Their Queenpin (The Ridge MC #6)

Chapter 19Graff

Chapter Nineteen

Graff

Tension coiled around my neck until I nearly suffocated, so I adjusted the mask hiding my face. It didn’t help. My hot breath blew about my nose and up my cheeks from the ski mask, adding more heat and moisture in the already sticky Georgia swampland.

None of the others had donned their masks, so I’d probably put the thing on prematurely. But my tattoos would give me away in a heartbeat. The others on this mission were fully covered by long black pants, skin-tight black turtlenecks, and black gloves.

To be safe, I kept all of me covered as much as possible.

Rafe flipped the magazine loose from his gunand slid it back into place, the repetitive motion the only sign he had any hesitation about our job here. Our new brother, more now that we’d bonded over Adelina, clearly had experience with covert operations. Outwardly, he seemed at ease.

Me, on the other hand. I was nothing but a bumbling rookie.

Rafe glanced over his shoulder at the screens in the tight surveillance van. Ward was on video, shoulders bent as he worked from the command central room Adelina had set up in Vegas. When I glanced over, my eyes searched for her in the background, and my chest swelled when I caught a glimpse of a red dress in the background.

No matter how in danger we were, she was there with us. At least in spirit.

Since she’d come to us and stuck to the MC’s side in this whole matter, I’d watched her change and grow by the day. To be a part of what and who she was becoming made me the luckiest man alive. Or one of the three.

Rafe did a sweep of the live streams pointed at the dark, tree-lined road, then cupped his hand over his mouth and muttered something to Ward through his headset.

I strained to listen but couldn’t catch the words. Ward’s fingers flew over his keyboard, and one of the screens flipped to something else, showing a screen split four ways with different feeds of the isolated road at night. All the videos had a greenish hue and reminded me of that old horror movie where kids ran through the woods with camcorders.

Blinking away the errant thought, I tried to focus as we waited. Each of my heartbeats kicked like a bass drum beating against my skull.

If the three Mafia men in the SUV a mile or so down the road were as nervous as me, they didn’t make noise about it. Wilde, in the second SUV ahead of the van, was all radio-silence too. Maybe I was the only dud here.

The MC had never gotten into this kind of lifestyle. We’ve done crash and grab jobs, but those usually went along with prospect hazing. I’d done a couple myself and then ridden away on my bike with the others. Those days were a hundred years ago, and we never hid in a van under the cloak of darkness with SUVs waiting in the wings for our escape.

This felt like a rich person’s crime. Too much tech. Too many gadgets. Too much planning and shit, making me shift in my seat and my knee bounce. I missed my pencils and sketch pad, and I tried to commit all this to memory so I could pour it onto paper later.

Hell, right now, I would take a napkin now or anything else to draw on. My other getaway was music. But they—being Rafe and The Warden—wouldn’t even let me wear my earbuds. I was going fucking nuts.

Then lights flashed down the street on the newly changed screen, and Rafe ordered, “Watch the car.”

“Incoming,” shouted one of the Mafia guys over the speaker. No telling which one.

“Looks like a van,” said another Mafia guy.

“Wilde, man, let’s get the C4 rigged up.” That one, I got. Massimo’s guy, Boomer.

The Prez’s voice from the second black SUV came over the loudspeaker. “Sit tight, no explosives yet.”

Rafe leaned over and pressed a button, a muscle pulsing in his jaw. “We only blow it if there is no other way out, Boomer. I’m not picking gemstones out of the grass for the next three days because you’re fucking trigger happy.”

Yeah, our ex-Marine had this sitch under control.

“Explosions draw attention,” Rafe continued. “Cops. And the last thing we need is more of the law breathing down our necks.”

“Rafe’s right,” said Ward. “Get the goods. Do away with the cartel or whoever’s in that truck. And get the fuck out of there.”

I watched the screen. The approaching vehicle was bigger than a van, especially the one we were in.

“It’s a U-Haul,” said Rafe, grabbing a second gun and dropping it into his second shoulder holster.

I rounded my shoulders, stretching the leather straps tightly across my back. I preferred to shove my gun in the back of my pants, but Rafe loaded us all up with firepower.

“Is that the cartel then?” I asked, almost sounding like a kid. I tried to clear my throat.

“Yes,” said Rafe. “Well, maybe. Most likely.”

He reached into a cabinet at the back of the van and pulled out a rifle, sliding it into the crook of his elbow, cradling it with ease. Every part of him remained calm, cool and collected. A hundred percent professional. Like he had done this a million times.

I didn’t know where the Mafia ended in the military began with Rafe. Maybe this was how the Mafia did business. Or it could be all Marines. All I knew was that he had been in the desert in the Middle East.

The way he took charge now made it seem like he’d been high-ranking and had this all down to an exact science.

“Get ready,” ordered Rafe, dipping out of the cracked van door.

The rest of our meager crew followed.

“They still coming, Warden?” Rafe’s voice echoed past my ear and then my earpiece in a low whisper.

“Coming in hot,” answered the Warden through the connection.

“Boomer?” Rafe called.

“Yeah, boss man?”

