Outlaw's Ride: An MC Romance Carter Steele (if you liked this book TXT) 📖

very real way. If anything happened to it, none of us would know what to do.

We always parked the truck a safe distance away from any club business and took our bikes everywhere we needed to go. This time was no different. We were nestled behind a derelict building on a rarely used back road. No one would stumble across us out here. It was important to always keep our home out of the fight. We just didn't realize that when everything went tits up on this past deal we were tailed by some cartel members back to the truck. They thought we sold them out and that was when Yoga caught one of the hail of bullets.

When Buck saw what happened to his brother he lost it and made short work of the cartel assholes.

“Yoga's bike is gone. Even if it didn't get too fucked up in the crash the area is way too hot to go back to.” Dunk continued, looking over at Yoga who's hand was burying his face. We all knew it was gone, but hearing Dunk officially confirm it was the icing on the shit sandwich for Yoga.

“Did we get any of the bags of money?” I asked hopefully.

Dunk shook his head.

“The guns then?” Buck asked.

“We were lucky to even make it out alive. I'm thinking a mole in the cartel maybe? Or the feds must've somehow caught wind of the location of the meeting through the grapevine.” Dunk leveled his gaze on me. “And you running your fucking mouth sure as hell didn't make things any easier for us.”

I slunk a little deeper in my chair. The anger drained from me, quickly replaced by something else. Regret maybe? Fuck if I knew. Sometimes my temper got the best of me. At the meet up they had a group of ten year old kids load the handguns we were selling them into their school backpacks. It was too fucked up to not call out.

I ran a hand over my face and beard in the thick silence that followed and thought about those kids. I didn't do anyone any favors. We bailed when we heard the FBI closing in. The cartel of course thought we were the ones to set them up, especially after I knocked that prick on his ass, and opened fire on us on our way out. Caught between us and the feds the cartel was cut to ribbons I just hoped none of the kids were killed in the crossfire.

“Fuck!” Dreamer broke the heavy silence first with curses in English then for good measure some in Spanish. Dreamer had done the most leg work to gain the cartel's trust. “Five hundred thousand dollars gone. That was everything we had! What the fuck are we going to do now?”

It took most of the club's money to invest in getting the guns to sell to the cartel in the first place and everything had been going to plan. It was a textbook sale that should've been a sure bet. When the feds showed up it was nothing but bullets and blood and smoking tires.

“Buck's going to take us to meet his connect and we're going to get us some work,” Dunk said. “If he's not too drunk.”

Dunk walked over and pulled the mostly empty bottle away from Buck.

“That why you made me drive us into the asshole of Baltimore?” Mac asked in his typical surly grumble. He cleaned Yoga's wound and set out his surgery pan on the next bunk over. “How do you know this guy?”

“You know me I got my ways.” Buck smirked. He reached under his pillow and pulled out another half empty bottle and began waving it around dramatically. “Ear to the ground. Man of the people. I hear things.”

“Pat's in Buck's fantasy football league. Low level pimp looking to push into the drug game. Needs a few tough guys to be his muscle.” Yoga said through gritted teeth. The pain from the alcohol cleaning made it hard for him to talk.

Buck threw his arms out incredulously at killing the mystery, but his twin brother only shrugged indifferently.

“Mac, you stay and fix Yoga up.” Dunk pressed the button that automatically raised the trailer's main door. “The rest of you load up what you need and let's go meet the locals.”

We unhooked the supports on our bikes that kept them secure while Mac drove the truck, and put the ramp down. It was hard seeing the empty spot where Yoga's bike should've been. He put a lot of love into his vintage Harley. The feds showing up wasn't my fault, but I couldn't help feeling responsible for the beef with the cartel. Them shooting at us and Yoga losing his bike...that was on me.

I had to find a way to make it right by him.

“Here,” Buck put on Yoga's electric teapot and took out some herbal tea. He started off for his own bike then stopped and set down his bottle of bourbon next to the box of tea. “And this is for when your hippie bullshit doesn't work.”

“Fuck you, little brother,” Yoga said without any anger in his voice.

“Fuck you too,” Buck replied with the same almost-sympathetic sentiment then hopped on his bike. Buck knew that even with a bullet in him Yoga wouldn't go for the booze, not that that would stop Buck from giving him shit. It was a brother thing.

I ran a hand over my own black on black Indian Scout Bobber. My girl had some wear and tear on her and could use a little maintenance work when I found some free time, but she was as solid and dependable as the day she was made. We all came from Dunk's mechanic shop before we hit the road so most of the guys knew their bikes inside and out with the exception of Buck and Mac. They had different roles but they both knew how to turn a wrench.

Dreamer was the first one down the ramp