Wed to the Bad Boy(99)

“Yer interested in business. Why?”

“I’m sick of this shit getting in my district. If I could control the trade, it’d be a better deal for me, and it would be a hell of a lot safer than if you keep selling to your current clients. I imagine if you keep working with them, you’ll lose out one way or another.”

They were talking out in the open, but doing it smart. Not using any kind of words that could incriminate them in anything. Hell, for all anyone knew, they could be talking about stone, gravel, kids bikes. It didn’t matter. It was vague enough that no one listening could raise an eyebrow.

He knew who Snake was talking about. “Knew shit was going to start blowing my way with them. Motherfuckers are as sketchy as hell. Won’t lie, I’m eager to get something a bit more steady and a bit more profitable, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do. I can guarantee that. My guys, they need a good supply. Steady.”

“So why aren’t they here?”

“I act as a middle man, of sorts. Keep it out of my district, funnel it to the right place, and keep both of us from getting any kind of notice.” Now Snake was hushed, his eyes hard as he sized Marty up.

Marty was doing the same. I just listened.

“I can get down with that. As long as I get paid and you get it where it needs to go, I don’t give a shit about who buys.”

Marty was sharp, real sharp. Maybe he was just skinny and not tweaking. I didn’t know for sure. What I did know was that he was the kind of man who would make the deals that were best for him, even if it meant turning on a former business partner.

It made me nervous.

Still, that shouldn’t have mattered to me. I wasn’t going to be the one dealing. I wasn’t even going to be the one muling. I was just the muscle in these talks.

Extra insurance.

So I did my best to look like the kind of man who could back Snake up.

“Shit, you wanna come see what I got to sell?” The approval. It was a good sign. I let out a low breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

“Was wondering when you’d say that,” Snake said, smiling for the first time. Apparently they’d assessed each other and felt they could do business.

It was some kind of progress.

We paid the bill and tipped a hell of a lot more than that waitress had probably ever seen. Standing up, we exited one by one until we were back on our bikes, following this man in his cage.

He led us through a maze of roads until they broke away from the small town and dissolved into open farms and forest, patches of each alternating.

We turned onto a dirt road and gave Marty space, following him down it. If a rider had never ridden on dirt before, it could be a challenge. The shifting ground isn’t like paved, even with potholes. You’re at the mercy of the road, riding with it instead of against it, steering into the bumps, grooves, and gravel, and giving the bike what it wants instead of fighting it for control.

We weren’t two miles down the road when the baby of the group, one of the men Snake brought, wiped out. It was a quick slide on his bike and he skid right in the ditch, bike first. We all stopped slowly, waiting.

When he crawled out and gave us the thumbs up, there were chuckles. A few of the men at the back hopped off their bikes and went to help him right his. Hopefully it would drive, or they’d have to send someone up to get it.

I eyed Thrash as I hopped off my bike and he smirked. He didn’t need to say the words. We were both thinking it. That biker was a total dumbass.

Yeah, that was how we coped when someone took a bite of pavement or dirt. We mocked them. Because if it happened to them for being dumbasses, it certainly couldn’t happen to us. We were smarter, stronger, more adept. We were invulnerable.

It may not have been the truth, but it felt a hell of a lot better than worrying if we could be next. If we were going to be the ones to kill ourselves on a bike.

It was part of the experience.

We watched them for a second and then moved on. We had business to conduct, and we didn’t have time to piss away.

We pulled into the driveway, and up to the set of trailers. Three of Marty’s men were situated on the property, hidden behind a large line of trees.

It had the perfect amount of privacy to keep prying eyes out, but it was secure enough and easy enough to get to that they could perform the work they needed.

Meth was one hell of a drug. Addictive as hell with disastrous consequences, but for those willing to cook it up, it could mean one hell of a profit, too.

Our MC didn’t deal in drugs—at least, not really. Just this. Removing supply from Hound’s Breath was our goal. It was part of the strategy. Cut their cash flow and then take them for everything they had.