Rafe looked me in the eye—shaking his head no, likely to the boss man name—as he ordered, “Fall in behind, like we planned. No triggers unless they fire first.” Then he clapped me on the shoulder. “Let’s do this.”

We were close to the road, hidden between the old trees near Savannah, Georgia, that provided the perfect coverage as we hopped from the van. Joining Wilde and Teller at the SUV, we gathered the supplies and then rolled strips across the road. When we finished, four rows of small spikes pointed toward the sky.

Rafe set small trail cams up on either side of the road and flipped them on. A tiny red light blinked slowly showing the feed had started.

“Got it,” the Warden called in my earpiece.

Rafe pointed Wilde and Teller to the far side of the road, and we scurried into the tree cover.

Not a full minute later, yellowish headlights flashed as the U-Haul came down the empty road. All the intel Ward had dug up said they would be staying clear of the interstates and toll roads, and it had panned out.

I blinked the dancing dots from my eyes and palmed my gun. Too late to go back or tell them I was a shit choice for this job.

Rafe glanced at me over his shoulder. I gritted my teeth and gave him a curt nod. Seemingly satisfied, he faced forward again.

I released the breath I had been holding and then rolled to the balls of my feet, waiting for the attack.

Creeping up to the edge of the road, Rafe crouched down like a tiger about to pounce.

We had both sides of the road covered, using the trees and high grass as hiding spots. The plan called for blowing the tires at the right time for them to veer off into a flat, open area ahead. In daylight, everyone would’ve seen the outcome, so darkness was our friend.

I swallowed over the lump in my throat as my finger brushed the gun’s trigger.

Was it a bad time to admit that I had never hurt another person? Not physically. Never emotionally, either, that I knew of. It wasn’t the expectation of a tattoo-covered biker like me, but I didn’t wear that particular patch.

Even less expected—probably—was that I admitted to myself how scared I was.

I swallowed back bile as the U-Haul rolled over the spikes. Immediately, the van swiveled sideways. The brakes screamed as the truck careened toward the clear side of the road.

Precisely as planned.

The headlights pointed into the thick foliage.

We moved like a herd of bison. Strapped with so much equipment, we wouldn’t be quiet even if we tried, but the time for surprise and hiding had officially ended. Now all that was left was the siege.

The back of the U-Haul van door rolled open, and Rafe opened fire. Only to be met by more gunfire.

The barrage began, and ready or not, I was thrown into the fray. I brushed my finger over the trigger, telling myself to pull it— come the fuck on, Graeme, pull the fucking trigger! —as the U-Haul’s passenger and driver doors open.

More cartel members emptied out and aimed their guns in one slick motion. All the ones in the front seat had handguns. The fuckers in the back, though; they came loaded. The spray of gunfire and flashes blinded and deafened.

Warden said something in my ear.

The others did too.

But I heard nothing over the deluge of blood rushing past my ears.

Pull the fucking trigger , I tried to tell myself, but my finger was stuck.

Our second SUV pulled up and the Mafia men poured out. Boomer and his men as well as my MC brothers shot at the cartel. They ducked when the Barranquilla bastards shot back and then poked their heads up again to exchange more fire.

Rafe, like a fucking angel, descended from the skies in a blaze glory. With the M40 aimed for the U-Haul, he led the charge toward the back, Teller and Wilde on his heels. The Prez even knew to stay back.

What would Sas do? I asked myself, trying to inch forward and attack with the rest of my brothers.

Stupid, stupid question.

If Sas were here, as ruthless as he was, he wouldn’t hesitate to do the job. After all, he’d been the one to kill the bitch that kept Angel in that fucking sex ring.

One of the men from the cab of the U-Haul sighted me, his gaze locked with mine. I swung the barrel of my M40 around and gritted my teeth. I was a sitting duck, and if I didn’t fire, I would die. Adelina wouldn’t get me back, and she needed us—Rafe and me both—to come home.

Then we would bring Sas home together.

The Mafia went toward the front, exposing us in the back. And the guy who had me in view lowered his gun and smirked before lifting the barrel again. Finally, I pulled the trigger.

I had shot a gun many times before, mostly at targets or cans lined up on rocks like we’d done in the canyon. I had even shot at people before, doing my duty to my brotherhood. And I would do it until my death. Anything to protect my family. Blood. Sweat. Tears. Even murder.

I pulled the trigger again and didn’t stop, aiming straight toward the cartel dude beside the U-Haul. He fell, and then I caught sight of one in the back of the truck, aiming for Rafe.

“Rafe, duck,” I said into the mic on my wrist.

The bastard shot at Rafe, and our man ducked in the nick of time. I pulled the trigger again.

Once. Twice.

Again. Again.

One of my bullets ripped through the man’s neck, but I squeezed again. The next of my bullets blasted a hole in his chest. Crimson blood sprayed the inside of the U-Haul and pooled out of the guy. He swayed before falling from the back of the U-Haul truck as Wilde shot another guy in the back.

We weren’t done—there were more guys up front that the Mafia was dealing with—though my gun slumped to my side, dragging down my arm like lead. I would’ve crumbled too as the lump of the cartel member laid on the ground. His blood in the night looking like spilled ink.

