Logan: New Crusaders MC (15 page)

The most dangerous part of the trip was the first two hours.  They had to obey all traffic laws and keep their heads down.  They’d never been stopped by the police on a run before, but Logan didn’t want to break that streak now.  It was a run they’d completed fifty times in the past, and Logan trusted this buyer completely.  They were loyal customers, and he knew they weren’t about to betray him or pull anything funny.  Once they were all set on the plan, they mounted their bikes and rode out.

Logan took point, enjoying the feeling of the wind in his face, the roar of his bike filling his ears, mingling with the sounds from the other bikes.  Though he was in a lot of pain, he couldn’t stop himself from enjoying this.  The open road, the element of danger.  Making the sale right under the law’s nose.  It was a thrill.  He lived for it. 

Despite all that, a part of his mind stayed back in Castillo with Nicole.  He knew this was the life for him, but he wasn’t sure if it was what she wanted.  Her talk of college last night had scared him.  Then, after the fight with Rachel, it was like a part of her shut down.

Was she planning on leaving? 

Logan’s chest ached, and it wasn’t from the road jostling his injuries.  He was still reeling over the fact that he’d been officially made president.  He’d loved that Nicole had been there with him to celebrate.  Logan had never thought he’d find a woman he wanted to keep by his side.  For good.  But in Nicole, he saw a future.  It was an unsettling and frightening thought.

Hard on the heels of thoughts of his old lady was the realization that he needed a VP.  His mind immediately went to Cork.  There was no one Logan trusted more to have at his back.  Cork had turned down positions like that in the past, even when Joel Kirkwood had offered them to him, but Logan hoped that Cork would reconsider for him.  That wasn’t a guarantee, though.  Cork seemed pretty content with what he had.  Logan began cycling through other possibilities.  Sam?  Maybe.  He was clearly loyal, but Sam was also young.  How would the rest of the club react to a young president choosing an equally green VP?  Logan shook his head to free himself of this thought process.  It was a problem he’d have to tackle later, after he got back from the run.

The first hour of the ride went smoothly.  Logan’s heart stopped when, about a half hour from their destination, they passed a highway patrol car.  Logan kept an eye on it as they passed, but the roof didn’t light up.  He didn’t stop holding his breath until long after they’d passed it.

So far so good.

Logan kept an eye on the signs that indicated how far away the rest stop was.

Twenty-three miles to go…

Eleven miles to go…

Four miles to go…

Logan signaled to the men behind him and pulled off the highway, parking his bike at the edge of the parking lot.  The truck was there, parked in the lot designated for trucks.  It was far enough away from the other trucks where they could enter it without being disturbed, but not so far away that it looked too suspicious.

Logan’s group cut their engines, hung up their helmets, and approached the truck.  Logan jogged over to the driver’s side door and rapped at it with his knuckles.

No response.

Frowning, Logan knocked harder.

Still no answer.  He stepped back and peered up into the window, a feeling of dread bubbling up in his gut.  He could see the vague shape of a man sitting on the other side of that door, so why wasn’t the driver answering?  Fearing he wasn’t going to like the answer, Logan popped himself onto the foothold by the door and pulled it open.

The driver was inside, alright.

Slumped over the steering wheel, he was covered in blood, his eyes wide open and staring.  Logan barely had time to yell, “Ambush!” before the parking lot lit up with activity.  A man in a Devil King kutte popped out of hiding on the passenger side of the truck’s cab and pointed a gun at Logan.  Logan dropped to the ground just as a gunshot cut through the night.  He hit the asphalt hard, jolting his aching body, and rolled under the truck.  He pulled his own gun out, switching off the safety.

All around him, Hell was breaking loose.  More gunshots were ringing out.  Shouts could be heard all across the lot.  And Logan was still half dead from his special treatment from the Iconoclasts.  Steeling himself for what was probably going to be a very painful battle, he crawled over to the other side of the truck.  Jumping up, he pulled the passenger door open, startling the Devil King who was still inside.  That startled expression was the last he’d ever wear.  Before the King could react, Logan shot him in the chest.

Dropping down from the truck, Logan ran into the fray, seeing who else needed help.  He took cover behind a different truck, gun at the ready.  The Iconoclasts had a few of the Kings pinned down on the other side of the lot.  Logan was glad he’d brought them.  He was also happy to see that his guys were still standing, taking cover of their own as they engaged the Kings in a firefight.  Logan was about to join them when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

Turning just in time, Logan blocked the punch that was flying at him.  The Devil King he was fighting roared in frustration and head-butted Logan, leaving him dazed.  He tried to fire his gun, but his opponent punched him in his injured side, causing Logan to lose his grip.  Logan had wondered why the King didn’t have a gun of his own, but figured he must have lost it or run out of bullets.  With the way the guy went for Logan’s gun, it was clear he wanted to have a weapon.

