truck driver. My heart caught in my throat as I realized what must have happened.

  “Holy shit,” Happy yelled beside me.

  A few moments later, the truck rumbled to life and began to tear out of the lot. In the opposite direction of our planned ambush.

  “Let's go!” I shouted, visions of Jace hurt and bleeding out from a gunshot flashing in my mind as I kicked my bike alive and drove off after the careening semi. All thoughts of guns and profit were gone form my mind, shoved aside by my fear for Jace and Benji.

  This was my fault, all my fault. I should have listened to Fed instead of my own stupid ego. I just wanted the job done, and I didn't give a damn about any of the people I was sending into harm's way. I'd made a gamble, and I'd lost.

  Spectacularly.

  Happy, the two other guys, and I whipped out onto the lonely highway, opening up the throttle and taking off after the truck. I sped up, outdistancing the rest and catching the draft behind the big truck, reducing my wind resistance. Once I'd gotten close enough, I cut to my left and came alongside the truck, close enough to touch the spinning, deadly wheels.
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  The giant beast of a machine towered over me like a diesel-powered beast of Hell that could chew up any in its path.

  I realized if I wanted to pull this thing over and get to the girls, and the bastard driving the rig, I needed to do it from the inside. I opened up the engine and accelerated, pulling up alongside the driver’s side door.

  My vision was tunneled, but my thoughts were singular and crystal clear: Get this motherfucker. I glanced up at the cab of the truck, at the guy, now without a cap on, frantically looking around him as we encircled his tractor.