Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58752 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58752 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
I wanted to lock the door, shove one hand beneath her shirt, and remind her exactly how well she responded when my requests became orders. The flush spilling beneath her freckles told me the thought had crossed her mind too, but the brothers waiting outside and the shipment ready to move made indulging it a poor use of time. I let my thumb linger for one more second, then forced my hand away.
“The truck may become a rolling target,” I explained, keeping my voice low. “If you’re inside, every brother on that road has to choose between the cargo, driver, and getting you clear. You know how that would go.”
Tamsin’s expression softened when she caught my meaning.
“So you know what the safer choice is.”
She sighed, and her shoulders eased as she accepted the same conclusion I had. “If dispatch changes anything, I make the call.”
“You make the company call,” I agreed, brushing my knuckles beneath her jaw. “We handle the road.”
Cipher shifted his hands over the keyboard without looking up. “Go. We’ve got shit from here.”
“Good,” I murmured, brushing my knuckles beneath Tamsin’s jaw. “Keep her behind the walls.”
“I’m sitting right here,” she reminded me.
“I know exactly where you are.”
“And you come back,” she added, catching my wrist before I could lower my hand.
“Planning on it,” I assured her, letting my thumb pass once more across her cheek before stepping away.
She held my gaze for another beat, then turned back to the screens with the same concentration she brought to a firing line. Within seconds, she was checking the driver’s location against the approved route and marking the points where a late dispatch change would matter.
The company truck left the warehouse under an ordinary Bellamy schedule. Bikes and club vehicles entered the route from different roads over the next several miles, keeping the escort loose enough that anyone watching the driver would not see us clustered around him.
Nomad rode ahead, checking intersections and blind approaches, while Trigger and Wraith shadowed the truck from staggered positions on their bikes. Hawkeye held back in a discreet truck with Breach, while Stryker and Smoke moved along the parallel road toward Quarry Cut without advertising where they were headed. I rode far enough back to avoid announcing our position but close enough to cover the distance before trouble reached the cargo.
The road narrowed as it left the busier edge of Sable Canyon, cutting between dry hills and scattered ranch properties before reaching the junction leading toward Bellamy’s secondary site. Heat shimmered above the asphalt, and the truck maintained the speed Tamsin had approved. I kept my attention moving between mirrors, driveways, vehicles behind us, and every place a road could be blocked.
Nomad’s voice came through the comm as he cleared the next junction. “Road’s clean through the county split. White work van parked near Quarry Cut, nobody inside.”
“Keep moving,” I ordered. “Don’t let the fuckers know you clocked it.”
“Copy.”
“Warning from Tamsin,” Cipher reported through my earpiece as the truck approached the last major intersection. “Bellamy dispatch just posted a route change to Quarry Cut. She says it’s bullshit. Entered after departure, no authorization attached.”
“Tell her we have it,” I told him, scanning the intersection ahead.
“Will do.”
“Original route stays,” I ordered, twisting the throttle as the company truck approached the intersection. “Nomad, turn your ass around. Trigger, Wraith, tighten on the truck. Hawkeye, close the rear.”
The company driver acknowledged through the club phone we had placed in his cab, then held his line instead of signaling toward the turn. The attempted redirect confirmed somebody with current access to Bellamy’s system was feeding the outside crew live information.
A dark pickup shot out of Quarry Cut before the truck reached the intersection and swung broadside across both lanes. At the same moment, a black SUV accelerated from behind, closing fast enough to trap the cargo between the two vehicles.
The driver braked hard but kept the truck straight, stopping with room between his grille and the pickup rather than jackknifing toward the shoulder. The pickup’s driver door flew open before the tires stopped smoking, while the man behind the SUV’s wheel leaned through his window with a pistol.
“Move,” I ordered into the comm as I twisted the throttle.
The Black Crowns closed from every direction. Trigger surged along the driver’s side of the Bellamy truck and planted his bike near the cab, covering the driver while Wraith cut around the front and boxed the pickup against the shoulder. Hawkeye drove the rear truck straight at the SUV, clipping its back quarter hard enough to spin it partly across the road before Smoke and Breach bailed out with weapons drawn.
A man came out of the pickup with a pistol aimed toward the Bellamy cab. I drove onto the gravel, dropped my bike under control, and reached him before he fired. My hand closed around his wrist, slammed it into the steel door, and ripped the weapon away while my other fist buried itself beneath his ribs.