Logan’s head was spinning.  His stomach turned, threatening to expel whatever remained of his dinner.  His entire side felt like it was on fire, and he couldn’t see straight.  By the time his vision cleared, he realized it was too late.  The King had him pinned, and he was staring down the barrel of his own handgun.

A shot rang out.

Logan closed his eyes.

But there was no pain.

He opened his eyes again and looked around.  The Devil King had a look of shock and disbelief on his face.  He was looking over Logan’s shoulder, a red stain blooming on his shirt.  Seconds later, he collapsed.  Logan retrieved his gun and turned around.  Danny the prospect was standing there, a look of determination etched on his features.  His knuckles were white where he was gripping his gun.

“I owe you one, man,” Logan said.

Danny finally tore his eyes off the dead Devil King and looked at Logan.

“You really don’t,” he said.

Logan frowned at him, but the prospect didn’t offer any further explanation.  Instead, he nodded at the fleeing Devil Kings.

“They’re running.”

“We outnumbered them,” Logan said, nodding.  “They weren’t expecting the Iconoclasts to be here.  Though how they were expecting us to be here at all is still a mystery.”

Danny didn’t say anything, just reached his hand out.  Logan gratefully accepted the kid’s help as he got painfully to his feet.  In the distance, he could hear motorcycles roar to life.  The Kings must have parked on the other side of the building, keeping their bikes hidden.  Seconds later, their group tore off down the street.

“What do we do now?” Sam asked, jogging over to talk to them.

Logan shook his head.  “We still have the guns?”

“Yep.”

“Then we get the shipment where it needs to go.  Everyone inside the truck.  The cops’ll be here soon.  I want us gone before they arrive.”

Even the Iconoclasts got into the truck to help assemble the guns.  They pulled open half-empty boxes and began stashing the weapons, slapping yellow stickers over the price tags.  To an uninformed outsider, it would look like a harmless shipment of small appliances.  They made quick work of the guns, sealing the boxes back up only a couple minutes after they were opened.

“We’re down one trucker,” Cork pointed out.

“I’ll drive,” Logan told him.  “I was going to head up there anyway.”

“Dangerous,” Cork said.

“I’ll go with him,” Danny said.  “Keep an eye on him.”

Cork raised an eyebrow.

“Kid’s good for it,” Logan told him.  “Saved my neck back there.”

Cork nodded.  “Alright.  Get going.  I hear sirens.”

“Help us get our bikes in here,” Logan said.  “We’ll ditch the truck with the buyer, ride our bikes back.”

They loaded the bikes into the back of the truck and closed it up.  Then they pushed the two dead bodies out of the cab, leaving them lying on the ground.  Logan turned to look at the three Iconoclasts.

“Thanks for the help,” he said sincerely.  “Ride back to our clubhouse.  Cork will see to it you get paid.”

They nodded at him and went to their bikes.

Logan turned to Cork.  “Keep an eye on her for me?”

“Will do.”

Cork didn’t need to ask who Logan was talking about.

The sirens were closer now, and Logan could see the flashing lights. 

“Call me as soon as you’re in the clear,” he told Cork.  “I want an update on everyone’s condition.”

He hopped up into the truck cab, glad he was wearing gloves.  There was blood everywhere, and he didn’t have the time to clean it up.  The prospect was waiting for him in the passenger seat.  Logan started up the truck, and the rest of the Crusaders went to their bikes. 

By the time the police arrived, they were long gone.

The call from Cork came about half an hour after they’d hit the road.  The prospect had been pretty quiet, but Logan didn’t blame him.  His mind was probably on another continent, in a different kind of desert.  Logan let him be and talked to Cork.

The aftermath wasn’t as bad as Logan had been expecting.

Several injuries, but they’d gotten away with no fatalities, and the wounds could be patched up.  Cork said they were stopped at a gas station by the weigh station, doing some temporary first aid so everyone would make it back to the clubhouse in one piece.  They’d be able to get real medical attention there.

“Thanks for having my back,” Logan said.

“I’ll tell Nicole,” Cork replied.  “Let her know you’re okay.”

“I appreciate that, buddy.”

They hung up, and Logan looked over at the prospect.  Some of the color had returned to his face, but he still looked shaken.

“So,” Logan said, drawing Danny’s attention.  “What got you into the MC life?”

