Trip's Retribution (Hell Raiders MC Book 3) (6 page)

Chapter Eight

The four days before the run passed quickly. Trip stayed busy mostly with his regular duties, and taking care of the few preparations they needed. Kellen left the final decision on riders up to him and he spent some time selecting the strongest brothers with the skills to do whatever might be necessary.

The last night before they were to leave, Kellen pulled them all into the conference room where they normally held private meetings. "Everybody clear on the job?"

Ten heads nodded around the table. Ryker lifted a hand. "How long we expect this run to take, boss?"

Trip spoke up. "Round trip we're looking at four days. We're flying under the radar, so it's double-nickel all the way and eight hours on, eight off, with the driver keeping his log books legit. The client doesn't want DOT to have a reason to crack that trailer. I'll send the route to your cell phones in the morning as we leave. Tomorrow will be a long day, about twelve hours on the road to meet the truck. We'll overnight and pull out early the next day."

Once more, Ryker asked the burning question. "We going heavy?"

Trip nodded. "Yeah we are. The client expects trouble. We're there to make sure that truck gets where it's going. And there's a nice bonus for each rider if there are no delays."

Eyes lit up around the table. With a bonus on the line, these men would do whatever it took to make sure they arrived on time. After giving a few more details, Trip turned the meeting back over to Kellen.

Kellen met the gaze of every man around the table. "I'm sitting this one out. Trip will be my voice for the run and Fabio will be Road Captain. Ryker, you're scout. 'Nuff said?"

They all agreed and the meeting ended. The men's cheerful mood seemed a little forced for a moment, then they loosened up. Most of them considered riding into potential battle right at the top of their Favorite Things list, and Trip agreed. He never felt more alive than when facing down certain death, a gun barking in his hand and a bike thundering under him.

Beer started to flow freely, with most of the Hell Raiders partaking. Ryker, conspicuous both for his size and the way he kept himself tightly controlled, watched everything warily and sipped water.

Trip made his way over to the big MMA fighter, stopping along the way to exchange greetings with a few others. "You ready for this?" For some inexplicable reason, he felt the need to warn the scout ahead of time.

Ryker shrugged and regarded him with a speculative gaze. "Always. But something's got you on edge about this run."

Caught out, Trip had to admit it. "Yeah, li'l bit. We're running through Saxons territory, and those fuckers are righteous bat-shit crazy. I don't trust them."

Around them, the party atmosphere built. Ryker's gaze slid over the crowd. "Let's step out and get some air."

Fabio sat alone at the end of the bar, and Trip paused beside him. "Hey, man, you got a minute?" When Fabio nodded, he continued. "Come outside? Got some concerns."

Outside, away from the noise and crowd, the three men walked a short distance from the house. Trip wished for a couple more hits of Hanger's weed. That shit worked miracles with stress.

Fabio rolled his shoulders as if the tension tightened his muscles, too. "'Sup Trip."

"Wanted to touch base with you on this run. Like Kellen said, the client expects trouble." Damn it, he wasn't quite sure how to explain. "But I have a feeling there might be something more."

Ryker gave him a steely-eyed look. "You're about as jumpy as a first-timer in the cage. We riding into an ambush or something?"

Trip hesitated a moment, then shook his head. "No, at least, I don't think so. The thing is, we're going through some sketchy territory. Saxons MC."

Recognition showed immediately on Fabio's face. "Trouble waiting?"

Trip nodded. "Could be. I don't trust them. Their prez is laid up right now." He went on to describe Buffalo's unfortunate accident. "The VP, I don't know how to take him. But if they thought they could grab the truck and make a profit, they'd sure as fuck do it."

"I'll make sure we're ready for a possible hostile takeover, then." Ryker scowled, apparently adding to his mental list of preparations for the run.

"Good." They talked a few more minutes, discussing possible scenarios for an attack from the other MC, and how to respond.

Despite the early hour, Trip succumbed to the fatigue making his muscles ache and said goodnight. Noise from the party buffeted his room and flowed around him, but he turned on music and rolled into his bed anyway. After a couple years living in the club house, nothing kept him from sleeping.

***

Roughly four hours in, as they neared the Tennessee line, Trip called a halt for lunch. Nothing but food and fuel would pull them off the road now that they were underway. Still, with a long haul left ahead, he saw no reason to push the men or machines too hard. Time enough for that in the next few days.

