by Lowe, Aden
They finally made it out to the highway, an hour behind schedule before they even started. Fabio gave the signal to spread out in the light traffic to avoid suspicion. The client suspected any trouble would come during the second eight-hour shift on the road. By then, they would be well into the territory of his rival.
The whole damn thing made Trip itch. Running through rival MC territories, rival gangster territories, all on a tight schedule with a pre-planned route just seemed to put a big old target right on their backs. Kellen had his reasons for accepting the conditions and while Trip wasn't clear on those, he would back him to the death. That's what brothers did. Unless the President fucked up. And so far, Kellen hadn't fucked up.
The little procession wove through varying traffic for a little over seven hours until Ryker rejoined them and led the way to a small truck stop for the required layover. To Trip, it would have made more sense to have an alternate driver so they could keep moving, but the client insisted on the fucking rest stops. So they rolled into the little gravel lot and Ryker directed them to the outer edge where they could easily keep an eye on anyone approaching the truck.
The driver left the tractor idling and climbed out. "I'm going to hit the head then come back and catch a few hours' sleep."
Trip nodded for Crank and another Raider to stay on the driver. It wouldn't be the first time a driver took a nice payout and handed the keys over to someone else. Not happening on his watch. Of course, he'd also prefer no one stick a knife between his driver's ribs and leave them stuck either. Any of the Raiders could move the truck in a pinch, but not legally, so they'd be a moving target in that event. Easier to just keep an eye on the wheel-man and prevent all those issues from the start.
With the driver safely locked back inside the idling tractor, Trip divided the riders into two groups and allowed them to take turns going inside for food, drinks and diversion. Ryker dropped under the truck's trailer, grabbed the bumper and started some sort of insane pull-ups in his never-ending training. Bastard was nothing if not devoted.
Shaking his head, Trip headed inside to check on the Raiders who'd gone in. After the mishap the day before, he wanted to avoid more trouble with jerkwads like that. The truck stop was all outfitted in red and white checks and chrome, apparently trying to look like a 1950s diner, and not doing too bad a job of it. They even had an old-fashioned jukebox blaring some classic Judas Priest.
A waitress in a cute blue dress and white apron gave him a friendly smile. "What can I get you, sugar?" Her eyes widened and immediately went over his shoulder. He turned and caught Ryker coming in the door. Figured. Bastard always caught the females' eyes. "And please tell me I can get you somethin' special, baby."
Trip grinned and waited. Ryker's food requirements usually raised eyebrows. "Go ahead, man. It'll take longer for yours."
Ryker smiled at the waitress. "Yeah, I do need something special." His gaze swept over the food displayed in the deli-style case. "I need an eight-ounce steak, medium, no seasoning, a double of that broccoli, lightly steamed, and some of those sweet potatoes."
The waitress' eyes went even wider. "Okay, you better tell me that again so I can write it down." She took out her order pad.
Ryker obliged, repeating his order and ignoring the appalled glances of other patrons in line behind him. He was accustomed to people's shock over his dietary choices, but it was part of what put him at the top of his division, so he refused to give any concessions on it. His meals were planned down to the calorie and he rarely ate out for that reason.
The waitress turned to Trip with a broad smile. "Are you that picky, sugar?"
Trip grinned and shook his head. "Not at all. I'll take the meatloaf, scalloped potatoes and green beans." He gave her a wink. "I'm easy to please."
She let her gaze sweep over him, paying particular attention to the patches on the front of his cut. "Oh, I'll just bet you are, sugar. My name's Susan. You just ask for me if you need anything, okay?"
The way her dress hugged her tits offered a serious temptation. "I sure will." Yeah, he might just take her up on that offer. She could certainly ease the boredom of the enforced stop. He paid and accepted the tray with his food, and found a table that allowed him a good view of the lot around the truck. So far, everything was still quiet.