“Just… nothing made sense here after I got back stateside,” Danny replied quietly.  “My life was chaos before I joined the army, it was chaos while I was
in
the army… then I got back here.  More chaos.  I felt like I was going crazy.”  He paused and licked his lips.  “My life didn’t even make sense until I put on my first kutte.  The guys in the… in our club… they get it.  They get me.”

Logan nodded along with what Danny was saying.  He hadn’t served in the military himself, but his father had.  So had most of the guys in the club.

“The way Cork tells it,” Logan said, “it’s just enough familiarity to make you feel at home.  Make you feel like you’ve got your place in the world.  It bridges the gap between war over there, and peace over here.”

Danny nodded.  “That’s it.  That’s exactly it.  I’m not a soldier anymore, but I’m not a civilian either.  And I never will be.”

“You’re in good company,” Logan said.  He reached out to punch the kid in the arm, even though the movement made Logan’s ribs ache.  “Thanks for saving my skin, brother.”

Danny actually blushed.  He looked uncomfortable, and he fell silent again.  Logan didn’t push him.  He’d just killed a man.  Even if he’d done it before, it would take a while before Danny was used to the feeling.

Logan let his mind wander to Nicole.  He wondered if Cork had already gotten in contact with her, told her what had happened.  Was she freaking out?  Crying?  Was she so angry that she was vowing right then and there to leave Logan and his MC behind for good?

He could call her.  His phone was in his pocket.

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.  The run wasn’t over yet.  He needed to stay focused.  Who knew if the Devil Kings had any other surprises planned?

“We get this done, I say we crash at a motel for the night,” Logan said to Danny.  “Don’t know about you, but I could use a shower and some sleep.”

“Shower sounds good,” Danny said.  “Don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep.”

“You should try,” Logan said.  “Your body needs it.”

Danny didn’t respond, and Logan didn’t say anything else for the rest of the ride.  His phone remained in his pocket.  He wanted to see Nicole again, but first he had a job to do.

Nicole was tossing and turning in her bed.  It had been hours since she’d gotten the call from Cork, found out about the ambush.  An ambush!  And Logan was already injured.  He’d nearly had his head blown off, but did that stop him?  No, now he was finishing the run himself.  With no one but the prospect to watch his back.  Sure, the prospect had done a pretty good job of that so far, but Nicole still wished it was Cork with Logan right now.

Groaning in frustration, Nicole rolled over and grabbed her phone.  The screen illuminated her dark bedroom, letting her know it was just after two in the morning.  She felt exhausted and wired at the same time.  Her thumb hovered over the screen as she debated whether to call Logan.  On the one hand, he hadn’t called her.  That said a lot.  He clearly didn’t want to hear from her right now.  On the other hand, she desperately wanted to hear his soothing voice.  The deep timbre, the slightly southern accent.  It was a comfort to her.

Nicole slammed her phone back on the nightstand.  He needed to concentrate, and hearing from her wasn’t going to help him.  Not right now.  She sent up a silent prayer to whoever was listening, asking for Logan’s safe return.

Somehow, after an undetermined period of time, Nicole managed to drift off to sleep.

She woke the next morning with no calls or texts from Logan.  But it was early yet.  She distracted herself by showering, making breakfast, doing some laundry.

Still nothing.

Feeling antsy, Nicole headed down to the clubhouse.

Cork was there, as well as several other Crusaders.  Many were nursing injuries, and again Nicole worried for Logan.  Cork greeted her with a nod.

“No news?” she asked.

“He’s crashing at a motel,” Cork told her.  “He needs rest.”

He sounded like a concerned father.  Nicole didn’t blame him.

“Why didn’t he call me?  Or at least send a text?”

“He knows I’m with you.  He needs a clear head.”

“Yeah, but what about me?  I’d love to have a clear head right now.”

Cork grunted.  It might have been a laugh.

“Go see your dad?”

The fire went out in Nicole.  Her dad was probably going crazy being left all alone for days at a time.  He would probably appreciate another visit.  Nicole agreed to go with Cork to see him.

Cork took them to the safe house in Nicole’s pickup, so she wouldn’t have to ride on the back of his motorcycle.  Nicole was fine riding on Logan’s bike, but it would have felt weird doing it with another member of the club.

They parked in the lot, but then walked around to the alley to go through the back entrance.  Nicole rapped on the door and waited.

No answer.

“He’s probably asleep,” Nicole said.  “You have a key?”

“Nah.  We’ll go through the front.”

They went back to the front entrance of the bar and stepped inside.  There were only a couple customers inside since it was fairly early.  Grainy himself shook his head at them as soon as he saw them.

