The gunfire came closer, dust beginning to settle as the air cleared slightly. “Phase two,” Watcher said over his shoulder, hearing the feet shuffling into position. “Team One is going again. Fire in the hole,” he called into the phone at the same time he heard and felt the detonation. Much larger this time, a rolling vibration that transferred up through the soles of their boots. Bricks in the wall in front of him rattled and shook, releasing their own torrents of sand to join the maelstrom rolling up the alley. Cries of terror sounded, and the slapping of shoes on the hard dirt surface marked the advance of the cartel’s men. The first runners flashed past the opening, and he counted only two seconds before there was a whump of air compressing, followed immediately by a flash of light. They’d triggered the closest trap. Shouts and screams still moving away, several seconds elapsed before the next explosion. “Blowin’ shit up since 1986.” Nervous snickers from behind him highlighted the tension everyone was working under right now.
From the phone came confirmation all three teams had executed their portion of the plan. Time to get the hell out of Dodge, back across the bridge and into friendly territory. Using the code preprogrammed into the traps, he remotely detonated those not already tripped, and led his team of soldiers turned bikers turned soldiers again out of the maze of streets.
***
Juanita
Juanita woke as Watcher settled on the bed behind her, pulling her across the mattress and into his body. Tense and tight, his muscles were stiff against her back. He’d been gone for three days with many of the club’s members leaving their house, usually bustling with activity as men and their women moved in and out, quiet and eerie, only the two girls and herself to keep it full.
It was as if his thoughts tracked hers, even in the dark like this, when she was sure he couldn’t see her face. “We need a dog,” he muttered, lips to her neck. His beard was damp; he’d showered, but she could still smell smoke on his skin. Not cigarette smoke, but like he’d been near a big fire. “A big dog, like a mastiff. Horse-sized dog that’ll scare off anyone. I’d feel better. Don’t like leaving you here alone.” His arms gave her a tight squeeze.
“I have my pistol,” she reminded him, frowning when the bed shook with his laughter. “What? You showed me how to use it. Made me memorize your four rules, I remember them.” Ticking them off on her fingers, she recited the words he’d drummed into her head. “All guns are loaded. Don’t aim unless you are prepared to shoot. Finger off until you have it pointed at what you want to destroy.” On the word “destroy,” she knew she made a face and was glad he couldn’t see it. “Once you pull the trigger, you can’t take it back.” Now she felt grumpy. “You even told me I was a good student.”
“Yeah, I did, and you are, and you’ve got it right over there in the nightstand drawer. I know, baby. You showed me.” He gave her another squeeze. “But you’ve also got a trigger lock on it and can’t find the key.” She stiffened, irritated that she gave that much away. “I wasn’t supposed to find out, I know. Bella can’t help herself sometimes.” He nuzzled against her ear. “Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad.” She could hear the crossness in her own voice and tried to tamp it down. “And the key isn’t lost. It’s just misplaced.”
“Same as, baby.” Teeth grazed her earlobe, and she shivered at the hot wash of breath across her skin. Desire curled in her belly, and she clenched her thighs together. Proving he was as in tune as she thought, he whispered, his voice gone ragged with need, “Wanna get busy with your husband?”
She arched her back, pressing her ass against his hips, shivering again when she felt the hardness there. I’m his. “Always.”
“Mmmm.” He nipped her ear again, skimming her nightshirt up with one hand to cup her breast, tugging on her peaked nipple. “Good answer.”
***
Watcher
“Your actions ensured my victory,” Raul Estavez said, giving Watcher a beer. This time, it was Watcher who’d come visiting, bringing three men with him deep into Chihuahua to Raul’s current base of operations. “And without knowing you did so, you coordinated your efforts with those of the Malcontents out of California, who drew attention to themselves in Mexicali. With so many active engagements, the cartel pulled their support from the Machos, leaving them to me.” Raul kicked the stump on which he’d been seated to one side, moving it farther from the fire. “And I was ready.”
“And Carlos?” Watcher had heard the other Estavez brother had escaped north, making his way free of the skirmish lines.
