Charge: A Motorcycle Club, Shifter, Romance (Shifting Steel Book 2)

by Stephanie West

  There was a crashing as the front door went flying open. Trip was on his feet instantly as Marisol screamed in shock.

  Guns greeted them as two uniformed men yelled “Alto Policia”

  Trip didn’t dare do anything with the weapons pointed at them. If he was alone he might have chanced it, but Marisol had been shot once already in the last 24 hours, and they’d gotten lucky it wasn’t bad. He wasn’t about to tempt fate a second time.

  “Hey what’s going on.” Trip asked the officer’s. “We are renting this house.”

  “The neighbors reported an intruder.”

  “There must be some misunderstanding.” Trip tried to talk his way out of the situation.

  One of the officers looked warily at the back window Trip had broken last night.

  “Shit” Trip muttered to himself.

  “You will need to come with us, till we sort this out.” The other man said as he roughly pulled Trip’s arms behind him and secured them. At least the officer didn’t use metal cuff, instead pulling a plastic zip-tie tight around his wrist.

  The two officers hustled Marisol and Trip out to a marked car and shoved them in the back.

  Marisol hung her head and Trip silently cursed. The last thing he wanted was Marisol being caught up in the Mexican judicial system. One officer shut the door and Marisol leaned over.

  “I saw the one on the right at El Patron’s he’s one of his paid men.” Marisol whispered.

  “Shit.” And getting shit by the moment. “Follow my lead.” Trip grumbled and Marisol hid her head in his shoulder again attempting to hide her face from the men.

  One officer got in the car while the dirty cop stayed outside talking on his phone. Any hope Trip had that the man didn’t recognize Marisol was quickly dashed. Trip listened through the closed door with his exceptional hearing as the man reported he’d located the girl and “some gringo” to El Patron. Trip had to think and think fast.

  Marisol

  “We’re trapped again.” Marisol freaked.

  Marisol thought being arrested was a nightmare but it wasn’t nearly as frightening as the prospect of being delivered to El Patron. She wasn’t about to go back to being one of his pets.

  Marisol didn’t know what Trip was planning but they were approaching the station and time was running out. She wanted to lash out at the police car but she didn’t. Marisol wasn’t sure if they’d be able to get out of the back if she killed it.

  “There’s my truck.” Trip whispered.

  Marisol saw the old brown Dodge as the police car pulled into a lot near the municipal station and parked. Marisol noticed the cameras on the building. The officers pulled them out of the car then ignored her concentrating on Trip since he was such a big man.

  Trip looked from Marisol to his truck. That the cue. Marisol could help out. She didn’t have to rely just on Trip, she wasn’t without her own wiles. Marisol looked from the cameras to the Dodge. It was old enough and currently off so it wouldn’t be affected by her quirky gift.

  Marisol summoned all her strength and let loose a massive jolt of energy. The police car sizzled and she knew everyone in the station was now blind to what was going on outside and their communications were down. Hopefully she’d also erased any record of them being arrested too.

  Trip acted so fast breaking free of the flimsy zip-tie cuffs with a bare flick of his wrists. The two guards holding Trip’s forearms, were no match for Trip. He wrenched free of their hold, gripped their collars and knocked their heads together. It was shocking and yet comical how quickly he incapacitated the guards.

  Was that a hint of fang she’d seen when he growled? Marisol stood in awe of Trip’s speed and strength. The way he moved so fluidly it was like it had been choreographed. Marisol couldn’t pull her eye’s from the sight till Trip yelled at her.

  “Marisol!” He cocked his head toward the truck.

  Marisol shook her head, snapping out of the inappropriate thoughts she was having and raced to the truck. Trip came up behind her then vaulted over the hood to the driver’s side. They hopped in just as more officers rushed out the door of the station. Trip looked above the visor.

  “Fuck! Of course they found the spare keys.”

  Marisol looked from the officer racing towards them to the steering wheel.

  “Start, Start, Start.” She squeezed her eyes shut and demanded as she concentrated.

