A Dangerous Reality (The Bent Zealots MC Book 1) by Wolfe Layla

Author:Wolfe, Layla [Wolfe, Layla]
Language: eng
Format: azw
Tags: Romance, Motorcycle
Publisher: Quicksilver Books
Published: 2015-01-10T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

TURK

I knew that once we got into that Cadillac with the blacked-out windows, it was all over.

I’ve seen enough true crime shows. Hell, I’ve participated in enough true crimes to know that once you get into the cage, something spectacularly gruesome is about to happen. If you can somehow avoid getting into that damned Cadillac or windowless van, let me tell you, do it.

Worse, they shoved Lock into a separate Caddy so we couldn’t even see each other, much less talk. It was something, to go from the intensity of harsh, gritty lovemaking to the white leather back seat of a Caddy. Before they put the hood over my head—yes, they actually fucking did that—I saw blood stains on the seat. I wondered why they didn’t get a darker shade of leather for the seats. They shoved poor Kwahu Johnson in there with me. He was in much worse shape, still oozing blood from his face, and the front of his guayabera shirt was absolutely caked with it. Kwahu glanced despairingly at me out of his one good eye. He added more blood stains to the seats before they stuck a burlap hood over his head, too, and then we were both in muffled darkness.

I knew a baby gangster was driving, with Roland in the passenger seat, as we pulled onto the highway and hung a left. Okay, so we were heading toward Lake Havasu. Now that we were on the straightaway, I had the confidence to speak up. I had the distinct impression they didn’t want to harm me, although the same couldn’t be said for Lock.

“Look, Roland, why are we in your crosshairs? I’m not even an Assassin. I just went along for the ride.”

“Oh, I’ll say you went along for the ‘ride,’ all right,” chuckled Roland. What a fucking wit. “All Stumpy did was track down the thief of that H. Once he told us it was you and that jackoff bounty hunter, Mr. Rojas became interested. He wants to see you. Just you. Not the jackoff.”

I persisted. “But why the fuck does Mr. Rojas even care about me? This isn’t my turf. I’m with The Bare Bones out of Pure and Easy, south of Flagstaff. You must’ve heard of us.”

“Never heard, don’t care,” said Roland smoothly.

“Oh, come on! Eminence Front weed? Young Man Blue?”

“Now that I’ve heard of. That’s your stuff?”

“Yes!” I cried, relieved. “We grow it and sell it in my medical dispensary.”

“Good stuff,” Roland allowed. “You’re a fucking ganjier?”

“That’s all I am. I’m the Veep of The Bare Bones, and I wouldn’t even be in your backyard if I wasn’t trying to track down the fucker selling crap weed using my strain name. Which turned out to be Stumpy Meadows, by the fucking way. That guy is a jack of all trades of pure evil. He’s the guy who lifted your dope, not us. We just got roped into his game.”

“Dope on a rope,” goofed the hyena.

“Oh, I think you’re more than that,” Roland said calmly.

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