The Rising Sons Motorcycle Club (17 page)

Vegas changed lanes and planted his foot to the floor. In four hours’ time, he’d be pulling into Bakersfield, ready to follow the prez from his home to the bar.

As he drove, Vegas remembered the way that Bear had looked at him. They preached about loyalty, but no one wanted to understand Vegas’s true loyalty. His plan had been to unite two strong forces into one, but Bear wouldn’t listen. He listened to his son and let emotion cloud his judgment, instead.

If Bear had listened to Vegas; if Bear had heard him out, he would have understood that letting one junkie die for the greater good was the best thing that could have happened to them. Vegas shook his head as his phone chimed.

“Hello?”

“The boys are ready.” Carlos was turning out to be a great number two. He’d gone from a leader to a follower overnight. More than a hundred grand for a month’s work would do that to a man.
Everyone has a price,
Vegas thought with a laugh. If Bear had given him time to speak, everyone would have found out what his price was.

He smiled. “Good man, Carlos. I’m heading to Bakersfield to do some recon. What’s today, Thursday?”

“It’s Wednesday.” There was confusion in Carlos’s voice.

Vegas hadn’t been keeping track, and he had been getting a steady helping of pain pills. It didn’t matter much to him. He didn’t care about the day. Bear was at Los Bandoleros every night of the week, rain or shine.

“Have them ready to head out on Saturday. Everything in Cali will be set up by then. How many guys you got riding out?”

Carlos spoke with pride. He had his best men in on this job. “Twelve. All packing serious heat.”

“Good. I’ll let you know what I find in Bakersfield. Saturday should be a walk in the park.” Vegas hung up the phone and tossed it into the passenger seat. He cranked up the Charley Pryde and laid a hand out the window.
Good times,
he thought.
Good times.

After stopping off for a burger in a Barstow diner, Vegas finished the trip from Las Vegas to Bakersfield. His resolve only strengthened as he got closer. The trip flew by in his mind. It was practically over in the blink of an eye. He sat outside a two-story home, the kind of place that was too good for a biker, but not large enough to raise any eyebrows. Bear had spent his money with a careful hand. He hadn’t been as careful with the address.

Vegas reached for the binoculars in the passenger seat. Through the magnification, he couldn’t see anything from the outside. He knew Bear would be heading to Los Bandoleros in the next half hour. Always a loyal customer of his own watering hole, Bear even followed the same path. It wound outside of town, then came back in along the dry Kern River. It was a fantastic route to take a Harley. It was great for Vegas, too. Traffic was minimal, and even if Bear managed to get a call out, it would take his boys a while to meet him up. By then, it would be too late.

Vegas dropped the binoculars back to the passenger seat. He leaned back and closed his eyes. Even at his distance, he’d hear the Harley fire up. Bear was anything but subtle.

Vegas had just begun to drift off when the throaty roar of the motorcycle snapped him out of it. In an instant, adrenaline surged through his veins as he saw his plan coming together. With one hand on the steering wheel and the other at the ignition, he waited for Bear to pull from his bricked driveway.

When the president of the Rising Sons pulled out and turned right, Vegas waited a few seconds before bringing the pickup to life. He dropped it into gear and took chase at a far distance. Bear took his time on the way to the bar. Vegas half-smiled as he followed. He knew Bear would head out into the deserted waste outside of Bakersfield like always. His predictable nature was going to get him knocked down a peg.

For ten minutes, Vegas followed at a distance. He reveled in knowing that Bear had no idea he was being followed. He had no idea what was about to happen to him. The road in front of Vegas was winding, but the elevation changes were minimal enough that he could keep Bear within his sight. Bear never turned around or looked over his shoulders. Vegas felt completely at ease as he began to close down the distance between the two.

“Long time comin’, motherfucker.” He turned up the radio. This time it was The Highwaymen that got his attention. As “Deportee” blasted out of the old pickup’s speakers, the distance between the pickup and the motorcycle shrunk.

With Vegas less than thirty feet behind Bear, the old man finally caught sight of the pickup truck in his small rearview mirrors. Maybe he realized it had been following him the whole time, maybe not. Either way, Bear nailed the throttle. He cut across the center line on a left-hand turn, gaining a bit of distance. With a tractor-trailer in the oncoming lane, Vegas wasn’t able to keep up his speed.

Once the road straightened out, he planted his right foot to the floor. The old V-8 came to life, pushing the truck forward. Bear took his left hand off of the handlebar and reached for something. Vegas thought he would get to his cell phone and call for backup, so he held on the gas. If he could get to Bear before he called anyone, Vegas and his men would still have the upper hand when they attacked Los Bandoleros.

