“So what's the plan now?” Yoga asked with crossed arms. It was apparent he didn't like how fast all this was moving.
“Alright listen up,” Dunk's extensive military service crept into his tone and demeanor. “We're torching Mikhail's Neighborhood Auto Body and the attached apartment above it. The Russians are the last hold out against Patrick running this city. Patrick wants us there in three hours, but Dreamer, Buck, Yoga and I are leaving now to recon the place and make sure there aren't any surprises. Wreck is playing babysitter until Mac gets back here with the getaway SUV. We'll deal with Sarah after all the heavy shit is over.
“Mac stays here to wrap up any last minute repairs on the tractor-trailer in case things go really tits up and we need to retreat in a big way,” Dunk continued without so much as pausing to look over at me. If he did he'd see me trying to sink into the couch at the mention of my name and how much trouble my mere presence here was probably causing them. “Wreck will meet us with the SUV and we'll load up with the big boy guns and ambush Billy Bones and his crew as they arrive. Afterwards we torch the shop, collect all our money from Patrick and get the fuck out of Baltimore.”
Dunk went on to discuss in detail each member's role in the night's events, the likelihood that Patrick was going to fuck them over and what to do when that eventually happened. I was quickly forgotten, which I was grateful for. I was glad I told Wreck what I heard, and hoped it helped in some small way, but guilt still stabbed me for not telling him everything.
There will be time to tell him about my full betrayal later, I thought, watching Wreck prepare for what was going to be a very bloody night. The dark worry crept into my heart and sunk it's talons deep.
If there is a later for any of us.
17
Sarah
“Mac shouldn't be long.” Dunk checked his watch then pounded on the wall twice lightly before opening the trailer's side door in what looked like a pre-mission ritual. “When he gets back—”
“I got it,” Wreck replied, not able to keep the quick gruffness out of his voice.
“You'd fucking better.” And with that Dunk stepped out, letting the door slam behind him. The rest of the MC had their marching orders and were already gone. Dunk was the last to leave the clubhouse save for Wreck who was my chaperone until Mac came back from picking up their getaway SUV.
From what I gathered contextually in my time around the MC the truck had suffered some battle damage from a deal gone wrong with some cartel members before they'd ever even made it into Baltimore and Mac was the one making the repairs. I was also getting the impression that whatever happened that soured everything was somehow Wreck's fault. I could only imagine what the details were.
After Dunk locked the door on his way out I got off the couch and made my way over to Wreck who was haunting the clubhouse table deep in thought. Between the mission this evening, his strained situation with Dunk and everything going on between us I could only imagine how much was weighing on him. In only a few hours things had gone straight to hell and the night was only just beginning…
“Are you alright?” I asked after touching Wreck's shoulder so he could turn to see my hands.
“Yeah,” he sighed, then began signing back in response. “It always gets stressful at the end of a job. Dunk falls back into his special forces training which means he becomes a total dick, but I get it. He needs to. There's so many moving parts and shit tends to get much more dangerous when the money gets divvied out. We have to be on our A game. All of us.”
Wreck had gotten so much better at signing in such a short time. It was incredibly impressive. During the MCs meeting, while sitting on the couch trying to stay out of the way I came across a book stuffed into the cushions on how to sign and realized that he must've been practicing even more when we weren't together.
“Now that we’re alone I have an important question to ask you,” I signed, then pulled him a few steps away from the table. I looked up sheepishly at first, before settling into a mischievous smirk. “Can I see Buck’s spoon collection?”
Wreck looked at me like I had two heads for a moment then his hardened demeanor cracked. The request was so absurdly out of place in the light of everything else that was going on that he couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Yeah, but don’t tell anyone,” Wreck cracked a smile through his thick beard. “Buck would fucking kill me.”
Wreck drew a carry-on sized suitcase out from under Buck’s bunk, and popped it open. The sides were lined with rows of spoons. I was genuinely impressed with the variety, volume and the overall condition he kept the spoons in. For such a gruff, womanizing borderline stereotypical badass outlaw biker, it was easy to tell that he really cared about this.
“Hey, everyone’s got their things, right?” Wreck laughed, closing the collection and sliding it back under the bunk.
“So what’s your thing?” I signed, my mouth pulled slightly to one side.
“Besides Stevie Ray Vaughan and a growing love for the Baltimore foodie scene?” Wreck deflected, but when he saw I wouldn’t be brushed off he continued. “The rest of the guys would probably say my thing is over-complicating an easy plan. What can I say? I’m a sucker for lost causes, doomed romances and the broken-hearted.”
“Is that so?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. “Which of those am I?”
“I
