“I used to work at Southwest Regional bank. The other day, Blaze came in and tried to rob it. He ended up taking me as a hostage,” I say.
“That’s a start. Now, he took you hostage. But you’re here trying to get help for him? What happened?” Crash says. The man’s attitude and voice is like a sedative; my heart rate slows just listening to him.
“We found out his mom was being scammed. Something with the bank, fake debts, loans, so they could seize her house and then sell it. We didn’t have enough information to prove it, or help his mom, so he went to go break into this woman’s house — Anna Ebri, she’s the manager of Southwest Regional and she’s in on this scam — but Blaze’s mom, Eleanor, found out and called the cops.”
Mack erupts. “His own mother ratted him out? What the flying fuck is this all about?”
“They don’t get along,” I say. “Right after she called the cops, some guys showed up and took her, and they tried to take me. I barely got away. Look, we don’t have much time, we need to get back to Torreon, and we need to get Blaze out of jail before they kill him.”
“You’re right,” Crash says, then he turns to Mack. “Fill Stone in. Round up the club and head toward Torreon. Be on the road in five. I will take Razor and we’ll ride with Tiffany to go find Blaze.”
“Got it,” Mack says, and he charges off toward a door set off in the back of the clubhouse.
Crash turns to me. “Are you good to drive?”
I shake my head. I’ve pounded two glasses of wine, my foot’s still a mess, and I’m shaking with all the adrenaline in me.
“No,” I say and I hand over the keys to the Volvo. “You drive, please.”
“Fair enough,” Crash says. Then turns and shouts at another biker. This one’s younger, athletically built, and has a face lined like he’s used to scowling. “Razor, grab your gun, and come on. We’ve got work to do.”
Crash offers me his arm and together we hobble out to the parking lot with Razor on our heels.
“It’s that one,” I say, pointing out the car.
Razor stops. “Fuck, we’re riding in that? Are you fucking serious?”
Crash laughs and jingles the keys in his hand. “Yep. Get ready, brother. We’re doing a fucking jailbreak in a motherfucking Volvo.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Blaze
I’m handcuffed. Dragged by two beefy dudes into the parking lot, while that other thug, Howser, gives me the stink-eye and Anna motherfucking Ebri struts like she’s the queen of the fucking world.
“You know, I’m no criminal mastermind — in fact, in might surprise you to learn that thinking is not my strong suit — but even I can see that you’ve made a big fucking mess of this situation,” I say. “There’s no way that mess, all that blood, Howser’s teeth, or any of it — goes unnoticed when the cops get back. Unless, Howser, were you missing those teeth before I whipped your fat ass? You’re so ugly, it’s hard for me to remember. Either way, your little operation is up and people are going to start asking some questions.”
“Shut him up, will you?” Anna says to Howser, and her words are followed right away by the big man ramming the club into my stomach.
Doubled-over, I’m thrown into the back seat of a black SUV. Anna takes her place in the front seat, one thug takes the driver's seat, and Howser and the other one settle in to each side of me. I’m the meat in a dumbass sandwich.
“Leather seats? Nice,” I say. “Going to be a shame to get them all bloody when I kill each and every one of you. I’ll try not to scratch them too much. They’re easier to clean that way.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Howser says, ramming his thick fist into my face. “Seriously, just shut your fucking mouth. We’re going to kill you, but beating you the whole fucking ride to the place where we’re going to leave your fucking corpse — just because you won’t shut up — is a fucking waste of energy. Just be silent and die.”
Then he hits me again. Son of a bitch just knocked a tooth loose.
I spit a glob of blood on the floor. “So you’re lazy, too? Fat, lazy, and stupid. Jesus Christ, Anna, you sure know how to pick them, don’t you? I remember back in high school how you used to suck people off behind the bleachers for pot. And the kids who dealt pot at our school were the fucking lowest of the low. Did you grow up and miss that crowd so much that you hired them to do your dirty work?”
She turns and slaps me. I spit blood back in her face. Some of it gets in her bleached blond hair.
“You fucking nitwit. This was all working perfectly until you showed up. I had it all planned out, it had been going perfect for months — the loans, the foreclosures, having Tiffany around as leverage over her fucking dipshit father — we’d foreclosed and sold over two dozen properties this way. Do you know how much money that is?”
“You were the brains? Really? God damn, so is your daddy just exceptionally stupid or what?” I say.
Another slap. I spit on her again. And Howser pounds me with the club for good measure.
“He’s always pushed loans and taking what advantages we can, but I’m the one who pushed to hire Tiffany and hold her over her stupid uptight father, and I’m the one who hired Howser and his friends. My dad might own the bank, but I’m the one who’s really making our