The Hell Raiders avoided the fast food joints in favor of a busy truck stop. Given a choice, they always went for real food over the other stuff. They parked off to the side, away from the general traffic, and headed inside
en masse
. Since they were flying low, Trip didn't post a watch at the bikes. Doing so advertised the whole fuck-off attitude of outlaws, and he preferred they come off as casual riders. No need for local LEO attention for some guys just passing through on the way to some fucking theme park down south.

Inside, the truck stop looked like any of a thousand others, and the men quickly ordered their meals and seated themselves. They talked quietly and ate, careful to avoid scrutiny. Had they just been out riding for the hell of it, they would likely have cut up and played a little. But on a business run, everyone behaved like a model citizen. The food was good and they welcomed the relaxation after the time on the road even if they didn't get to have much fun with it.

At first, Trip paid no attention to the three men seated to his left wearing trucking company jackets over their flannel shirts. They were just some guys enjoying their lunch. But then the truckers talked a little louder, throwing around remarks about biker trash and criminals. One by one, the Hell Raiders took note, and looked to Trip for direction.

He gave a very clear
do not engage
signal. They couldn't afford trouble, especially not related to the job. It might not be easy, but they needed to just ignore and let the bastards go on their way happy to have bested a bunch of bikers.

Apparently dissatisfied with the lack of reaction, the truckers upped the ante, growing louder and louder with more disparaging comments. Tension filled the air as the silent Hell Raiders resisted everything within them that insisted on honor and defense. Other customers noticed and quietly shifted away from the section, expecting big trouble.

Finally, one of the truckers rose with a heavy scowl and approached a table full of Raiders. "Settle a bet for me, fellas?"

Ryker, seated closest to the truckers gave a nod. "What is it?"

He shifted from one foot to the other and threw his shoulders back, working it up to say something big. "Well, I say bikers always run in a pack because they're just too fucking scared to go alone. My buddy over there says it's because bikers are all fags, and the other one says it's because y'all are pussy fags, ain't got the balls to do nothing and can't get away from getting ass-fucked for a minute, anyway." He grinned, looking back over his shoulder at his companions.

Enough was fucking enough. They couldn't let that shit stand. Trip met Ryker's glare and gave a slow blink of approval. Ryker stood and towered over the man. "If you care to try it out, I'm happy to go out to the back lot, alone. It'll take you about thirty seconds to figure it out."

The man's face reddened and he blustered. "I ain't going nowhere with you. Probably get out there and get shot in the back."

One of the other truckers chose to join in. "Nah, Steve-o, you'd get ass-raped. Boy ain't got the balls to shoot nobody, back or front."

Ryker shrugged and made as if to sit back down. "Well, if you're too pussy to go out there with me, I understand. You don't want to get your little jacket mussed up."

So much for avoiding attention. Trip shook his head. Every eye in the fucking place was on them. Shit.

The trucker's face went first white, then so red Trip expected him to stroke out. Then he laughed. "Sure, I go out and kick your ass and the rest of your little gang jumps me. I don't think so, punk."

Ryker threw his head back and laughed, only to fall silent and take a step closer to the trucker. "Pussy." He leaned into the man's face. "My brothers won't interfere, win or lose. You and I call it, they'll see it's a fair fight. Now put up or go home."

The man paled again, the battle in his mind obvious for all to see. If he backed down, no one would ever look at him with respect or fear again. "Deal. Let's go." He spun on his heel and waved his companions to follow. They did, albeit warily.

The Hell Raiders had no such issues. At Trip's nod, they rose as one and trouped out the door. Trip dropped a substantial tip on the table and headed out after the others. The delay for the fight would probably take less time than shepherding all the Raiders away from the table anyway.

Out in the parking lot, the Raiders traded good natured remarks and made casual bets with the other patrons, most of whom had found one reason or another to be out there too. At the center of the loose gathering of observers, Ryker stripped off his cut and black tee-shirt and handed them to Fabio, followed by a handgun and two knives.

Ryker stood shirtless, hands loose at his sides, bruises from his last match still visible on his ribs. Danger radiated off him, a formidable Mixed Martial Arts fighter and a veteran of dozens of matches. Beyond the ring, Ryker was lethal in a street fight and often picked up extra money in underground fights. "Okay, pussy. I'm unarmed. I'll even give you first punch. Take your best shot."

For a moment, the trucker and the onlookers seemed stunned. No one gave away the first punch. The jerk recovered quickly though and reared back to launch a fist at Ryker's face. Too bad for him, the punch lost its momentum long before it connected.