“Does not have long left to him on this earth.” Ass to the stump again, Raul stretched his legs out, soles of his boots to the fire. Watcher studied him, marking the differences in this man and the one he had first met. Leaner, which would come from the constant activity caused by the running battles. But he looked harder, too. More capable. Less the businessman he had been, and more like the outlaws he’d befriended. Where Raul’s statement would have been laughable a year ago, dismissed as bluster from a man not capable of backing it up, now, it was a promise. “He had a small corps of loyalists with him, but we’re tracking them. They are currently in the Denver area, and I will be headed there directly.” Raul lifted his gaze, locking it on Watcher. “I will not fail in this. My Carmela will be safe.”
“She already is,” Watcher reminded him, because she was in a safe house with the rest of the women and children. Taking no chances, Watcher had ordered the move be made before he and his men stepped a foot across the border on this trip. “As safe as we can make her.”
“No, Watcher. I mean she will be safe while living her life. Not locked behind walls, not looking over her shoulder. My friend, that is not a life. It is barely an existence. I want my daughter to live.” Raul had leaned forward as he spoke, his passion ringing through his words.
“Brother,” Watcher cautioned, “as long as we are the men we have to be, then our families will need protection.” He shook his head. “We will always have enemies who want to take what is ours. Simply by defending what we have, we will gain more enemies. It’s how people are, my friend. They want what they can’t have, and hate those who have it.” He sighed, leaning backwards and shifting away from the fire. “She’s as safe as we can make it, and so is my Bella. Our kids are with people who love them and who would die to keep them from harm. All we can ask, brother.”
“True. All we can ask of others. I can ask more of myself, so I will be leaving in the morning on my way to Colorado.” Raul lifted his beer, but before he tipped it to drink, said, “Your old mentor is…has become an annoyance.” He swallowed, then said, “Shooter overstepped. He has offered support to Carlos. The compound in Denver where my brother is producing and storing his heroin belongs to Outriders.”
“I couldn’t give two shits what Shooter’s doing. He cut ties with me long ago, cemented the gap the last time I saw him.” Watcher shook his head. “You do what you gotta do. No skin off my nose there.” A pause, then he continued, “Except his kids. Don’t bring his kids into it. Luke and Eddie. Let’s leave them off the menu, like we want our girls left alone.”
“Done.” Raul immediately agreed. “Shooter, however, will be going down.”
“Without a doubt. Lemme know if you need anything from my Soldiers on that front.” Watcher stood, stretching his back, trusting the men he had on the perimeter to safeguard him, even silhouetted against the fire like this. “Rack time for me. Me and mine will be headed out early.” Reaching out his hand, he gripped hard when Raul’s palm met his. “Safe travels, brother.”
“And to you.”
Seven years
Watcher stood up off his bike and stretched, feeling his muscles complain at the movement after being locked into place for so long. Tense, he swept the parking lot with his gaze while Spider backed his bike in beside Watcher’s, killing the engine. Spider swung his leg over and groaned. “Jesus, Watch, you are a machine on a cross-country run. I hadda piss like a hundert miles ago.”
&nb
sp; Rolling his eyes, Watcher walked towards the motel’s office, calling over his shoulder, “Room should be ready. I reserved it while you were talking to the pretty thing at the last gas stop, which by the way was only fifty miles ago, so you havin’ to piss ain’t my fault.”
“Whatever,” Spider yelled back through his laughter. They’d ridden through the night, and Watcher was sure Spider was every bit as saddle-sore as he was. Five minutes later they had the bikes unpacked and were standing in the room, staring at the single king bed. Without a word, Watcher turned on his heel and stalked out, long strides carrying him back to the office. Ten minutes after that, they were in a different room, looking with some relief at two double beds.
“How long we got before we needa roll, brother?” Spider turned in place, dropped his bag to the floor and fell backwards, bouncing twice on the mattress. “I got time for a power nap?”
“A couple hours. It’s only a five-minute ride to where we’re going. I’m gonna want some grub before, though.” Watcher set his bag on the built-in dresser, unfastening the buckles holding it closed. He pulled out a button-down shirt, frowning at the wrinkles in the fabric as he tossed it aside. Digging through the bag, he found a black tee and laid it across the bag. “Thought you had to piss?”
