HWY 550 (Rock Point Book 3)

by Freya Barker

  “We’re gonna have to find them first, it could take forever,” I point out.

  “No it won’t,” Blackfoot pipes up. “Look for tracks. The ground is sand and light gravel. The container will have evidence of heavier traffic in front.”

  “We’re gonna try to get in and out without any engagement,” Damian adds. “So move fast, but quietly.”

  Two minutes later I’m sucking in air, my back pressed against the ridged metal of the container, waiting for a sign when Dylan is in place. We made it this far undetected.

  The moment I see Damian signal, I twist my head around the corner and focus on the building at the far end of the yard.

  “Stand down,” he whispers behind me, just seconds later.

  It doesn’t take long to find heavier tracks leading to one container. I already have my hand on the vertical bar locking the doors, ready to yank it open when Dylan stops me.

  “Not so fast. These suckers are noisy.”

  Right.

  Despite sliding the bar as carefully as I can, it is far from quiet, and I flinch at the sound of metal scraping metal when I hit some resistance.

  “Incoming.”

  Dylan moves fast and pulls me around the other side of the container. I follow, squeezing myself through the narrow space between the containers to the backside. There I almost bump into Dylan who curses under his breath. In the dirt at his feet is the body of a young man I as recently as days ago ripped a new asshole in my office.

  Jesus, fuck. Rowtag.

  A mix of guilt, anger, and revulsion starts churning my stomach at the sight of a bullet hole right beside his eye and the large pool of blood he’s lying in. Dead, quite obviously, as his vacant eyes stare up at the sky. Already flies are starting to buzz around him.

  It makes me sick to my stomach to think what we might find inside the container. Are they even alive?

  Then I hear it, the sound of a motorcycle approaching and I realize that’s what Dylan was referring to. He’s looking straight at me, a finger to his lips before pressing it to his earpiece. The sound of the engine dies suddenly. Then I hear someone say, “What the fuck is this?” before the loud slam of a door.

  “Quick, quick,” Dylan suddenly says, pushing me back into the narrow passage. “Get them out. Now.”

  He heads two containers down where he has a better view of the yard, while I unlock the doors, wincing at the noise I’m making. I’ve barely slipped inside, blinking against the dark, when I hear yelling followed by gunshots.

  LUNA

  I’m not sure how long we’ve been here.

  Sweat is streaming down my face, stinging my eyes, from my efforts to loosen my binds. With the backs of my wrists strapped together, and my upper arms taped to the back of the chair, I have zero play. My shoulders already feel like they’re being pulled from the sockets. My legs aren’t much better. They’re taped together and my ankles are secured to the first rung, leaving my feet inches off of the floor. I can’t even fucking move myself closer to Ahiga, who I can occasionally hear moving behind me. I’ve thought about toppling the chair, but the way I’m trussed up, it won’t gain me a thing. I’ll just be more vulnerable.

  I freeze when I pick up a rustling against the outside of the container, and my eyes immediately drop to the bottom of the doors, where a shadow interrupts the narrow strip of light. There’s someone outside.

  I wait with bated breath, trying to prepare for whoever or whatever is going to be coming in. A sliding sound, metal against metal, as someone seems to be taking great care opening the doors. And then it stops. More brushing, this time along the other side of the container, and I swear I can hear a whispered voice.

  Hope blossoms in my chest, and I’m so focused on the small sounds outside the container, I almost miss the sound of an approaching motorcycle. Someone yells in the distance, a door slams, and then I can hear it loudly—right outside. “Quick, quick.” I almost sob out loud at the sound of Dylan’s voice.

  Moments later the doors open, and a shape I would recognize in my sleep squeezes through the gap. But before I can make a sound, mayhem breaks loose outside.

  “Hurry,” I call out, and familiar hands find me.

  “Can’t see a fucking thing,” Ouray grumbles.

  “Flashlight on your cell phone.”

  “Shit. Hang on.”

  The light that suddenly floods the enclosed space is almost blinding.

  “Oh fuck, Sprite,” he mumbles dropping his phone on the ground and sinking on his knees before me. I’m so relieved to see his beautiful blue eyes, but it’s short-lived, as another burst of gunfire sounds outside, the sharp ping of bullets hitting metal close by.

  “Ahiga first,” I urge him, when he pulls a folding knife out of his pocket and starts cutting at the tape. “Get the boy first.” I can hear him behind me, talking softly to the boy, even though Ahiga can’t hear him. “Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine. Aren’t you, kid? You’re a tough cookie.”

  More shots ring out, and this time I hear a yelp. Then the doors open wide and Manny Salinas stumbles inside clutching his leg, Britney right behind him.

  “Stay right the fuck there!”

  OURAY

  I barely notice Britney, my gun is trained on fucking Salinas as I step around Luna. He may be injured, but I know that won’t do much to stop him.

  He’s using both his hands to put pressure on a wound that appears to be bleeding profusely, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a gun in the back of his belt or strapped to his ankle.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” He looks around confused, and I’m almost buying into it. Instead I step closer and press the gun to his head. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  “Ouray!” Luna cries out and I swing my head around.