Ryker let his head rock back slightly then smiled with deadly intent. "That your best? Or you want a do-over?"

Trip shook his head. Okay, so maybe it would take a little longer than he'd first supposed. It looked like Ryker intended to toy with his prey a little.

The expression the man wore said someone had just stepped on his grave. A heavy shudder ran over him and he raised his hands as if to placate. "Now, look—"

"No, you look. We sat there and ignored your nasty remarks until you came right up to my table and insisted on a reaction. Just so you know, I'm undefeated this year." Ryker moved in a quick blur and landed a resounding open-handed slap to the man's face. "You better consider yourself lucky mister. If I'd been in a bad mood, your blood would soak this lot about now."

The trucker grabbed his cheek where Ryker's livid handprint marked him. "That was a bitch move. You're all talk." He lowered his head and set up to deliver a head-butt to the gut.

Ryker grinned again. "A bitch deserves a bitch move." He easily evaded the man's charge and stuck out a foot to trip him.

The man surged to his feet, dust from the lot coating the front of his shirt. This time he skipped the preamble and swung. The blow managed to reach Ryker's belly but didn't get through the hard muscle to have an effect. He followed with a big punch to the jaw, which also landed.

Ryker laughed. "You don't have a clue, pussy. Not worth my time. Just so you know, my last opponent is still in the hospital. You consider yourself lucky I'm not letting loose you on." He unleashed a quick combination that brought the trucker to his knees. "And you might want to remember this before you go talking trash next time." One last blow and the man fell unconscious to the ground.

Ryker turned and took his weapons back from Fabio, followed by his shirt and cut.

Sensing a negative vibe off the crowd, Trip signaled the Raiders to mount up. Time to get the fuck out of there before they decided Ryker needed to be taken down a notch. They might not take so well to the news that a professional fighter had taken down one of their own.

Chapter Nine

The truck sat idling at the side of the lot while the driver finished his walk-around. Trip and the Raiders pulled up outside the gate, waiting to fall in with the truck as soon as it rolled. No need to get cozy with the driver beyond making clear to him who was in charge. Once they were on the road, he didn't piss without permission.

Finally, the truck bucked against the trailer then started forward with a grinding of gears that made Trip wince. He lifted a hand and as it cleared the gate, Ryker moved out ahead and the rest of the Raiders closed in around the truck.

Over the next two hours, the truck navigated the bypass, supposedly created to facilitate traffic through the downtown area. Moving a mile or two at a time, then standing still for long moments to allow some blockage to clear turned into a form of torture for Trip and the other Raiders. In normal circumstances, they would weave through traffic until they found a clear way and move the fuck on.

The only positive note Trip found in the whole situation came in the form of a beat up old Toyota. Three girls, college students unless he missed his guess, rode in the car, laughing and flirting with him and Crank as they idled alongside the truck. Crank ate it up, and convinced the girls to put their windows down. They giggled at his outrageous suggestions and dared one another to take him up on it.

Trip watched, half hard and tempted to drag one of the girls from the car and fuck her right there in the middle of traffic. Wavy blonde hair swung around her shoulders and blue eyes flashed with mischief. She drew her shirt up, revealing naked tits that just begged for his mouth.

Beside him, the truck bucked and roared again as traffic began to move. Just as well. Probably saved him from catching a damn felony. The Good Samaritan in him insisted he take a moment to deliver a safety warning.

He paused next to the car and leaned down. "Mama, you're lucky I have things to do. Don't show them tits to anyone you don't really want to take them." He hit the throttle and let the bike surge forward, leaving the girls in his rearview. Right where they belonged. Chicks like that were jailbait, even if they were legal age. That kind woke up the next morning, horrified and ashamed they'd let a biker fuck them and liked it, and started screaming rape.

They finally made it out to the highway, an hour behind schedule before they even started. Fabio gave the signal to spread out in the light traffic to avoid suspicion. The client suspected any trouble would come during the second eight-hour shift on the road. By then, they would be well into the territory of his rival.

The whole damn thing made Trip itch. Running through rival MC territories, rival gangster territories, all on a tight schedule with a pre-planned route just seemed to put a big old target right on their backs. Kellen had his reasons for accepting the conditions and while Trip wasn't clear on those, he would back him to the death. That's what brothers did. Unless the President fucked up. And so far, Kellen hadn't fucked up.

