With a muttered curse, Joel jogged over to where Honey still stood, waving for Carla to join them and after a minute, Elle reluctantly came closer as well.
"Carla told me what happened. From her description, it sounds like Scorpion, the Nomad president's right hand man. If he's involved, then they're serious." Joel stopped, shaking his head and Honey could practically see the gears turning in his mind, working quickly on this new potentially very, very bad situation that had been dumped in their lap.
It was one of the qualities that made him such a good leader himself. He could assess fast, and adapt, improvising when things changed. Because something always went wrong, Honey thought glancing sideways at Elle, who refused to meet his look, always.
"Alright, this is what's going to happen. I'll call Hot Wheels. She's been in talks with the Nomad's to try and keep them off our backs. She knows them. They know her. Honey, you go with her to the Nomad's house and make sure nothing goes south – "
"I can't, Joel. Somebody should stay here, I mean. Someone has to keep El – I mean, everybody safe," Honey looked up at his friend, pleading in his gaze to understand. Finally, Joel nodded, his quick silver eyes flicking towards Elle for the briefest of seconds before turning back.
"Okay, Honey will stay here. Hot Wheels can take care of herself. But we need to show those pricks that we won't give in to threats. I have a few people I can talk to, people who are still loyal to the Dirty Cruisers," he grimaced at that, but continued, "Carla, Elle, you guys stay here. It has to be business as usual. We can't let them slow us down, not with our first big contract coming due next week. We don't have time for delays."
With their orders meted out, everyone disperse. Joel rushing back to the truck, already on the phone and talking to Hot Wheels. Carla was running back up the small incline towards the office and Elle was right behind her, her shoulders stiff and her arms crossed once more over her chest as she walked. He willed her to look back at him, for one little smile in his direction, but none came as they disappeared inside the building.
With a sigh, he turned and headed back to work in the greenhouse. Something always went wrong. Always.
Chapter 20
Hot Wheels shifted nervously, idly fingering the leather tassels that hung from either side of the handlebars of her bike. Her baby. The one thing that she loved more than anything else in the world. Because it represented the one thing that she craved more than anything, the one thing that she would never be able to have. Freedom.
She sighed, staring up at the dilapidated building, knowing full well that she was stalling. She hated that she was. It was a sign of cowardice and if Hot Wheels was anything, it was fearless, always. But she knew that more waited inside the Nomad's clubhouse than a showdown with the crew's megalomaniac president. She knew that there was one other person in there, waiting. The last person in the world that she wanted to see. Sparkplug.
She looked up at the building once more. It looked like an abandoned warehouse. There were no signs that there was any life inside, but she knew for a fact that there was. She had been inside that place more times than she could count, back in the days when her and Sparkplug had – Well, those days were long gone. Now, it was just her and her bike. And that's the way she liked it. No one to rely on but herself. No one to let down but herself.
Hot Wheels shook her head. You're stalling again, she chastised herself, forcing one leg and then the other off the back of the motorcycle. She gave it an affectionate pat before taking a deep breath. Joel's words were still echoing in her head from the blistering call. He'd been furious. Telling her that it had been her job to keep the rival gang's pacified, not give them the details of their operation. And then he told her to take care of it. That's what she was doing her, girding her loins to walk into the lion's den. She was taking care of it.
She threw her shoulders back, tilted her chin up and kept her eyes focused straight ahead like a fighter walking into the ring. In a way, she was. Except instead of fists she would be fighting with words. She just prayed it would be enough.
Hot Wheels slid open the rusted metal grate, cringing at the shrieking sound as it echoed through the large, open industrial space.
"Somebody should really put some oil on those gears," she said in her southern drawl loudly, cheerfully, as nearly twenty pairs of eyes turned to stare at her. Twenty pairs of unfriendly eyes.
"Oookay. Chilly reception, boys. Do you treat all of your guests like this?" Hot Wheels forced the words out passed the sudden lump in her throat.
"We are not boys," one of the bikers said, rolling his eyes in her direction, "And you're sure as hell not a guest here. We know why you're here, Hot Wheels. You roll with the Dirty Cruisers – "
"Things are … complicated with the Cruisers right now. So why don't we all play nice and get along, sugar." Hot Wheels sent a forced smile in his direction, more of a smirk than anything else and as she skimmed the crowd her heart skipped as her pale green eyes landed on him. Sparkplug. He was standing towards the back of the room, leaning against a wall. And his heated gaze never left her as she walked closer, too casually.
"We don't care about your little in house drama. We only care about one thing," the biker said again.
"Well, about that," Hot Wheels started, smirking again even though she could feel the bile rise in her throat, "Joel sent me to tell you. In regards to the so-called ‘deal' you offered this morning. He wanted me to tell you, and mind darlins' these are his exact words, ‘There's no way in hell that I would ever make a deal with you, you pussy scumbags. So, you can all just go fuck yourselves.'." Hot Wheels grinned then, with far more bravado than she felt. "Aw, who am I kidding? That last bit was all me."
"Why, you little bitch – " it was the same biker. He started to leap forward, to rush towards her but another voice cut through the room, instantly stopping him.
"Enough, Treck," the voice was low and authoritative and surprisingly cultured for a bunch of bottom of the barrel biker's. "I said enough."
Finally, the man, this Treck, took a reluctant step back, and then another, throwing his hands up as if to say he gave up. Hot Wheels didn't buy it for a moment. She could still see the violence swirling in his eyes, the way his gaze tracked her every movement. But he wasn't her problem. The man who'd just spoken, however, was. Because she knew he was the president of the Nomads.
"Damaris!" she called out, peering into the shadowed space where the voice had come from, "Damaris, is that you, you old rascal? I thought you knew how to treat a lady."
"A lady, yes. A thief and a liar? Well, let's just say I know what to do with those too, and you really wouldn't like it," the president said, sliding closer as he spoke. It had surprised Hot Wheels, the first time she'd seen him, just how short he was. A good four or five inches shorter than she herself was. But that didn't mean anything. He was quick to use that knife he kept at his belt if anyone ever stepped out of line. They rarely did.
"Joel won't stand for it, Damaris. You're wasting your breath trying to convince him to deal dirty with you." Hot Wheels said, once more putting on a brave face, when inside she felt cold with fear.
"It's a pity. I so didn't want it to end this way," the president said, sounding unconcerned but all of a sudden he was moving as fast as a viper, drawing the wicked looking knife and holding the tip against her throat, "He'll take the deal, one way or the other, or we'll take the farm. Take care of Hot Wheels here," he said, putting away the knife as if he hadn't just threatened her with it. "And make sure you treat her like the lady she really is."
"What the he – " but before she could even get the words out she was being grabbed from behind. With a cry she threw her foot back, hard, and it landed with a satisfying crunch but it wasn't enough to have whoever it was let her go. Hot Wheels struggled as hard as she could but it was no use. Her strength was no match for the man who grabbed her, dragging her with malicious intent towards a back room.
"Let me go you overgrown … Oof!" Her arms wind milled as she was suddenly released and went flying forwards as momentum carried her in the opposite direction. Hot Wheels looked back in shock to see Sparkplug with the man who'd had a hold her, Treck, held tight in a headlock.
"Go, Wheels, get out of here," Sparkplug growled at her as he jerked against the struggling Treck. "You have to go, before … "
"Come on now, Sparky, you really don't want to do this," Damaris said, watching with a vapid unconcern that Hot Wheels envied, "You're making a big mistake."