“We won’t miss with the next shots,” Wyatt shouted, his weapon aimed at Goatee who was aiming right back. “So fuck off.”
“Give us a crate.”
Two more shots were fired. One tunneling into the dry earth beside Wyatt’s feet. The other hitting the driver’s door and slamming it into him at full force. His phone stopped vibrating.
Wyatt huffed out a breath, then reached into the van and restarted the engine. They had to get out of there.
He spun to look over his shoulder. Perhaps going back to the compound and letting Arturo deal with his renegade club brothers would be the best option.
“What’s that?” he said, peering into the distance again. “Taff, look.”
Taff spun around. After a moment, he laughed. “Hey, asshole, looks like bossman is coming.”
“Mierda,” one of Goatee’s cronies said, taking a step back. “You said Arturo would be out of the way.”
“I’ll deal with him,” Goatee said.
Arturo and a posse of bikers were gaining fast. Wyatt hoped he’d take issue with Goatee interfering, but he wasn’t about to hang around and find out.
Taff jumped into the van and slammed the door. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Wyatt also jumped into the van and revved the engine. He slammed it into gear.
Goatee had taken a step back and lowered his gun. He didn’t look as brave now his brothers were descending and he’d been caught meddling with club business.
Wyatt hit the gas and jolted the van out of the ditch, sending a quick prayer to the gods that the vehicle wouldn’t let them down.
Taff gripped the dash, still holding his gun. “Go right, get back on the track.”
“I’m fucking trying.” He swung the wheel, gripping it when it resisted against the packed earth.
“Go!”
Finally, the wheels found traction, and after a dust explosion and a skid, they were moving.
“Asshole,” Taff said, peering into the side mirror. “If I ever meet him again…”
“We will.” Wyatt’s gritted his teeth. “I’ll make damn sure of it, and he’ll fucking regret trying to screw us over.”
Taff snorted. “He’s not so damn tough now Arturo is on him.” He laughed. “Wouldn’t mind being a fly on the wall back there. Think he’ll get thrown out?”
“Nah.” Wyatt was set on a fast course to the main road. “If he’d pulled it off, maybe, but he didn’t get anything.”
“Thank fuck. Hudson would go ape shit if we lost a crate. Full-on war.”
“Which we can do without. Mexicans play as goddamn dirty as we do.”
“Nothing we couldn’t handle, as we just proved.”
Wyatt didn’t reply. If Arturo hadn’t turned up, the shit could have really hit the fan.
Finally, they bumped onto the road and Wyatt headed toward Tijuana. “Ah fuck.” Wyatt pulled out his phone. “Look what that bastard did when he shot the door.”
The screen was fractured into a hundred parts and the top right corner of the entire thing was missing. Several tiny bits of silvery metal stuck from it.
“That’s fucked,” Taff said.
“No shit, Sherlock.” Wyatt tossed it to the side. He didn’t use his phone for much, but that didn’t make it any less of a pain in the ass to have it smashed up.