Page 56 of Riding Free

“Let’s fucking go,” I grind out.

I’m not sure how this is going to go, but I’m ready for anything that could come my way. I want this done so I can go home to my woman and my baby. The thought causes my lips to tug up on one side.

My woman and my baby.

My family.

One of the men makes his way to the front of the others, walking directly toward Hippie and me. We stand, our hands and arms loose, our feet firmly on the ground, our knees slightly bent, ready for anything.

I have no doubt that these men, even in their suits, are a force to be reckoned with, but I’m not going down without a fight, and it’s going to be a goddamn dogfight, too. I’m here for it because I don’t trust these Russians, not in the goddamn slightest.

“You have something for us?” the Russian asks. He doesn’t have an accent, which surprises me, but I don’t say anything. Instead, I jerk my chin.

“Are you going to open up the truck so we can offload it?” he asks, this time sounding a bit annoyed.

Instead of telling him to fuck off because he annoys me, I clear my throat and take a step forward. “First, pictures will be taken and sent to Rustik for protection. He must know that the merchandise has been securely and safely delivered.”

The Russian dips his chin in a single nod, agreeing with me. Or maybe not. I don’t really give a fuck either way. But I’m not going to get stuck in some bullshit where they say we didn’t deliver those women in good condition, and I will not deal with a he-said-she-said situation at all.

So, pictures as insurance is the way I’m handling this.

Hippie walks to the door and opens it. I don’t know what I expect, but it’s not complete silence. The Russian walks over, lifts his hand with a flashlight in his grasp, and points it at the truck.

Lifting my phone, I snap a few pictures. Then I take a few more after he barks something in Russian and the women begin to stand. Hippie lowers the lift gate after several women stand on the metal square.

I continue snapping pictures as the women step down. They are directed to one of the other men, where they are examined and then loaded up into one of the vans. Hippie clears his throat when he’s finished, turning to face me.

His brows lift, his eyes find mine, and he tilts his head to the side. “That was fuckin’ wild,” he mutters.

“Beyond,” I murmur. “Let’s get this done and get the fuck out of here.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “I’ve seen enough of this shit to last me a lifetime.”

CHAPTER

FORTY-THREE

KEELY

Lifting my hand to the tabletop, I tap my fingernail against the wood of the table as I wait for a response from Clare about bringing Thea to work tonight. I don’t think she’s going to respond to me. Especially since I wrote in the text that I’d moved out of my parents’ house and am living with Brock with no babysitter.

It’s been hours.

I’m not sure if she’s actually going to speak to me, now or ever again. She was my best friend, and now she hates the man I’ve fallen for so much that she wants nothing to do with me.

She doesn’t respond to me immediately. I wait, watching and hoping. The music in the bar grows a bit louder, not anything too crazy, but clearly, the party is getting started, which means Tits Out is going to be showing up here any moment.

I wrinkle my nose at the thought of her. Honey. What a ridiculous name. In fact, everyone’s names here are kind of ridiculous.

When my phone buzzes, I almost jump. Reaching for my device, I slide my thumb across the screen without even looking at who texted me, thankful for the break in my own thoughts.

Being locked inside my own head can sometimes be the worst place to be and can easily take up far too much of my time.

Clare. She’s responded to my text.

CLARE: I don’t think having Thea there would be a good look for the café, even at night. I’m sorry. Is there any other way I can help? Do you need me to babysit?

My instant reaction is to tell her to go straight to fucking hell. I don’t do that, though. Instead, I stare at the words for a long moment and let them marinate. I won’t be allowing her to make me feel like I’ve done something wrong, and I won’t be allowing her to babysit.