  The rumble that roared up had Marisol gasping in relief.

  “Hell yeah baby!” Trip howled.

  He tore through the closing gate an instant later sending the guards scattering. Marisol ducked low in the seat as shots were fired and Trip swerved down the street.

  “Head north.” Marisol yelled as Trip headed down one street then swerved turning up another.

  The only place she could think to go was the mountains to her grandmother’s.

  Trip

  Trip and Marisol headed down the highway running between the two peaks of Mount Tlaloc. It was a gamble between the main road or the smaller older one. The police could put up a block on the highway but the cartel could just as easily block the smaller side route without drawing attention.

  Trip saw an exit and pulled off. They needed gas and a game plan. He pulled into a filling station next to a bar. Once stopped Trip put on his old clothes and the rings in his head as Marisol looked on amused. They gassed up then headed to the bar next door for a quick bite.

  “How long till we reach your grandmother’s?” Trip asked as they ordered.

  “About half an hour on the main road to Rio Frio. Then another up the mountain if the roads are good.”

  Marisol gave Trip directions as their food was set down and they dug into the tortas. Trip kept an eye on the patrons and the door the entire time. There were several men eyeing them. Trip couldn’t tell if it was because Marisol was gorgeous or because he was an out of place foreigner in the heart of Mexico. Either way they ate quickly.

  Trip walked out of the bar with Marisol tucked at his side to find three men standing by the truck.

  “Fuck” Trip grumbled hoping the men were just looking for an easy mark. “Get in the truck Marisol.” He told her as another guy stepped out from the bar.

  Marisol hustled to the cab and one of the cabrones moved to grab her.

  “Don’t you fucking dare!” Trip growled, letting his beast forth a fraction.

  Foolishly the man ignored him.

  Trip was at his side lightning fast. He threw his fist and heard the bones in the man’s nose break as he dropped to the ground. Trip snarled in satisfaction then spun to the left avoiding the guy coming at his back, narrowly missing the knife jabbed towards his midsection.

  Marisol revved the motor and put the truck into gear. She pulled forward clipping one guy with the bumper. The man stumbled but didn’t go down. Instead he pulled a gun and pointed it at her.

  Trip launched himself at the man forcing his hand up as he fired.

  The original trio just kept growing in number till there were almost a dozen thugs circling.

  “Dammit!” Trip cursed.

  He was having trouble watching all the contenders and keeping Marisol safe too. One of the guys was studying his phone looking from it to Marisol.

  “GO! Take off and don’t stop. I’ll find you.” Trip yelled.

  “No!” Marisol screamed.

  “Yes! Dammit woman. I can’t fight them and worry about you at the same time.”

  “Okay” She screamed through the window as she reversed and hit another guy.

  Trip hit one dude as he tried to grab the door handle on the cab. Marisol scrambled and locked the doors as she pulled forward and peeled out of the parking lot.

  Trip watched her take off as he threw another punch taking out a man heading for a vehicle to follow her. Thankfully Marisol didn’t slow down. He needed to give her time to lose these assholes. Trip turned in a rapid circle and kicked one guy, listening to him scream as his knee bent at an unnatural angle.


  Marisol

  Marisol drove looking in the rear view mirror through bleary eyes the entire way. Every car she saw was a potential threat. She gripped the wheel white knuckled resisting the urge to turn around. The determined look Trip had given her as he demanded she leave was the only thing that kept her going forward. She understood Trip couldn’t keep his attention divided but it killed her to leave him there to face god knows what.

  Marisol finally turned off onto the dirt road and headed up the mountain pass. Her mind reeled and before she knew it she was parking and heading the rest of the way on foot.

  Marisol was thankful that the local university maintained a nearby home to house the archaeologists that came to study the ruins near the summit. The professors and students often helped her grandmother when she and her Papa couldn’t. They looked to her Abuela as a repository of the old knowledge. It was so good to be back.

  Marisol smiled as she approached the garden plot beside the old stone and adobe dwelling. This place always brought her comfort. Her grandmother was bent picking weeds from between the beans. She stood up and saw Marisol, a grin spreading wide across her brown wrinkled face.