“Your man’s gone,” he said.

“What?” Nicole asked.  “When?  Where?”

“Left this morning.  Said he was tired of being cooped up.  Didn’t say where he was going.”

Nicole looked at Cork, feeling mortified.  He looked somewhat worried, though it was hard to tell with him.

“The diner,” Nicole said.

Cork nodded.

They went back to the truck and got inside.  Nicole tried not to panic, but her mind wouldn’t listen to reason.  She sped out of the parking lot and hit the highway.  It was pure luck that kept her from being pulled over as she pushed the truck beyond the speed limit.  Cork seemed unfazed.

“He’ll be fine,” he grunted.

“I’m not so sure about that.  You going to be okay if my dad isn’t so fine?”

He nodded.  “I’m with you.”

“Okay… good.  Thanks, Cork.”

Another grunt.

They pulled up at the diner and piled out.  It was still quiet.  The lunch rush usually didn’t start until around one.  It was a good thing, too, because Chuck was slumped over the counter, with several men from two different MCs surrounding him.  Nicole rushed inside, with Cork right behind her.  One of the guys was winding up for another punch, but Nicole jumped in between him and her father.  He pulled up just in time.

“What’re you hesitating for?” one of the Devil Kings asked.  “That bitch is just as guilty as he is.”

“Watch your mouth,” the first guy said, lowering his hand.  He was an Iconoclast, though his name escaped Nicole at the moment.  “The woman’s innocent in this.”

“She’s Logan Kirkwood’s old lady,” the Devil King snarled.  “How is that neutral?”

“I’m not selling you out,” Nicole said, keeping her voice calm.  “I wouldn’t make my father’s mistakes.  And Wiseman already retaliated for what Chuck did.  He beat Logan’s face in, too.”

She looked around for Clay, found him standing on the periphery.  He looked satisfied, like he was happy this was happening.  When he saw her looking, he winked.

“Rats don’t get to live,” the Devil King said, drawing her attention back to the moment.

“Look,” Nicole said, taking strength from Cork’s presence at her side.  “My dad’s an idiot.  He gambled away too much money, nearly lost this diner.  So he panicked and did some dumb shit.  All the clubs have suffered from it.  Not gonna deny that.  But he took his beating.”  She looked at the Iconoclast.  “You were there, I’m sure.  My father was your prisoner.  For days.”

“He should never have come back here,” the Iconoclast said.

“Like I said, he’s dumb.  But I have a solution.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.  Don’t tell him shit.  Maintain the neutrality of the diner among yourselves.  You know you need this place.  It gives the clubs a place to meet as equals.  Peacefully.”

She could tell she was getting through to some of them.  The Devil Kings were still furious though.  There were three of them in the diner.

“What about you, huh?” the first one said to her.

“She didn’t rat,” Cork said.

“She’s just as guilty in my eyes!” the Devil King snapped.

“Calm down,
cabrón
,” someone said from behind the mob.  “You gonna beat up a woman in her own diner now?”

Nicole knew that voice.  It was Rip.  The old Devil King pushed his way into the crowd and looked Chuck over.  Then he turned back to the men in his club.

“You worked him over, made your point,” he said.  “The man makes good food.  Leave it at that.”

“You don’t control us, old man,” one of the Kings said.

“No, but I can take you in a fight.  Anyone who attacks Chuck or Nicole, now or in the future, will have to fight me as well.  Leave us this diner for peace.  It’s the smart thing to do.”

Nicole was filled with gratitude for the old timer.  She took some time to look Chuck over.  He wiped blood and saliva off his mouth with his arm, then nodded at her to let her know he was alright.

“I came back here for a reason,” he announced, just when the crowd was starting to disperse.  “I know I wronged you, and I will never be able to repent for that.  Needless to say, I’m not going near another poker table.  But I couldn’t stand by and let my daughter be assaulted by a man I thought I could call my friend.”

This got some of the men’s attention, and Nicole could see the smug look slip off Clay’s face.

“Can we agree that I am still the owner of this diner?” Chuck asked.

There were some grudging nods and grunts from the assembled crowd.  Chuck stood taller.

“I’m going to do my best to make up for the harm I caused,” he said.  “Nicky’s right.  You don’t trust me, that’s fine.  Don’t tell me anything, and I won’t ask.  But right now I’ve got to exercise my rights as a boss and as a father.”  He turned, pointing a gnarled finger at Clay.  “You.  Office.  Now.”

Now that most of their anger had dissipated, the members of the MCs watched events unfold with curiosity and amusement.