any good when her father and brother broke in. She needed to be more of an asset in situations like this one.
Her breath left in a rush. What was she thinking? More like this? She couldn’t consider living the club life again. What kind of responsible mother would that make her? She was in this situation because she’d been part of a club. It was Torpedo Ink, another club, helping to get Zane back. Torpedo Ink had contacted yet another club in New Mexico, to aid them with a place where prisoners were taken to interrogate them.
Before they turned onto Breezy’s block, Lana turned onto the street that ran parallel. She drove right into a driveway and then turned around and went back out onto the street. Between the houses, they could see Breezy’s building.
Bree watched as Master sauntered up the broken, uneven walkway to the door of her apartment. The door had chipped paint and all around the other apartments on the lower story, ones like hers that had a semblance of a front yard, litter and needles and sometimes dirty condoms were thrown around. Drug deals were common right out in front on the sidewalks. She wanted to groan and hide her face she was so ashamed.
Master opened the door with the key she gave him, looked carefully around and disappeared inside.
“What if they’re watching and someone goes in the back way?” Breezy asked, anxiety beating at her. She didn’t want anything to happen to Master. She should have told Steele the records and photographs weren’t worth anyone’s life. Oh. Wait. She had. He hadn’t listened. That had evidently been one of those times when he made the rules.
There was silence. It stretched out for minutes, each second ticking away so slowly she felt the pull on her nerves, but like Lana, she remained still. Lana had slipped off the bike and helped her off, indicating to her to remove the helmet. She kept her eyes glued to the apartment, looking between the buildings to see. A man emerged between two structures to cross the street, angling toward Bree’s apartment, his hands in his pockets. He glanced up and down the lane.
Lana had parked the bike in the shadows, and Breezy knew not to move or they’d draw the sentry’s eye in spite of the fact that they were a distance away and one street over. The newcomer was wearing Swords colors. She held her breath. He turned and looked to his left, letting out a low whistle.
The streetlights had long ago been smashed and no one had bothered to replace them, but it didn’t matter. She recognized him. The Swords had given him the name Bruiser, not because he liked to fight, but because he bruised easily and was very clumsy. His closest friend was Dart, a man who was very skilled with a dart and often used them in fights. She would bet her last dollar that Dart was there right now, circling around behind the house to go in from the back.
Lana didn’t move, nor did she say a word, so Bree kept silent as well. Lana appeared completely unconcerned by the fact that Bruiser was entering the front door and at the same moment, most likely, Dart was going through the back, trapping Master between them.
A few minutes later Lana touched her ear where she wore a tiny radio and then smirked. “Master took them both out easily. He’s called for the truck.”
Seconds later, an old beat-up truck with a deep bed pulled up in front of the apartments. It fit right in with the dilapidated building and the mostly broken-down cars lining the dirty street. Breezy knew the engine in that truck was in top condition and ran like a dream. Transporter slid out from behind the steering wheel and sauntered up to the walkway as if he owned the entire building. A few minutes later, he came out with Master, Dart between them. Dart looked more drunk than hurt. They deposited him in the back of the truck and they weren’t gentle about it. Bruiser was next. Breezy winced when the man hit the bed of the truck hard enough that it made noise.
Transporter didn’t seem to mind. He jumped up into the bed, bent over and worked for a few minutes, presumably to secure the two men. He began tossing things on top of them. Old, torn boxes and other rubbish that had been in the back of the truck. He