Outlaw MC Bear (2 page)

“
F
uck
,” Silas muttered as a large, black tinted van passed in front of him without making a damn turn signal. “Road hog cocksucker.”

Somewhere between point A and point B, people became regular dicks here on the I-15 in Red Ridge, Arizona. That was probably because the place was the nowhere in the middle of two massive somewheres. With its population of fewer than ten thousand people, Red Ridge sat right on the border of Nevada and Arizona, between Las Vegas and Mesquite to the southwest, and St. George, Utah to the northwest. Shifters in the area affectionately called it Shifter Canyon among themselves. It was a bitch to get anywhere from here, but Silas preferred his little, isolated piece of desert paradise above anywhere else. Except for these fucking road hogs. He took a deep breath, skimming his eyes across the lines of the road before drifting to check his six.

Another black van pulled out of nowhere behind him. The engine roared as the tires screeched, and the van bucked forward, nearly clipping the back of his chopper.

Silas tightened his fingers around the motorcycle handles, bracing himself.

Something wasn’t right.

A thread of adrenaline punched through his veins, and he scoured the two-lane road for an exit strategy if things got ugly. Right now he was the meat in a black van sandwich. The muscles on his forearms bunched and tensed. He was preparing himself for the worst. Despite his dry mouth, he swallowed and cleared his throat. The van ahead slowed to a crawl and at the same time, the one behind starting riding his ass like a John on a hooker giving out the goods for free. Silas cursed again. There was a steep wall of red desert rock to his left, and a guardrail to his right to protect motorists from a sharp curve in the road. Nothing that left any leeway for a getaway.

Can’t speed up.

Can’t slow down.

Can’t get out of the way.

Guess we’re going with option D and riding these fuckers out.

He focused some more on the road now, concentrating on keeping his distance so he wouldn’t wipe out and become bear shifter roadkill. When the van behind him laid on the horn for a good minute, Silas threw up the finger. Whoever was screwing with him, they weren’t likely to stop anytime soon, not until he was a blood-soaked skid mark on the pavement. So what the hell did he care if they got a little mad in the process? The van leapt forward, nearly knocking into the back wheel of Silas’s bike. He sped up and kept to the left.

Another jerk forward from the van behind and Silas saw his slim window of opportunity up ahead. A damn longshot but he had to try, now that his temples buzzed and his heart was beating out of his chest.

Fuck the odds.

If he didn’t take the chance, he’d be done for anyway, so he might as well go out on his own terms. Silas steered out of the curve and onto the straightaway, holding his breath the entire time. Keeping his eyes on the back van with the help of his tiny rear view mirror, he sped up to the one in front, closing his safety zone to just over the length of the motorcycle. Just as he expected, the van behind came in for the kill. Silas dodged to the left and through a gap in oncoming traffic until he was on the small strip of shoulder next to the rock face.

The dumbass driving the van behind had no time to adjust, and no space to maneuver across the highway to get to Silas. Even if the guy had anticipated it, there was no way he could drift that clunker of an eyesore across the lane without taking out a few other motorists and their vehicles in the process. All he managed to do was swerve to the right and pound hard on his brakes to avoid hitting his friend ahead. It was a hoot watching them scramble and counter-steer to avoid each other.

Silas kicked out dust as he flew past both of them on the opposite shoulder. Now that the coast was clear, he took in a long breath. He’d gotten within an inch of becoming roadkill. The only question that echoed in his head now was who would want to kill him so desperately that they’d slap together such a lousy plan to put him down?

Maybe next time, because I sure as hell ain’t dying today.

The adrenaline was still pumping for the entire rest of his ride into town, even when he took the overhead pass that spilled into the outskirts of North Las Vegas near the motor speedway. It was probably a good thing to be amped up too. With this meeting coming up, he could use the extra kick. After hanging a right, he got to an incline where he could make out the large, fancy residential development of seven brick-and-glass condo buildings in the distance. His stop was the third building. He’d never been inside, but he didn’t need to be to know where he was going. The Internet was a useful tool. After staring at a picture of it so many times, it was pretty much guaranteed he wouldn’t miss the place when he rolled up. A deep breath of crisp early evening desert air bit into his lungs. The wind whipped into his face like a welcome slap as if to say, get it together, motherfucker. He couldn’t argue with it.

Something got him to thinking that maybe he should have brought his VP with him. It was standard protocol for every first meeting with a new client, like this one he was going to. But taking Cole away from his old lady after their wedding less than a week ago didn’t seem right. If Silas had been on twenty-four-seven
get laid
duty like that, anyone who dared to interrupt him would get their teeth punched into the back of their throat. So tonight he was going it alone. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Silas pulled out his phone at the red light, making sure no new info from his MC had streamed in while he was in-route. Nada. Whether that made him less antsy or more paranoid was up in the air. Still, no news was good news.

He gave himself a mental pat on the back for being on time even after that little van attack, and with a sharp right that had the back wheel struggling to grip pavement, he turned into the parking garage of the condo complex. He picked a spot near the elevator on the fourth floor of the structure and did a quick double-check of his pockets. Money, phone, keys, and a tiny slip of paper with the coded location of several wooden boxes of AK-47s. He cracked his knuckles, walked across the small catwalk separating the parking garage from the condo, and took the elevator down to the main floor before striding into the swank as fuck lobby. Maybe if he sold enough guns, one day he could be swinging around his money bags at a place this posh.