The little procession wove through varying traffic for a little over seven hours until Ryker rejoined them and led the way to a small truck stop for the required layover. To Trip, it would have made more sense to have an alternate driver so they could keep moving, but the client insisted on the fucking rest stops. So they rolled into the little gravel lot and Ryker directed them to the outer edge where they could easily keep an eye on anyone approaching the truck.

The driver left the tractor idling and climbed out. "I'm going to hit the head then come back and catch a few hours' sleep."

Trip nodded for Crank and another Raider to stay on the driver. It wouldn't be the first time a driver took a nice payout and handed the keys over to someone else. Not happening on his watch. Of course, he'd also prefer no one stick a knife between his driver's ribs and leave them stuck either. Any of the Raiders could move the truck in a pinch, but not legally, so they'd be a moving target in that event. Easier to just keep an eye on the wheel-man and prevent all those issues from the start.

With the driver safely locked back inside the idling tractor, Trip divided the riders into two groups and allowed them to take turns going inside for food, drinks and diversion. Ryker dropped under the truck's trailer, grabbed the bumper and started some sort of insane pull-ups in his never-ending training. Bastard was nothing if not devoted.

Shaking his head, Trip headed inside to check on the Raiders who'd gone in. After the mishap the day before, he wanted to avoid more trouble with jerkwads like that. The truck stop was all outfitted in red and white checks and chrome, apparently trying to look like a 1950s diner, and not doing too bad a job of it. They even had an old-fashioned jukebox blaring some classic Judas Priest.

A waitress in a cute blue dress and white apron gave him a friendly smile. "What can I get you, sugar?" Her eyes widened and immediately went over his shoulder. He turned and caught Ryker coming in the door. Figured. Bastard always caught the females' eyes. "And please tell me I can get you somethin' special, baby."

Trip grinned and waited. Ryker's food requirements usually raised eyebrows. "Go ahead, man. It'll take longer for yours."

Ryker smiled at the waitress. "Yeah, I do need something special." His gaze swept over the food displayed in the deli-style case. "I need an eight-ounce steak, medium, no seasoning, a double of that broccoli, lightly steamed, and some of those sweet potatoes."

The waitress' eyes went even wider. "Okay, you better tell me that again so I can write it down." She took out her order pad.

Ryker obliged, repeating his order and ignoring the appalled glances of other patrons in line behind him. He was accustomed to people's shock over his dietary choices, but it was part of what put him at the top of his division, so he refused to give any concessions on it. His meals were planned down to the calorie and he rarely ate out for that reason.

The waitress turned to Trip with a broad smile. "Are you that picky, sugar?"

Trip grinned and shook his head. "Not at all. I'll take the meatloaf, scalloped potatoes and green beans." He gave her a wink. "I'm easy to please."

She let her gaze sweep over him, paying particular attention to the patches on the front of his cut. "Oh, I'll just bet you are, sugar. My name's Susan. You just ask for me if you need anything, okay?"

The way her dress hugged her tits offered a serious temptation. "I sure will." Yeah, he might just take her up on that offer. She could certainly ease the boredom of the enforced stop. He paid and accepted the tray with his food, and found a table that allowed him a good view of the lot around the truck. So far, everything was still quiet.

So how come he felt like he sat right in the calm before the storm? All this stop and start bullshit really made him itchy. Too many opportunities for trouble to walk up to them and blow up in their faces.

He ate the food, not really noticing the taste, and tried to plan for anything that might come up. He'd already assigned two riders to keep watch while everyone else did their thing and stayed close. Hopefully that would be enough.

Ryker joined him with his made to order food and started eating. "What's up? You think trouble will hit at a stop?"

"It's what I'd do. So keep your eyes open." He pushed his plate aside. The food was good, but he'd had enough.

The waitress, Susan, approached. "Can I get you some coffee, sugar? Or dessert?"

Temptation hit hard, but he didn't really have time for playing around, as much he would welcome the release. "I could handle some special dessert, but I'm working today. Maybe I'll catch you another day another way."

She smiled. "I'm out of here in twenty minutes. Just in case you change your mind."

"Wish I had time." He stood and crowded up into her space to brush his groin against her ass, surprised when she didn't pull away. They were usually all talk, but she seemed sincere. She had her hair tied back, exposing the curve of her neck and making him want to sample it. He reminded himself he had shit to do. Oh well.

Shaking his head a little with regret, he headed for the door, taking quick note of his men's positions. Checking made him feel a little like a mother hen, but if trouble came up, he would be glad he knew in general where they were.