His lifeless eyes were wide with the final shock, and the whites glistened in the moonlight. He stared directly at me, piercing my soul, and I stumbled back a step. Dead eyes followed me.

Very dead.

Like they saw me from the other side.

I had killed a man.

Two, I reminded myself, glancing over to the one at the side of the truck.

“Move the cargo now!” ordered the Prez.

When had the shooting stopped? I looked around as the dead cartel members splayed open—the bullets having ripped through them like knives—and I watched our team swarm the truck. My feet rooted me to the road, unwilling to move.

The Mafia raced toward the back of the truck.

When had all the cartel members died?

Rafe and Teller were still near the front, watching the surroundings.

I should do that too, right?

Rafe called out, “Gio, Sergio, Teller, Graff, load up the SUVs.”

Wilde swung his gun onto his back, the strap crossing his chest as he checked up and down the lonesome highway. Calmness returned to nature, a sense we had very much destroyed this night, and my ears still rang with the gunfire. Or maybe I had lost my hearing.

My body still buzzed, reminding me of the first few times I had ridden a motorcycle. My knees jerked like I was trying to find my footing again.

“Graff!” Rafe was watching me, his chest still. Not heaving like mine. He hadn’t even broken a sweat, yet my mask felt drenched against my hair and skin.

Swinging the automatic rifle behind me, I rushed toward the back of the U-Haul. Lights flashed on the road, and I hesitated. Fuck, more cartel? I grabbed my gun, but it was only Sergio driving up in the second SUV. Teller drove the second one back from up ahead near the surveillance van.

Both vehicles pulled up and opened their hatches, ready to be loaded.

My feet were stuck, though. In concrete blocks as the tide rose up around me.

“Graff,” Rafe said and jogged up to my side. He swiped the ski mask off my head. “C’mon, man. Let’s walk.”

Without the material over my nose, air came easier. And when I moved again, my knees popped. Everything in my body felt stiff.

“Take deep breaths.” He breathed with me. “You got this.”

As we stepped away from the scene, I started to settle.

Rafe clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Take fifty more steps that way, then walk back. Think of happier times as you do. I always pictured Adelina when I got like this.”

I nodded.

“I’ve been there. It’ll clear your head. Promise. I gotta get back.”

When I nodded again, he scurried back to the scene. I counted every step and breath as I walked away. And when I reached fifty, I didn’t hear the blood rushing past my eardrums any longer. My joints moved easily again. My fingers had stopped tingling.

And I felt grounded again. At least for now.

So I turned around and jogged to help my brothers.

Wilde and Boomer had cracked the crates to inspect the product, and by the time I got back everyone was hauling the goods to the SUVs one crate at a time. The crates were heavy, and there were lots of them.

I glanced at Teller. “Assembly line?”

“Good call,” he replied.

We lined up and started passing crates, and the work went faster.

“Hey!” someone called out, and I jumped, grabbing my gun.

Had the cartel finally come? The cops? We had taking too fucking long. I wanted to look at my watch.

“We got a girl!” called out Teller.

More fucking human trafficking? I still tightened my hold on my gun. The bitch might’ve been with the cartel, though. But then I saw her... and loosened my grip on my gun. The trigger wouldn’t be necessary.

Huddled behind the crates and chained to the wall, the girl—woman, I thought—was naked, covered in bruises and dried blood. Her eye was practically swollen shut. And those were the only apparent injuries.

“Give me something to wrap her up in,” Teller ordered to me, bent in front of her.

“The chains,” I said, unable to come up with anything else to explain why this was a bad idea.

We needed to help her, obviously, but she was chained up. We weren’t familiar with this chick. We didn’t know if she was a plant.

Fuck, I sounded like Sas—suspicious of everyone. He had used similar words about Adelina. I ran to the SUV and grabbed a blanket and handed it to Teller. By the time I got back, he had had managed to get the chains off her. He wrapped her up and then pulled her into his arms.

“Get out of the way.” Teller shoved past me, the woman in his arms.

“What about the...” jewel shipment? I grabbed another crate and passed it to the next man in line. Wilde could deal with Teller’s shit later.

“How much do we have left?” asked Rafe, taking the crate from Sergio’s hands.

“A couple more,” I said, checking over my shoulder.

“Leave it. We need to move,” he said, turning on his heel.

Boomer jumped up. “Nah. Fuck that. We take it all. Don’s orders. And then...” he shrugged.

I jumped down from the U-Haul and followed Rafe. They loaded the last bit into the SUV, and Boomer slammed the hatch. Then he walked to the passenger side backseat and grabbed the cases.

Teller hopped into the SUV with the girl in the back, then peeled off into the night. “I got this, Prez. You can go in the van.”

“Boomer!” Rafe called.

The man ignored Rafe as he and Sergio continued stacking the explosives into the U-Haul. Gio scurried back to the spike strips and gathered them from the road.

The three Mafia men hopped in the SUV and sped off after Teller, passing Wilde, Rafe, and me as we trotted toward the surveillance van. We made it about a hundred yards from the U-Haul, and then a blast knocked me forward, a gust of hot air flowing over my back.