Night cocks his eyebrow, and if either one’s temper raises a notch, we’re liable to be pulling them apart, or one would be setting the other on fire. They both have a fire and dumpster fetish.
“I didn’t say anything sooner because the cop swears these people hear everything. He thinks that once he gets close to finding her, that whoever is keeping her moves her again.”
“So we could be heading into a shit storm and not even come out with this bitch?” I mumble.
“Yeah, but we get paid either way.”
And everything’s right in the world for me again, knowing this is a paid job. Just wish he would have given us a heads-up sooner, especially communicating with a fucking cop. He better be careful. If one of the brothers thinks he’s turned snitch, he’ll never keep his spot in the club. He’ll probably be strung up somewhere with a cord wrapped around his throat. We don’t expend our skills on snitches; we just snuff them out as soon as possible to get them removed from the equation.
“We’ll leave here and enter from the southeast corner. Satellite shows the least amount of guards and people in that area at all times. I have a general description of the female, but no one’s seen her since she was a girl I guess. She’s supposed to be a tall Russian woman, thin and she used to be blonde. They don’t know if her hair will be changed, what language she’ll speak, nothing. She’ll most likely be one of the servants or maids. Let me know if you see one that looks Russian.”
We all nod and mount our bikes as he does. Before we start them up, he shouts, “As soon as we have her, bail the fuck outta there, shoot whoever you need to and we ride toward the border as fast as possible. This is the Cartel, brothers; they won’t fuck around.”
We should’ve brought more men. Fuck!
With a sound like thunder, we crank over our engines, placing weapons wherever we need them for easy access and as one unit we hit the road, ready to piss off the fucking Mexican Cartel. We may as well be headed into a bee’s nest because that’s exactly how crazy shit’s about to get.
PRINCESS
I still haven’t spokento my mom; I hung up when my dad answered. I don’t know why he’d be answering her cell phone anyhow. Bethany comes out of my room, hair pointing in every possible direction and mascara all underneath her eyes. She stayed the night since I knew Viking wouldn’t be stopping over at any given time. Knowing him if he shows up sometime with Bethany here, he’ll demand to smell my pussy again. That man can be so flipping pushy.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”
“Ugh. That biker’s already rubbing off on you.”
“Huh?”
“With the nickname, I seriously doubt I resemble a Disney princess right now. I feel more like road kill.”
“Well, you do kinda resemble a dead bird.” Shrugging, I blow her a kiss.
“Shut up, some of us need sleep. Why are you up so early anyhow?” She passes me by, going straight to the fridge to get a glass of her favorite orange juice. I keep it around specifically for Bethany unless my brother stops over, then he’ll drink it all just to screw with her. They’ve known each other far too long that they like to torture each other in small ways.
“Dude, it’s noon.”
Her eyes shoot to the clock, verifying the time. “Shit! I was out of it. I didn’t pay attention to the clock in your room, with it dim in there; I figured it was pretty early.”
“Nope, it’s just cloudy out.”
“That would explain why I’m starving then. Did you eat?”
“I had a banana, but I’m getting hungry now. Do you want to go somewhere or make something here?”
Finishing her juice, she rinses the cup and places it in the dishwasher. Stepping away from the counter, Bethany twists back suddenly, launching her face into the sink bowl. Fisting her messy hair in one hand, she braces with the other, wrenching up all the liquid she previously consumed.
“Holy shit!” Rushing over to check on her, I snatch a hand towel on my way. “Are you okay?”
“Ohhhh.” She moans, expelling the water she had drunk before bed.
Flipping the faucet on beside her, I grab the sprayer, rinsing it down the garbage disposal, so she’s not stuck looking at and smelling it.
After a few minutes of hovering over the basin, she wordlessly leans back, bracing both hands on the counter, staring at the drain.
“Bethany? Honey, you okay?” Cocking my head, I try to meet her eyes and push the kitchen towel in front of her. Her brow’s dotted with perspiration but her skin’s very pale.
She stays quiet washing her palms with soap, then takes the towel from my hand, never glancing up.
“How do you feel?”