Outside, he found someone had pitched a bedroll in the shade of the truck, sound asleep. The boys on watch were still taking it seriously so far, and both had good vantage points. He checked in with them and texted Kellen to give an update. If this run became a regular thing, he hoped Kellen gave it to one of the others. Too damn much to worry with, even without thoughts of Tanya messing with his head.

Annoyed with the whole thing, he took a slow stroll around the parking lot to try and keep his damn mind where it belonged. Not on Tanya, or the waitress with the cute tits and tempting neck. He rounded the building, ready to head back to the truck and grab a few minutes' rest.

The waitress paused just outside the exit, still wearing her cute uniform, and looked around. She gave a quick smile when she spotted Trip heading her way. "You changed your mind."

"Sorry, no time, honey." He approached and slipped his arm around her waist and bent to taste her neck anyway.

She moaned and pressed back against his dick. "Let's go somewhere a little more private. The boss frowns on us hooking up here. Says it looks like he's running a whorehouse." She turned to slide her arms up around his neck.

"I'm working so I can't leave." He stepped back a little. "Like I said, I'll have to catch you another day another way." For the best anyway. Her curves were sweet, but probably wouldn't satisfy him nearly as well as Tanya's slim perfection.

The memory of how Tanya felt in his arms haunted him, like a high he needed to chase. Every time his mind went still for a moment, there she was. His imagination provided plenty of fuel for the addiction, making him dream of how she would feel under him, what she would sound like as she cried out in pleasure. Her soft sighs tormented him, drove him to need more.

"Are you kidding me?" The waitress got in his face. "You're going to turn all
this,
" she made a gesture indicating her body, "down? Just because you'd have to leave your boys for an hour?"

Annoyance flashed through him, reinforcing his decision. "Told you, I'm working. And I doubt all
that
would be worth an hour of my time, honey." He turned away before he could say anything to anger her further, his thoughts already on to more important matters.

A faint click behind him was the only warning, but Trip dove sideways and kept moving as a bullet cut through the air where he'd been standing and
thunk
ed into a nearby parked car.

Fuck! Why did he always have to run into the damn crazies? He must have some kind of sign on his forehead that attracted them.

Trip managed to take cover behind the car as the pissed off waitress continued to fire, stalking toward him like a damn model on a catwalk. Fuck! Until she ran out of ammo, he was fucking stuck right where he was. Of course he could shoot her, but he'd prefer not to have to do that. Local business owners tended to dislike when bikers gunned down their employees right in their parking lots. The Raiders needed a solid working relationship with the businesses along the protection route if they actually landed a contract with this client, so best not to fuck with the locals too much.

Trip caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned to check as Fabio rounded the side of the building in a crouch. Best to keep this to just him and a pissed off woman if possible. He signaled Fabio to stay back for the time being and to put the other Hell Raiders on alert just in case.

A bullet burned the air not far from his ear as the woman drew closer, approaching at an angle. One more and she would have to reload. Trip crouched, ready to take advantage of a pause in the gunfire. He could take her to the ground and disarm her, smack her on the ass and send her on her way.

Suddenly, two big pickups tore into the lot and skidded to a halt between Trip and the semi, cutting him off from the rest of the Raiders in that direction. Several armed men bailed from each pickup, and advanced on the bikers and truck.

That damn waitress was a diversion, and she worked like a charm. So far, her bullets were the only ones flying, but the men were loaded for bear and didn't look like they'd take no for an answer. Trip's men outnumbered them, but being spread all over the damn place made defense a little tricky.

Fuck! Civilian casualties had a way of making an MC look bad. So how the hell to prevent some idiot from getting shot?

In spite of the thoughts racing through his head, Trip took a few seconds to assess. The boys at the protected truck took cover and drew down on the other crew, ready to blast away on his signal, just like they were supposed to. The rest of his men were spread out inside the building, leaving him and Fabio closest to the action. The only one not visible from his vantage was Ryker, who could be anywhere.

Thankfully, the waitress had disappeared, probably back inside. One of the boys in there would have to deal with her. Trip turned his attention to the nearest of the two pickup trucks, where only the driver remained inside. The other occupants all moved across the lot.

Trip pulled on his leather gloves and drew the hunting knife from his belt sheath. Moving up on the first truck posed little risk, with no hostiles behind him, so Trip made quick work of it. The truck sat high on oversized tires and the man behind the wheel seemed to have all his attention on the attack.