He was right behind Bear when he saw that it wasn’t a cell phone
—
it was a gun. Bear pointed the gun back toward the pickup truck, and just as he opened fire, Vegas slammed on the brakes. Tires squealed against the pavement, and the loud report of the handgun rang out. Vegas heard the sharp, metallic ring of bullets hitting the pickup truck. As Bear sped off, Vegas cut the wheel and turned the truck sideways. Just as he leaned down in the seat, a bullet hit the windshield, spidering it and dusting the dashboard with glass.

When the shooting stopped, Vegas turned the wheel straight and gunned it. The rear wheels sent up blue smoke as the pickup took off again. He saw Bear drop the empty clip from the handgun and watched it bounce along the road and slide into the ditch. With Bear juggling the motorcycle and reloading the gun, Vegas saw an opportunity to move in.

Bear swerved across both lanes, kicking up dust and keeping Vegas at bay, but by the time he had a fresh magazine in, Vegas was right on his bumper. He dropped the gun back into the saddlebag and grabbed the handlebars with both hands.

Vegas was going at least ten miles an hour faster than Bear. The front bumper of the truck collided with the motorcycle and lifted the rear wheel off the ground. When it came back down the bike was all but sideways, and Bear tried to correct and turn into the spin.

It was useless.

At forty-five miles an hour, Bear felt the bike crashing down. He let off the throttle and turned his body to protect his head. The last thing he heard before hitting the ground was the engine of the pickup truck screaming out.

The motorcycle slammed into the road sideways before rolling under the pickup. The force was enough to lift the truck’s front wheels up. Vegas slammed on the brakes. The rear of the truck shuddered and bounced as it laid solid rubber down on the asphalt. It began to turn sideways, and for a moment, Vegas thought it might flip.

As the truck came to a stop with the twisted remains of the motorcycle beneath it, Vegas could see Bear. His body rolled, his arms flailing up in the air. When the biker came to a stop, he was face down on the shoulder of the road. He wasn’t moving.

Vegas took a moment to try and catch his breath. He realized in that moment that his heart was screaming in his chest, his throat was dry, and he had a death grip on the steering wheel.

As Vegas waited and watched Bear, nothing changed. The old man didn’t get up, and Vegas didn’t hear sirens or the rallying cry of a motorcycle gang. No one knew what happened, and no one was coming to help. His mouth open, Vegas spun around to see if any cars were coming from behind. The road was deserted, and he threw open the driver’s side door.

He lifted his bum leg out of the truck, then his good one. Leaning onto the door, he looked across the road at the unconscious man lying just off the road. Again, he checked to see if there were cars coming in either direction. When he saw that the place was just as deserted as before, Vegas started walking toward Bear. He took his time, dragging his foot as he moved closer.

It hurt, but Vegas bent down next to Bear. He stayed there, hunched over the unconscious man for a while. Vegas’ mind was empty. He didn’t feel happy or sad or angry. He didn’t feel anything. It wasn’t until he saw the pool of blood growing beneath Bear’s head that he decided to leave. If Bear was breathing, Vegas couldn’t tell. It would have to do.

Vegas drag himself to the pickup truck much quicker. It began to sink in, and he wanted to get as far away as possible. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to drive back to Las Vegas or stay in Bakersfield. Whatever choice he made, he did not want to stay on the twisting highway road, especially when somebody came across Bear’s body.

When he got back to the truck, he realized just how far underneath the motorcycle had gotten. Without stopping to look, he walked to the truck bed and grabbed a crowbar. At the front of the truck, he found the best spot to wedge it. He pushed up, trying to force the pickup back and off of the motorcycle. Within minutes sweat was pouring down his brow. He was putting everything he had into it, and he didn’t even know if the motorcycle had moved an inch.

His heart began to race as he thought of it a car coming across the scene. It took some prying, but he got separated and left the scene in a hurry. He didn’t want to get caught; he couldn’t get caught, because the best was yet to come.

When she left the coffee shop, she tried to hold it together. As soon as she made it around the corner, Raven took her frustrations out on a brick wall. Her left boot was already worn at the toe from shifting, but her right one matched it after a few swift kicks to the stone. She wanted to grunt, swear, and cry, but there was no way she would risk Allan hearing. She still had her pride.

It rang three times before a groggy voice answered. It wasn’t Tanner, though. “Raven?”

Hearing her brother’s girlfriend’s voice helped to ease her fears. “Jenny, hi. I was hoping to talk to my brother. Is he around, or is he unconscious?”