“Excuse me. Can I help you, sir?” The little man at the front desk smirked. He was standing next to the bell that guests always rung in movies, and quickly gave Silas a one-two punch with his stare. It was the kind of snobby expression that told Silas he stuck out like a sore thumb in a place like this, the type of condescending look that said exactly what he was thinking without using crude words. Silas hated the man instantly.

“I’m here to see Mr. Giovanni,” Silas barked back, for no reason other than to confirm the bellman’s suspicion that yes, he was a low-brow dangerous motherfucker.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware Mr. Giovanni was expecting visitors tonight.” The man smoothed a hand down his suit before clicking a few buttons on the laptop in front of him. “Indeed, I don’t see anyone else on the approved visitors list for the day, sir.”

The preppy asshole stared at Silas as though he considered the matter over and done with.

Fat fucking chance.

“Get him on the phone. Tell him there’s a Mr. Corrigan here to see him. He’s expecting me, and it’s important.”

The man’s watery brown eyes narrowed, his rat nose twitching as if he smelled something funny. “As you wish, sir.”

“Good. Thank you…Godfrey,” Silas poured it on thick as he read the clerk’s name slowly from his nametag.

The self-important man got the picture and grimaced in return. He picked up the phone and turned his back as if pretending to examine something on the wall behind him. Silas jumped on the opportunity. This guy might have been an asshole, but he was also a gatekeeper. That meant Silas needed him. Should anything shady happen in future, this scrawny-necked jackass would be useful to give him a headsup. Luckily, Silas always came to meetings prepared. He dug in the inner pocket of his cut for one of the hefty wads of folded bills he brought along. When Godfrey turned around to look at him again, Silas cocked one eyebrow and slid the stack across the marble countertop.

“Something for your time?”

Godfrey went goo-goo eyed and pale, nodding a bunch of times from the sight of all that money. There was no way to hear what was being said on the other end of the phone, but he wrapped up that call in a hot second to give Silas his full attention now. He probably didn’t make that kind of cash in six months. His hand slipped over the bills, and he jerked them off of the counter, depositing them into his vest pocket.

“Thank you…it’s my pleasure to help…anytime at all. Would you like me to see you up to the suite, sir?”

“Nope, I’ll be fine.”

“As you wish, sir. If you need anything, I’ll be right here. Don’t hesitate to ring the bell for assistance if I’m not here.”

“Count on it, Alfred.”

The man winced from Silas’s intentional name slip, but made an effort to nod before he scurried out from behind the desk and disappeared into a back room. Probably to put that cash under lock and key.

Silas whistled and hustled his way over to the shiny gold elevators. They were fast too, because in what seemed like a quarter of a second later he was looking out at the landing of Mr. Giovanni’s condo, which appeared to take up the entire twenty-seventh floor. Or maybe it was a private elevator to one section. The point was the place was massive, with two beefy bodyguard types standing at a doorway nearby. Typical, and not unexpected for a man this important. One held the front door open, ready for Silas to walk in. They both nodded a greeting and Silas followed the guy into a sitting room.

There he was.

Success, leadership and business savvy in a suit. He looked it too, even for his young age, with an authoritative chin, distinctive sideburns framing a dark head of hair, and icy gray eyes that looked like they could read through bullshit. His future client was seated on the expensive burgundy and gold fabric sofa that looked like it stepped right out of a Baroque period vampire movie. The stately man didn’t look up from his book when the bodyguard announced Silas, so he waited, widening his stance in the middle of the room, digging his hands into the front pocket of his cut, ready for anything.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Corrigan,” Mr. Giovanni finally announced. He placed a bookmark between the well-worn pages, glancing up for the first time. “I know this was a hurried affair, so I apologize for the imposition. We do appreciate your business.”

“Sure.” Silas held his stance, waiting to be invited to take a seat. “It’s no problem. You came highly recommended by our mutual friend.”

“Ah, yes. The padrino had quite a lot to say about you.”

Silas wasn’t about to take that kind of easy bait. The padrino to the Italian mafia was the top guy in the region around St. George, Utah, Las Vegas, and everywhere in between along the I-15. He was the best sales connection for Silas and the Brotherhood, but even a referral like that didn’t put Giovanni on the safe list. Not yet. All it did was get him in the door. They were all still in a probationary period, to feel each other out, build some trust and credibility. Silas kept alert, fingering the piece of notebook paper in his pocket, and pretending to be bored. He owed the guy common courtesy, but that was about it. For now, he kept his lips zipped shut and let Giovanni lead the way through what was supposed to be a five-minute discussion.

“You’re the strong silent type, aren’t you?”

“I came to meet you for one thing, Mr. Giovanni.”

“Oh, so right down to business, then.” The man ran his arms across his slacks and then he straightened the front of his freshly pressed blue button-down shirt. “I can respect that. Sunny? Get the case, please.”

Silas was thrown off at the man’s politeness, but kept his facial expression blank.

“Here you are, boss.” One of the goons brought a suitcase full of money into the room. Silas’s ears started to ring with anticipation. Here was where things got a little tricky—and always a little bit hazy. When Mr. Giovanni motioned him forward, Silas took three smooth steps toward the ornate coffee table that matched the sofa. He bent forward and sprang open the lid on the suitcase. An educated riffle through the contents proved that all the cash was there.

Golden.

He straightened up again, meeting Mr. Giovanni’s gaze head on, and they stared at each other for what seemed like a long ass time.

That’s when shit went sideways.

Someone’s big, beefy hand circled around Silas’s throat, and threw him up against a wall so fast Silas couldn’t catch his breath fast enough to tell whoever it was he was a dead motherfucker.