“Pissed outside.” Spider toed off his boots, letting them fall with a thump to the thin carpet. “You go get food, come back, wake me up and we’ll head over. I don’t need to eat as much as I need sleep.” He yawned, his mouth opening wide. “Fuck, man. I’m beat to hell and back.” Lifting his head, he stared at Watcher. “We made it though. Sorry as fuck for the reason you had to come home.”
“Ain’t my home, not anymore,” Watcher said, walking towards the bathroom. “I’ll leave a key on the table, be back in time to get your ass up. Sleep, brother. Appreciate you making the run with me.”
Two days ago he’d gotten a surprise call from Bethany, who’d heard from a friend that his Aunt Loretta had passed. No surprise his family hadn’t contacted him, because other than his uncle, who Watcher wouldn’t piss on if he were on fire in the street, he didn’t have any. Some random cousins, but he hadn’t seen any of them in so long, he probably wouldn’t recognize them if he saw them. If it had been Ezra who’d died, he wouldn’t have even called the florist, but because of what Loretta had been to Tabby, he’d made the trip to attend her funeral.
Seated in a booth at the front window of the diner, Watcher was fielding questions from the waitress, trying to remember her name without letting on he’d forgotten it, when the door opened and admitted two vest-wearing men. Watcher squinted at the one, thinking his face looked familiar when the other called his name.
“Fuck me, it’s Watcher. Got a call about a pair of vests in town. Saw a bike out front, figured we’d find something in here. Didn’t expect to see you. Hey man.” Sticking out his hand for a shake, the taller of the two approached Watcher’s table. Scanning the names on the front of the leather, he saw one he recognized.
“Patches, how you doin’?” Jesus, he looks old. The years rode heavy on the man, scars and sun-etched lines twisting across his face. Standing, Watcher waited with his own hand out, careful to avoid being pulled into a clinch.
“Good, man.” Patches twisted and yelled towards the back of the diner, “Nancy, cuppa coffee for Beeman and me.” He shoved at the other man, not introducing him and Watcher belatedly noticed the prospect patch above his nameplate. He’d already seen the Outrider emblem on Patches’ back, which was no surprise. “What brings you back to Cynthiana? I didn’t get the word you were headed our way; does Painter know you’re in town?”
Watcher shook his head. “I’ve been on the road for two days trying to get here in time for Loretta’s funeral.” He lifted one hand, palm up. “I didn’t make any calls.”
“I got you, man. Get you covered,” Patches said, pulling out his phone. He tapped for a moment, then laid it on the table between them where the screen would be clearly visible. “Hadn’t heard she passed. Sorry, Watch.”
“I have a man with me, too. Spider. You might remember him from Danger’s services.” Patches nodded, eyes on the phone. Watcher let the silence sit between them, waiting for whatever response they might receive. The waitress delivered the coffee to the table, topped off Watcher’s cup, and quickly retreated behind the counter. She hadn’t seemed nervous earlier, in fact, she’d joked with Watcher about him needing about fifty cups of coffee because he looked so tired. Now, she was making certain she had a solid barrier between her and these two.
The phone buzzed, rattling against the tabletop and Patches let out a huge sigh, exposing a lot with that one single action. He’d been worried about what the response would be. Watcher leaned in, reading the text upside down, Prty 2nite. Bring him. Patches typed in a single Y in response, then tucked his phone away, suddenly gregarious again.
When it was time to wake Spider, Patches and the prospect accompanied Watcher to the motel, waiting in the parking lot as he retrieved his sole backup. Watcher still wasn’t entirely comfortable with their escort, but since he hadn’t called ahead, he understood the need. Given their company, he abandoned the idea of the button-down shirt, pulling on the black tee instead, settling his cut over it as he patted down his weapons, ensuring they were all in place and secure.
After the funeral, during which his only emotion had been shock at the aged and infirm state of Ezra, Watcher verified the clubhouse location for the Outriders hadn’t changed, and then led their small group directly there, regardless it was only three in the afternoon. His eyes narrowed when he saw the lot gate standing wide, no member on guard. The exterior of the building hinted at what they’d find inside, and the desolate feeling evoked by the exterior’s peeling paint was reinforced by broken-down furniture and smoke-stained ceilings.