So how come he felt like he sat right in the calm before the storm? All this stop and start bullshit really made him itchy. Too many opportunities for trouble to walk up to them and blow up in their faces.
He ate the food, not really noticing the taste, and tried to plan for anything that might come up. He'd already assigned two riders to keep watch while everyone else did their thing and stayed close. Hopefully that would be enough.
Ryker joined him with his made to order food and started eating. "What's up? You think trouble will hit at a stop?"
"It's what I'd do. So keep your eyes open." He pushed his plate aside. The food was good, but he'd had enough.
The waitress, Susan, approached. "Can I get you some coffee, sugar? Or dessert?"
Temptation hit hard, but he didn't really have time for playing around, as much he would welcome the release. "I could handle some special dessert, but I'm working today. Maybe I'll catch you another day another way."
She smiled. "I'm out of here in twenty minutes. Just in case you change your mind."
"Wish I had time." He stood and crowded up into her space to brush his groin against her ass, surprised when she didn't pull away. They were usually all talk, but she seemed sincere. She had her hair tied back, exposing the curve of her neck and making him want to sample it. He reminded himself he had shit to do. Oh well.
Shaking his head a little with regret, he headed for the door, taking quick note of his men's positions. Checking made him feel a little like a mother hen, but if trouble came up, he would be glad he knew in general where they were.
Outside, he found someone had pitched a bedroll in the shade of the truck, sound asleep. The boys on watch were still taking it seriously so far, and both had good vantage points. He checked in with them and texted Kellen to give an update. If this run became a regular thing, he hoped Kellen gave it to one of the others. Too damn much to worry with, even without thoughts of Tanya messing with his head.
Annoyed with the whole thing, he took a slow stroll around the parking lot to try and keep his damn mind where it belonged. Not on Tanya, or the waitress with the cute tits and tempting neck. He rounded the building, ready to head back to the truck and grab a few minutes' rest.
The waitress paused just outside the exit, still wearing her cute uniform, and looked around. She gave a quick smile when she spotted Trip heading her way. "You changed your mind."
"Sorry, no time, honey." He approached and slipped his arm around her waist and bent to taste her neck anyway.
She moaned and pressed back against his dick. "Let's go somewhere a little more private. The boss frowns on us hooking up here. Says it looks like he's running a whorehouse." She turned to slide her arms up around his neck.
"I'm working so I can't leave." He stepped back a little. "Like I said, I'll have to catch you another day another way." For the best anyway. Her curves were sweet, but probably wouldn't satisfy him nearly as well as Tanya's slim perfection.
The memory of how Tanya felt in his arms haunted him, like a high he needed to chase. Every time his mind went still for a moment, there she was. His imagination provided plenty of fuel for the addiction, making him dream of how she would feel under him, what she would sound like as she cried out in pleasure. Her soft sighs tormented him, drove him to need more.
"Are you kidding me?" The waitress got in his face. "You're going to turn all this," she made a gesture indicating her body, "down? Just because you'd have to leave your boys for an hour?"
Annoyance flashed through him, reinforcing his decision. "Told you, I'm working. And I doubt all that would be worth an hour of my time, honey." He turned away before he could say anything to anger her further, his thoughts
already on to more important matters.
A faint click behind him was the only warning, but Trip dove sideways and kept moving as a bullet cut through the air where he'd been standing and thunked into a nearby parked car.
Fuck! Why did he always have to run into the damn crazies? He must have some kind of sign on his forehead that attracted them.
Trip managed to take cover behind the car as the pissed off waitress continued to fire, stalking toward him like a damn model on a catwalk. Fuck! Until she ran out of ammo, he was fucking stuck right where he was. Of course he could shoot her, but he'd prefer not to have to do that. Local business owners tended to dislike when bikers gunned down their employees right in their parking lots. The Raiders needed a solid working relationship with the businesses along the protection route if they actually landed a contract with this client, so best not to fuck with the locals too much.