  I was so focused on Manny, I didn’t notice Britney moving. She already has her gun trained, pressed up against the side of Luna’s head.

  “Easy now,” I caution, catching Luna’s eyes, who is sending me a clear message.

  Before her chair even hits the floor, I have my gun trained on Britney and pull the trigger. The next moment it’s back on Manny, who is sitting there with his mouth wide open, his eyes trained on the crumpled form on the ground.

  “I should fucking finish you too, you killed my cub.”

  “Jesus!” I look up to see Wheels standing right outside the container, Blackfoot right behind him. Manny moves when I’m momentarily distracted, knocking the gun from my hand. Even as I scramble to pick it up, I see Manny reach behind his back.

  “Not gonna go down for something I didn’t do, let alone fucking understand!” he yells, as he points his weapon at me, at the same time my hand finds mine and raises it up.

  “Wait,” I hear Luna call out. “Please. Ahiga says Manny’s not the man.”

  “Fucking right I’m not.”

  “Bullshit,” this from Wheels, who I just now notice, is cuffed. “Salinas has had it in for you for fucking years.”

  “Hear the boy out,” Luna urges and I turn to him.

  Rowtag grabbed me when I ran out of the doctor’s office to help Luna, but I almost got away. Then that man came and helped him drag me into the van.

  Ahiga’s finger is pointing straight at Wheels.

  CHAPTER 29

  LUNA

  Wheels?

  Out of all the possible suspects, he would’ve been at the very bottom of my list. His involvement messes up every possible scenario I’d considered. Yet, the look on his face when Ahiga stabbed an accusatory finger in his direction, easily confirmed it.

  It’s doing my head in trying to find the connective tissue between Britney and him. And Rowtag, how the hell did he get involved? Salinas, who I had at the top of my list, may not have been involved at all—or maybe he was in cahoots with Wheels?

  My head is starting to hurt with the effort, but I can’t seem to stop churning the puzzle pieces in my mind.

  I’m in the back of an ambulance, on my
way to San Juan Medical Center in Farmington, involuntarily I might add. There’s so much information to sort out, so many people to question—I should still be back at the scene.

  “Jesus Christ, I’m fine,” I announce for the third or fourth time. Of course it doesn’t help my case that I sound like Gilbert Gottfried with a cold.

  I try to sit up, but Ouray pushes me back down on the stretcher.

  “Good, then this won’t take long,” he snaps. “You’ve got a cut the size of small fucking crater on your face, and your nose is pointing north when we’re heading west.”

  I try to snort, but it sounds more like a steam whistle. Okay, so my face is a mess, but I hate not being there to finish the job I started. Especially with Dylan out of commission as well. He took a hit in the shoulder and was bleeding substantially. Damian was looking after him, and Keith had been busy taking down Wheels, which is why Britney was able to shove Salinas into the container. He claims she’s the one who shot him.

  Like the fucking O.K. Corral, bodies everywhere.

  Despite probably having sold me out, I’m sad Rowtag lost his much too young life. He certainly was not the mastermind, and was probably an easy target to manipulate.

  Britney was alive, lucky bitch. Her injuries were relatively minor, a good gouge just above her ear, apparently enough to knock her down. Dylan turned out to look the most serious and was airlifted to Durango, but the rest of us are on our way to Farmington by ambulance.

  “Is Ahiga okay?”

  “He’s twelve years old, riding up front in an ambulance with lights going, what do you think?” he answers, a smirk on his face.

  “DO YOU HAVE YOUR PHONE?”

  I’m sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, waiting for the nurse to come back with some painkillers, should I need them. Ouray is pacing back and forth in front of the small window, like a caged animal.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Because mine is still somewhere in the parking lot at the clinic, along with your ride, or in police custody, and I need to talk to Damian before I head in to question Britney.”

  “Not sure that’s a good idea,” Ouray grumbles. He looks as out of place in the clinical setting as I feel.

  “My nose is set, the cut’s stitched up, and both she and Manny are here. It’s not like I have to go out of my way.”

  “Kaga’s already here. He’s in the waiting room with the boy, ready to take us home.”

  “I can’t go home, Ouray. I still have a job to do.”

  His lips press together and he stares at the floor, taking in a deep breath that make his nostrils flare. My man is not happy.

  “Fine,” he bites off. “Don’t mind me. I’ll take the boy home. Here’s the phone.” He pulls it from his pocket and tosses it on the bed next to me before walking to the door.

  “Wait.” He stops with his back turned, hand on the doorknob. “Don’t be like this, Ouray.” That has him swing around to face me and the wrecked expression on his face is a shock.

  “Be like this? Like what? Thought I lost you, Luna. Thought I lost the boy. My heart hasn’t stopped squeezing yet, and all I can think about is gettin’ you both home so I can fuckin’ breathe again. But like you said, you got a job to do. Go do it.”

  This time he’s out the door before I can respond, and I can feel my own heart squeeze.

  “Ms. Roosberg?” The friendly young nurse walks in, holding a small bag. “Dr. Evans suggests to take as needed. I put a card in there with your follow-up appointment for next Friday.”