A few faces Watcher recognized turned their way when he walked in ahead of the Outrider members, shock registering first and then he was pleased to see smiles. He had left on good terms, Morgan not giving him guff about needing to support his blood brother, but while he’d seen some of the men at Darrie’s service, this was the first time he’d entered Outrider property since dropping his patch. Pounding slaps on the shoulder, clasped wrists, and proffered fist bumps cemented the knowledge in him that these men held respect for him, which felt good.
By the time the party was in full swing, Watcher had slowed his alcohol consumption to a crawl, not wanting to make himself vulnerable. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the men in the room, more a sense of self-preservation he’d learned long ago. A shout came from the door, and his caution proved prudent when he turned to see Shooter walking inside. Hands on his hips, Shooter stopped just inside the room, scanning faces until he found Watcher. Fuck. Their last communication hadn’t been cordial, and he knew his refusal to allow passage through Soldiers’ territory cost the Outriders in both face and money, since it meant they had to take a far northern route, negotiating with tribal clubs. So it shocked him when a wide grin split Shooter’s face, and there was a shouted greeting of, “Motherfucker. Look who’s in our house.”
Watcher lifted the beer in his hand in a salute, feeling Spider sidle closer to his back as they both watched Shooter striding across the room towards them, hand already extended. Watcher allowed himself to be pulled into a clinch, surprised when Shooter’s voice sounded from beside his head, regret in his tone, “Sorry for your loss, man.” Stepping back, Shooter continued, “Got word you were in town, hopped the next flight out. I was sorry I missed the service.”
Watcher felt his brow furrow when Shooter kept speaking, “Good to see you, Watcher. Miss the days we spent in this house, man.” Nodding slowly, Watcher kept his gaze trained on Shooter. “We have some entertainment planned. You won’t want to miss this.” Shooter tipped his chin at Spider, who nodded his response. “Big show.”
Whirling, Shooter shouted towards the bar, “Gimme three glasses, need some Jack, Jim, Johnny, and Jameson. Four horsemen are gonna ride.” Tu
rning back to Watcher, he ordered, “You’ll drink with me.” Plowing his way to the bar, Shooter left no doubt as to his expectations. The faces surrounding them were observing closely, and suddenly feeling as if he were behind enemy lines, Watcher followed slowly, feeling Spider crowding his back.
“Why didn’t we fly, boss?” Spider’s mutter made Watcher grin. “We’d be on our way home by now. Great excuse, brother. Just say, sorry, we can’t stay for your bullshit party, we got a flight to catch.” The thump against his back was Spider’s fist, playfully pounding the center of his patch, physically reminding both of them they were in this together. “You suck, boss.”
“I know,” Watcher threw his agreement over his shoulder as he pulled to a halt behind Shooter. A glass slid down the bar towards him, and he reached out, managing to discretely spill half the contents onto the already swamped surface before lifting it to his mouth. Throwing a mouthful back, he swallowed hard, refusing to choke on the bite of the alcohol.
Shooter laughed, slapping his shoulder before shouting, “This party is about to get crazy.” His eyes cut to something over Watcher’s shoulder and even though his spine prickled, Watcher didn’t turn to see what he was watching. “Oh, yeah,” Shooter’s voice had dropped to a mutter. “Gonna get fuckin’ insane up in here.” Gaze back to Watcher, he stared hard for a moment, then smiled, the expression on his face so far from humor Watcher felt Spider crowd him again.
“Got a private party. The two of you”—Shooter indicated Spider in the sweep of his arm—“are invited to do something only one of you has done before. Or—” He paused, tipping his head sideways to look at Watcher. “—I think you’ve done it before. Maybe not. You ever remember partying like an Outrider? No? We’ll pop that fuckin’ cherry tonight. Official invitation.” Tipping his head back, he howled, this bizarre behavior echoed by several men around the room. “Shit’s changed since you pussied out, Watch. We party like we fuckin’ mean it now.”
Watcher Page 24