Trip caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned to check as Fabio rounded the side of the building in a crouch. Best to keep this to just him and a pissed off woman if possible. He signaled Fabio to stay back for the time being and to put the other Hell Raiders on alert just in case.
A bullet burned the air not far from his ear as the woman drew closer, approaching at an angle. One more and she would have to reload. Trip crouched, ready to take advantage of a pause in the gunfire. He could take her to the ground and disarm her, smack her on the ass and send her on her way.
Suddenly, two big pickups tore into the lot and skidded to a halt between Trip and the semi, cutting him off from the rest of the Raiders in that direction. Several armed men bailed from each pickup, and advanced on the bikers and truck.
That damn waitress was a diversion, and she worked like a charm. So far, her bullets were the only ones flying, but the men were loaded for bear and didn't look like they'd take no for an answer. Trip's men outnumbered them, but being spread all over the damn place made defense a little tricky.
Fuck! Civilian casualties had a way of making an MC look bad. So how the hell to prevent some idiot from getting shot?
In spite of the thoughts racing through his head, Trip took a few seconds to assess. The boys at the protected truck took cover and drew down on the other crew, ready to blast away on his signal, just like they were supposed to. The rest of his men were spread out inside the building, leaving him and Fabio closest to the action. The only one not visible from his vantage was Ryker, who could be anywhere.
Thankfully, the waitress had disappeared, probably back inside. One of the boys in there would have to deal with her. Trip turned his attention to the nearest of the two pickup trucks, where only the driver remained inside. The other occupants all moved across the lot.
Trip pulled on his leather gloves and drew the hunting knife from his belt sheath. Moving up on the first truck posed little risk, with no hostiles behind him, so Trip made quick work of it. The truck sat high on oversized tires and the man behind the wheel seemed to have all his attention on the attack.
Trip was able to get to the driver's door without being noticed. He simply stood, reached in the open window and grabbed the man's hair with his right hand to expose the throat and drew the blade deep and sure with the other. Hot blood soaked through his glove and that familiar metallic tang filled the air.
Chapter Ten
There were far worse things than seeing to the wounded Buffalo's needs, but at the moment, Tanya had a tough time remembering that fact. His injuries had gone putrid, obviously infected, and the stench made her gag every time she had to get near him. Fever raged through him, leaving his skin hot and dry to the touch, despite the constant shivers that wracked him.
Bushmaster kept him shot full of oxycodone to kill the pain, and the drug also kept him knocked out, thankfully. She could only imagine the kind of hell he would bring down on all the girls if he were awake.
The medic spent his time sprawled in a chair reading, or masturbating, or both. The sight of his dick and the way he constantly pulled at it made her half sick, too. His shirt and belly were crusted with dried jiz. No wonder he didn't bother the girls much. He liked his hand better, it seemed.
Tanya no longer questioned the need for handwashing. The answer was always the same gloves she took off the last time she had to do something for Buffalo. The things were disgusting with dried blood and other things she'd rather not think of, so she had to be careful putting them on or taking them off.
And then, to her horror, Bushmaster stood and announced he was going to bed, and left Buffalo's care to her, after warning her not to bother anyone else. She tried her best, but without knowing much about taking care of a sick person, she worried she should do more. Part of her wished for his death every time she looked at him, while the rest of her knew she would bear the blame if he died. No matter how much she did to try and take care of him, they would kill her if he died.
She attempted to drain his bladder yet again, but only a few drops of some dark, horrible-smelling fluid came through the catheter. If he didn't start getting better soon, or at least stop getting worse, she was pretty sure he would die. Unable to stand the smell, she decided to take the jug to empty and rinse it. It would be good to breathe air not tainted by the smell of death.
She ran headfirst into Freak at Buffalo's door and he had to catch her by the elbows to keep her from dumping the stuff in the jug all over him. "Good God, what is that?" He stepped back with a wince and covered his mouth and nose. "Smells like something fucking dead!"