  I manage to nod and take the bag from her hand. She’s already halfway down the hallway before I can get words from my mouth. “Two gunshot wounds were brought in around the same time I came in. Would you happen to know where I can find them?” The look on her face is one of suspicion, so I quickly clarify. “FBI, I’m Special Agent Luna Roosberg.”

  “Let me direct you to my supervisor.”

  It takes me twenty minutes and a phone call to Damian—who is able to get word to the officers guarding her at the hospital—to get me in to see Britney.

  Her wrists are strapped to the bed and she already looks fit to be tied. She becomes irate, struggling against her binds when I walk in.

  “You!”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “I should’ve pulled the trigger when I could,” she spits out.

  “Probably.” I stay calm, just shrugging my shoulders as I pull up a stool. I know I’m likely adding fuel to her fire by pretending to be unaffected, that’s the idea. Angry people tend to say more than they intend to, which would serve me well.

  “This is all on you. I had Ouray by the balls, it was just a matter of time for me to get that ring on my finger. That pimpled kid was an easy target, he caved at the first taste of my pussy and the promise of a patch. It would’ve been the perfect setup. And after all that work I put in—you show up—wrecking it all!” She screeches the last.

  “Everything all right in here?” I turn to find the policeman standing guard outside poking his head in.

  “Just ducky,” I smile at him before swinging back around. “Sorry for the interruption.” I lay it on thick to poke her some more. “You were saying?”

  “Fuck off, you androgynous bitch.” I raise one eyebrow, but otherwise keep my face blank.

  “You were just explaining how you planned to fuck your way into Arrow’s Edge, and I saw evidence of that with my own eyes.” I feign a full body shiver. “But I wonder; does your daddy know your favorite pastime is getting gang-banged on the pool table?”

  I’m fishing, but luckily she bites. “He don’t care, as long as the job gets done.”

  “You sound perfect for each other.”

  “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” she snarls. “I do my daddy proud.”

  “SHE’S WHAT?”

  I’m in the hospital cafeteria, scarfing down a stale bagel and some weak coffee to get something in my stomach, talking to Damian. Outside it’s getting dark, and I haven’t had a thing since breakfast, which seems like days ago.

  “She’s Wheels’s daughter,” I repeat, my mouth full.

  “You’re kidding me. How did we not catch that?”

  “Probably not listed on her birth certificate. I don’t know. She did say her ‘daddy’ always looked after her, so I assume he knew. Although what kind of father would order his daughter to whore herself out, I don’t know.”

  “Any clues as to motive?”

  “She mentioned something about merging clubs to control the region. Apparently she’s been a busy girl, Salinas admitted he’d been banging her off and on until she started fishing for something permanent. Then he got cold feet.”

  “So you talked to him already.”

  “Yeah. I’m not a big fan of the guy, but I believe he had no clue what he was stepping into. He was surprised when she called out of the blue after disappearing, and told him she was in trouble, hiding out in a container across from his compound. He seems to think the objective was to lure both him and Ouray there and make it look like they took each other out, leaving both their clubs vulnerable.”

  “Did Salinas know one of his guys was part of the plot?”

  “Nope. That was a shocker. I think they’d hoped to maybe get Paco on board as well, but his loyalty to Ouray is strong. Guess poor Rowtag was next, and a much easier target, although I’m not so sure Daddy Wheels was happy with that choice. I think maybe you should come in and question both of them, get some clearer answers, I’m not at my best.”

  “Right. You’re hurt. Shit, I already got an earful from Blackfoot when I told him you seemed to be back in the saddle. I should be there shortly. I’m just finishing up with local law enforcement here. Why don’t you go home?”

  Go home. That’d be funny if it wasn’t so sad.

  I suddenly don’t know where home is, and even if I did, I have no fucking way to get there.

  OURAY

  I walked out, a fire burning in my gut, and had every intention of taki
ng the boy and heading back to Durango. If not for Kaga’s suggestion we pick up the Traverse and leave it in the hospital parking lot for Luna, I would’ve been home already.

  What changed my mind was the scent of her shampoo. A trace of it lingered inside the SUV, reminding me of this morning, when she stood in the door opening, her hair still wet from her shower, telling me she loves me.

  That’s not something you walk away from easily. That’s something you fight for.

  So I’ve sat here for the past hour and a half, in the parking lot of the hospital, with my eyes on the main doors, waiting for her to come outside. Unfortunately, without a phone. I gave mine to her, and hers was shoved in the purse that was left by police on the passenger seat, with a broken screen. I can’t get the damn thing to work, and I don’t want to risk missing her if I walk in there and start looking. So I sit and wait.

  The moment I see her walking out, her shoulders slumped as she takes a seat on the bench right outside the entrance, I get out from behind the wheel. She must’ve heard the car door slam, because her head snaps to and she jumps up as soon as she spots me.

  God she looks a mess, the nose splint they fitted her with looks ridiculously large on her small face, and dark bruising surrounds the cut on the bridge of her nose and around her eyes. But the eyes themselves are beautiful as ever, blue and shimmering like orbs of polished glass in her battered face.

  She starts walking toward me and doesn’t stop until her cheek is pressed against my chest, and her arms around my waist.