  Marisol rushed into Abuela’s welcoming arms, uncaring of the dirt that clung to her gnarled fingers. Abuela pulled back and studied Marisol’s face.

  “Mija your eyes have grown so old since I saw you last. It has been too long.” The old woman said as she held Marisol.

  Marisol burst into tears.

  “What is it child?” Abuela asked as she squeezed Marisol’s hands.

  “Papa… he was killed.” Marisol sobbed.

  “I thought I felt something.” Abuela’s face fell and she hung her head.

  “It was Los Zetas.” Marisol sniffed.

  Her Abuela ushered her inside out of the sun, it looked like storm clouds were quickly rolling in. Abuela sat at the wooden table showing every one of her eighty years, the horrible news weighing on her. Marisol sat down beside her.

  “They took me.” Marisol said quietly.

  “Oh child.” The old woman looked at her granddaughter sadly and tightened her grip on her hand.

  “They didn’t kill me because of my gift. They made me use it.” Marisol admitted.

  “We’ve never talked much about your abilities.” Abuela stroked her arm. “Your father and mother wanted to raise you Catholic and I respected their decision. Maybe I should have tried harder to help them see you can’t run from who you are.” Abuela shook her head. “Tell me everything.”

  Marisol told her Abuela how she’d been taken and all the things they made her do as the storm started to rage outside. It reflected the way they both felt as it pelted the house and whipped the branches outside the window. Lightning lit up the sky, the clap of thunder rattling the glass.

  “I was rescued by a very special man Abuela. He was also captured by the gang but we escaped. He is gifted like me.”

  “Truly.”

  Grandmother looked intrigued a knowing smile played across her wise face. Abuela was old but she still had all her wits about her and she was wily. Marisol often wished she was as brave.

  “He can take the shape of a black jaguar.” Marisol said hesitantly.

  “Xbalanque” Abuela whispered.

  Xbalanque was one of the many old gods that took the form of the black jaguar. Over time among the ancient peoples the Olmecs, Mayans and Aztecs, the myths about the gods had mixed. But among all of them there was the Jaguar god. The black jaguar took the form of the night or moon and his tawny twin the day or sun.

  It was amusing how Abuela believed in the old gods but also truly believed in Jesus too. In her mind they lived side by side in a way that we could only hope to ever understand when we passed on.

  When Marisol was a young girl in Catholic school she thought her grandmother was silly, but still drank in the stories that occasionally slipped out. As Marisol grew older and came to know her own gift the more she believed Abuela might be right. There were things in this world that just couldn’t be explained. Perhaps all the people we now call myth were once people like she and Trip.

  “Where is this man now?” Abuela asked smiling, knowing Marisol’s thoughts had drifted to him.

  “There was a bunch of men that attacked us on our way here. Trip fought them off and made me leave to protect me.” Marisol teared up at the thought. “I told him how to find us but I’m worried. There were so many men.”

  “I am glad you found each other mija. Do not loose faith just yet. The Jaguar is strong. We will wait out the storm and see. If he does not come then we will go find your Jaguar.”

  Trip

  There was a crack and Trip felt the blow to his head before everything went black. When he came to he found himself bound on the worn cracked tile of the bar floor.

  “El Patron wants the girl back. Where did she go gringo?”

  Trip stared at the Latino man waiving a gun in his face. Trip decided he was tired of this little adventure. He’d learned where the Los Zetas leader lived and who he was. It was time to get the fuck out. Except Marisol was still at risk and would be as long as El Patron still took breath.

  “It sounds like El Patron and I need to have a discussion then.” Trip replied.

  “You will tell us NOW!”

  Trip watched the man’s itchy trigger finger, ready to roll at any moment. He refused to say anything else to these men. If the boss wanted Marisol he was going to have to go through him first.

  Trip hoped Marisol made it safe to her grandmother’s. This would be twice as bad if she was lying here with him.

