box he pulled out a pack of Camels, rolled down the window, and lit one up. After taking in the harsh blue smoke, he blew it out in a long deep exhale and let his mind go blank.
Fifteen minutes later he watched the pack of bikers fly pass him, running down the freeway, the trike coming up at the rear.
He looked at the trike, and then sat forward. "Follow the trike," he said to himself. "That's how I weed through whatever decoys they have. That trike is going to Chelsea. All those men have one thing in common—they are tough, trained badasses except for the mechanic, who is old, thin, and rides as stupidass fucking trike. He's got personal reasons for being out here, and he wants to see Chelsea."
Tomas smiled, put the Nova in gear, and pulled onto the empty freeway, tossing the cigarette out the window as he picked up speed.
CHAPTER NINE
Tomas followed the trike. Groups of two and three peeled off from the pack, taking different exit ramps as they came into the city proper, and Tomas let them go, giving them no more thought than the cigarette butt he tossed out the window. Tomas stayed on the trike.
Tailing is a skill—a skill Tomas understood. He was better at tailing than he was at anything else. Luckily, he knew El Paso. He spent a couple of years here in his teens with his drunk bitch of a mother before he left the whore and drove to Houston, never looking back. So he knew parallel streets and places to duck into. He followed like a ghost, through the city and down into a residential area. By this time the pack was broken completely up, the trike was all alone. He was tempted to take the old man now. Just pull him over, and force him into the truck of his car at gunpoint.
He had nearly convinced himself to do this when two bikes came in off of a side street and fell in with the trike. The moment was gone. Not to worry, though—it wasn't really a missed opportunity, just a thought. A passing thought.
More bikes fell in with the small group. The pack was reforming. There were thirty of them in the group with the trike when they pulled into an apartment complex. Not liking the looks of that, Tomas pulled to the side of the road, blending in with the other parked cars. As luck would have it, the group stopped where he could see them.
The men got off their rides and began taking up positions of defense. Tomas watched and recognized the tactic for what it was. They were getting ready to bring someone out of an apartment. They were getting ready to be hit, hard. Guns began appearing in hands.
Could he have been wrong? Was Chelsea really here? No, no, Chelsea is not here, just stick with the trike and keep cool, he told himself. This is the decoy, and he had to admit, it was a very convincing decoy.
Minutes passed. No one made a move for any of the apartments. Riders continued to come into the complex parking lot, in twos and threes. After another ten minutes passed, most, if not all, of the White Wolves were accounted for in that lot.
Then, after another five incredibly long minutes, a short, black limo came slowly down the street, and then turned into the parking lot. The limo pulled up, and the bikers went on high alert. Six of them left the main body heading straight for an apartment door.
The doors of the limo opened and two large men got out. One was riding shotgun, the other riding in the back. The driver remained where he was.
As the six men going to the door reached it, six bikes started up and pulled out of the parking lot, fanning out, and heading back into the city. He watched them go, while keeping an eye on the six at the door. "This is too convincing," he murmured.
The door opened, and a redhead was there. She looked out at the bikers and then allowed the six men to come inside.
Two more engines started up, and Tomas' eyes shifted in that direction. These riders came out of the lot, but then parked on each
Fifteen minutes later he watched the pack of bikers fly pass him, running down the freeway, the trike coming up at the rear.
He looked at the trike, and then sat forward. "Follow the trike," he said to himself. "That's how I weed through whatever decoys they have. That trike is going to Chelsea. All those men have one thing in common—they are tough, trained badasses except for the mechanic, who is old, thin, and rides as stupidass fucking trike. He's got personal reasons for being out here, and he wants to see Chelsea."
Tomas smiled, put the Nova in gear, and pulled onto the empty freeway, tossing the cigarette out the window as he picked up speed.
CHAPTER NINE
Tomas followed the trike. Groups of two and three peeled off from the pack, taking different exit ramps as they came into the city proper, and Tomas let them go, giving them no more thought than the cigarette butt he tossed out the window. Tomas stayed on the trike.
Tailing is a skill—a skill Tomas understood. He was better at tailing than he was at anything else. Luckily, he knew El Paso. He spent a couple of years here in his teens with his drunk bitch of a mother before he left the whore and drove to Houston, never looking back. So he knew parallel streets and places to duck into. He followed like a ghost, through the city and down into a residential area. By this time the pack was broken completely up, the trike was all alone. He was tempted to take the old man now. Just pull him over, and force him into the truck of his car at gunpoint.
He had nearly convinced himself to do this when two bikes came in off of a side street and fell in with the trike. The moment was gone. Not to worry, though—it wasn't really a missed opportunity, just a thought. A passing thought.
More bikes fell in with the small group. The pack was reforming. There were thirty of them in the group with the trike when they pulled into an apartment complex. Not liking the looks of that, Tomas pulled to the side of the road, blending in with the other parked cars. As luck would have it, the group stopped where he could see them.
The men got off their rides and began taking up positions of defense. Tomas watched and recognized the tactic for what it was. They were getting ready to bring someone out of an apartment. They were getting ready to be hit, hard. Guns began appearing in hands.
Could he have been wrong? Was Chelsea really here? No, no, Chelsea is not here, just stick with the trike and keep cool, he told himself. This is the decoy, and he had to admit, it was a very convincing decoy.
Minutes passed. No one made a move for any of the apartments. Riders continued to come into the complex parking lot, in twos and threes. After another ten minutes passed, most, if not all, of the White Wolves were accounted for in that lot.
Then, after another five incredibly long minutes, a short, black limo came slowly down the street, and then turned into the parking lot. The limo pulled up, and the bikers went on high alert. Six of them left the main body heading straight for an apartment door.
The doors of the limo opened and two large men got out. One was riding shotgun, the other riding in the back. The driver remained where he was.
As the six men going to the door reached it, six bikes started up and pulled out of the parking lot, fanning out, and heading back into the city. He watched them go, while keeping an eye on the six at the door. "This is too convincing," he murmured.
The door opened, and a redhead was there. She looked out at the bikers and then allowed the six men to come inside.
Two more engines started up, and Tomas' eyes shifted in that direction. These riders came out of the lot, but then parked on each
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