Tanya stammered. "I-it's his piss." Her hand trembled as he took the jug from her and held it up to the light to inspect the contents.
The scowling VP grabbed her elbow and forced her back into Buffalo's room. "What the fuck did you do?"
Oh, God, they were going to blame her. The urge to run made her muscles vibrate, but there was nowhere to go. "O-only what Bushmaster said."
Freak took a deep breath and gagged. "Fuck. Okay. Tell me, exactly, from the moment you first came in here."
She spoke, trying to keep from stuttering, telling him every detail she could remember. Fear kept her voice soft, and she had to make an effort to speak loud enough to be heard. Her throat ached, but she pushed on.
He stayed silent, peering closely at Buffalo's injuries, then touched the man's head and hissed between his teeth. "How long has he been this hot?"
"H-he seemed hotter than he should be when I first came in, but a little while after we put in the catheter he started shaking and got hotter. He stopped shaking a few hours ago, and Bushmaster said that was good, the fever had broken."
"Find a blanket, sheet, anything, and go soak it in cold water and bring it back here." He fished out his cell phone while she searched and finally came up with a ratty old blanket. He nodded and gestured her to hurry as he dialed.
Fueled by fear, Tanya raced for the bar and shoved past the bar girl.
The other woman slapped at her. "What do you think you're doing, bitch? You know you're not supposed to be back here."
Ignoring her, Tanya headed straight for the big mop sink and dumped in the blanket. The woman's fist caught the side of her head and stunned her for a moment.
"What the fuck, bitch?" The bar girl shrieked and grabbed a handful of Tanya's hair to drag her backward.
Tanya clutched at the side of the sink with one hand and clawed at the other girl's fingers with the other. "Let go! It's for Buffalo!"
"What the fuck?" The bar girl flew off Tanya, and Freak stood there scowling. "Bitch, you pack your shit and get the fuck up outta here. I see you in the Saxons compound again, I'll kill you." He turned to Tanya. "Take the blanket, cover him with it, all over. We have to try and get his temp down."
Tanya followed orders without waiting to see what would happen to the other woman. Hopefully it was something bad. It might change the way she and the other girls were treated by the whores and old ladies.
In Buffalo's room, she spread the dripping wet blanket over him, trying to be careful of his wounds. They said
people sometimes remembered things that happened while they were passed out. With her luck, he'd remember every bit of pain and blame it all on her, then when he healed he would make her pay for it ten times over.
Freak came back in. "I called an ambulance. Be lucky as fuck if he don't die anyway. You go out front and wait for them and bring them straight here. Don't give any details of what happened and don't say a word about how you're here. Anyone asks, you're just one of the women. Understood?"
She nodded and turned for the door.
"Hey." When she turned back, he continued. "You'll go in the ambulance with him. I'll follow."
She nodded again and hurried for the front door, her thoughts in a jumble of confusion and fear. Why would Freak want her to go to the hospital with the president? It made no sense. Always before, any contact she or the other girls had with outsiders had been strictly supervised. They were never left alone with anyone who wouldn't understand their situation there.
Before she arrived at any sort of understanding, the ambulance shrieked up to the gate and halted. The driver leaned on the horn and the prospect on duty took his time rolling the gate open, but finally, the vehicle squeezed through.
Two men in uniforms rushed out and grabbed bags of gear and rolled a gurney out. "Which way?"
Tanya turned to rush inside, leading them to Buffalo's room. Freak waited there and stepped aside to give the men access to the president.
One carefully drew the wet blanket back while the other checked pulse and blood pressure and started attaching stuff. The first stopped and stared for a moment. "What on earth happened to him?"
Freak sighed. "It's a long story. The short version is knife wounds, and someone tried to treat him at home."
The EMT rolled his eyes. "Okay. The ER doctors will need more details if possible." The two worked quickly and soon hefted Buffalo to the stretcher and rolled him out.