  The Latino man tried to intimidate Trip with a solid kick to the ribs as he lay tight lipped and bound.

  “He doesn’t know who the FUCK he is dealing with.” Trip thought as he tried not to grit his jaw.

  Seeing Trip wouldn’t budge the man ceased his abuse and barked at the rest of the gang to load him up. The sweaty men sat way too close on either side of him in the jeep as it jaunted down the road. Their stench was worse than the blows he’d taken to the gut. Various scenarios where he made a clean escape crossed Trip’s mind. Except where would that leave Marisol. The longer he diverted their attention the better.

  Marisol hadn’t yet agreed to go back to Chicago when all this was over. He couldn’t blame her, who wanted to leave their home. Despite his gut instinct to toss her over one shoulder and hightail it across the border, he wouldn’t.

  That meant removing the threat to her and this was the best way. So Trip stayed seated.

  Trip found himself in the same warehouse he recognized so well on the compound. It didn’t take long for the boss to show up in his over priced suit. The older gentleman, El Patron, as Marisol had called him, stood smoking a cigar in front of Trip.

  “You have something of mine.” El Patron said with a puff that drifted into Trip’s face.

  Trip tempered his anger. Now was not the time to lose his head. Trouble was he’d never been a patient guy, even when outnumbered. This piece of shit would never get his fucking hands on Marisol again. She didn’t belong to anyone. It didn’t matter that Trip and his jaguar claimed her. The beautiful brave woman had been taken against her will, and no one not even he would do that to her ever again.

  “No one owns a woman like Marisol. Anyone who even suggests such bullshit is either a fool or a giant asshole.”

  Trip watched the muscles and veins flex in El Patron’s neck at his declaration.

  “Perhaps you are right, the woman is tricky. But I find her useful. So where is she?” El Patron said as he studied Trip, who refused to say more.

  El Patron blew on the end of his cigar and stepped forward. He pulled Trip’s shirt aside and pressed the red hot coal to his flesh.

  “I would suggest you tell me what I want to know.”

  Trip didn’t even grimace as the scent of charred flesh and singed hair accosted his nose. As long as Trip knew where Marisol was they would resist killing him, to a point. Yep he was done with this mission.


  6 Calling on Tlaloc

  Marisol

  Marisol hoped Trip would arrive unharmed but she didn’t see how it was possible given the limited directions she’d given him even if Trip was able to get away from the pendejos that had attacked them.

  “Trip wants to take me back to the U.S.”

  Of course that could only happen if he wasn’t brutally murdered. Marisol choked at the awful thought.

  “Then you should go with him.” Abuela replied.

  Marisol was taken aback that her grandmother would agree so readily. Marisol wasn’t quite sure that was what she wanted for herself. On one hand she didn’t want to let Trip get away without seeing where this thing they’d started might lead, but on the other hand the mountain was all she knew. Was she ready to be in the modern world? Marisol pictured herself accidentally frying everything in Trip’s home.

  “This is my home.” Marisol rubbed her hands over her face.

  Marisol had never been farther than an hour from her home. To leave it behind was a frightening prospect, but then again it had become dangerous for her to stay.

  “I can’t leave you here Abuela.”

  That was Marisol’s other reason for wanting to stay. Who would take care of her grandmother if she left?

  “Life opens a door and you must be brave enough to step through mija.” Her Abuela looked at her seriously.

  “We’ll see, first he needs to make it back safe.” Marisol shook her head in concern and confusion.

  “Lets see what the gods have to say.”

  Marisol smiled. Her grandmother always claimed she took care of the gods and they took care of her. Marisol felt there was more to the story than she’d heard in passing. But her grandmother had respected her parents wishes and kept many of the old tales to herself.

  The rain eventually abated and they emerged into the humid afternoon.

  “Lets go up to the ruins. We will say a prayer for my son, your papa.”

  Abuela handed Marisol two earthenware jars and carried two herself as they left the house taking the narrow winding mountain path.

  “What are the jars for?” Marisol studied the crude antique redware containers. They sloshed with a bit of water as she carried them.