She shrugged. “Okay, that’s over six hours from now. Why the rush?”
“I need to take care of some club business first. That’s all.”
She closed the distance between us. “What kind of business?”
“I need to go on a run to pick up something for Sundance,” I said, hoping she’d drop the subject.
“How about I come with you? I can keep you company.”
“I thought you had yoga with the old ladies. Besides, I’m just picking up a load of scrap iron with Moses, and it’s gonna take three hours just to get there and back, plus the time I’ll need to...”
“To get the guns out of storage and load them into the truck,” Sierra said.
“Goddammit, woman,” I growled. “Who the hell said anything about guns?”
“No one. You didn’t have to. Moses is the club’s Sergeant at Arms and the ‘scrap iron pile’ is in Fowler, which is about three hours roundtrip from here.”
I scowled. “How the fuck do you know about the scrap iron pile?”
“Because I’m not some dumb biker bunny, club whore, street taco, road slag.”
“Baby, I never said you were—”
“I’m pretty used to people underestimating me, but it really hurts when you do it.” She stormed into her room and slammed the door.
I let out a series of curses as I followed her. “Moonbeam, I didn’t mean—”
She was pulling a sports bra on over her pierced tits and my flaccid dick went rock hard immediately. “I can hack anything with a microchip in it, you know. I can do calculus in my head. I work for the FBI for crying out loud!”
“I’m sorry. You’re right and I’m wrong.”
From the look on Sierra’s face, you’d have thought I’d just told her that I believed Elvis was alive and secretly running the United States government on behalf of the intergalactic fish people.
“I’m sorry, but what the frosted fucknuts did you just say to me?”
“I said, I’m sorry and you’re right. Sometimes I forget that you’re in all this just as deep as the rest of us.”
She sighed, stepping to me, and sliding her hands up my chest. “Thank you for that.”
“I love you, honey. I’m sorry I forget to mentionthat enough.”
“I love you too.”
“I do have to go, though.”
“Go,” she said. “We’ll talk more later.”
I kissed her quickly and headed out the door.
* * *
The roundtrip to Fowler was uneventful. The guns were just as Moses left them… safe and untouched in a well-secured underground bunker beneath Jed’s Wreck N’ Tow, just off Route 50. Jed’s was a family-owned auto yard on the edge of town, known only to certain select members of the Colorado criminal community. The scrap yard and towing businesses were legitimate, but the real money-maker for ol’ Jed’s family was the ‘no questions asked’ underground storage facility. His only rules were, ‘no people, no porn.’
Jed (a title bequeathed to each new family member to take over) wouldn’t have anything to do with trafficking or sex work of any kind. You also weren’t allowed to hide people or live in the storage units. Other than that, Jed didn’t give a shit what you did as long as he got paid in cash on the first of every month. We not only used Jed’s services for storing hardware, but also excess amounts of cash. The weed business, while state legalized, was still not federally legalized, so depositing our money in a federally insured bank was a no go. Therefore, our club’s weed business, and every other one in the country, had to get creative with where to park our money. Some of it was invested and gaining interest, and some had gone to charity, and a holy metricmother fuckin’ shit ton of it was in a bunker, twenty feet below a pile of rusted out Buick mufflers.
Sundance had the foresight to buy up land and property around Monument and Colorado Springs, as did the rest of the Howlers officers, including myself with our cuts from the profits. It was the most legitimate way to invest, and it meant future generations were set for life.
“You good?” Moses asked as we set off back to the cabin.