Colt (Devil's Nightmare MC #10) - Lena Bourne Page 0,8
make a run for it once we’re outside.
If you gotta die you die fighting. That’s what my daddy taught me. That’s how he went. But he had a chance to win his fight. I have no chance. All I have is my charms to try and get some pity out of these bastards. I just need enough so I can run.
Colt
Ace is out, the sons of the President of Roadside Sinners MC are in our possession, and everything so far’s going according to Cross’ plan. Whatever that plan is. I’m something of a hero around here now, after how pivotal a role I played in saving Ace’s life. That’s how he put it when he found out what I did and Cross agreed. A double win.
But the days are still long and hot and the sum total of my task in this job we’re working on is keeping watch on the Sinners and making sure none of them does anything rash.
It’s early evening and I’ve just returned from a full, scorching hot day of following the Sinners’ president around. Or more like sitting on my bike out of sight while he first visited the clubhouse for half the day, went home for dinner, and then back to the clubhouse. Hardly exciting.
Ace is smoking a cigarette by himself, standing near the corner of the huge concrete structure we’re using as our base of operations here in SoCal. It’s actually a weapons storage facility since Devil’s Nightmare MC is supposed to be phasing out the mercenary part of our operations and just settle into weapons trafficking. But in the last two years, since I’ve joined, we haven’t moved very far into that. Things just keep coming up, or, more like, people to kill, do.
Ace picked his spot because the building casts shade on that side this time of the afternoon, but it’s actually only a bit better than standing in the sun. Dry heat’s supposed to be better than humid heat, but I’m finding I hate them both equally. The air is thick with dust, the earth screaming for some rain, but I doubt it’s coming. It’s drought season.
“Hey, Ace,” I call out before I even reach him. “You got a second?”
He shrugs, nods, and takes another drag on his cigarette. The bags under his eyes are huge and black. He needs to get some sleep, but I’m not dumb enough to suggest it. Nor do I know how to start the conversation I do want to have. I’ve been planning on finding him for a private talk all day but didn’t get very far in the planning of what words to actually say.
“What can I do for you, Colt?” Ace asks once I stop next to him and a couple of moments of silence pass.
“I’m not really sure how to ask…” I say, my voice fading away as I realize that was definitely the dumbest possible way to begin this conversation.
He chuckles and offers me a cigarette. “How about you just say it. If it’s a favor you need, it’s yours. I owe you.”
“I did what anyone would’ve,” I say, and that again sounds wrong. But after a lifetime of not being acknowledged, let alone praised for a damn thing I did right, Ace’s gratitude is taking some getting used to. He lights my cigarette and the first drag cuts through my dry and parched throat like a knife. For a few moments, it’s all I can do not to start coughing.
He’s looking at me expectantly, so I swallow, decide to stop thinking, and just blurt it out.
“You’ve been with the Sinners for a while, so you know them. Do you think they’ll take care of the club girls?” I ask. “Or will they just leave them there to fend for themselves when the going gets tough for them?”
As it will any day now. We both know that.
A very dark look passes across his face, disgust mingled with the killing kind of quiet rage.
“They treated Stormi like dirt,” he says in a menacing voice. “They might treat the others better, but I haven’t seen anything of the sort, while I was there. My guess is they’ll all just run for the hills as soon as we move against them like the low cowards they are. So yeah, I suppose they’ll leave them to fend for themselves. And we won’t hurt any of them, you know that. Why do you ask?”