Page 95 of Claimed By the Deputies

“I can’t let this shipment go,” I say.

“We’re trying to catch up with you as fast as we can, man. It’s a miracle we made it out of the city this early,” Mitch replies. “We were sure we wouldn’t make it back until later tonight.”

“Hurry up. I’ll think of something in the meantime,” I mutter. “Keep your radios on.”

I’m angry. Betrayed. Worried as hell because it leaves us exposed on numerous fronts. This is the worst possible time for me to go in all gung-ho, but I don’t have a better choice. Some of the staties on this side of the Catskills are bought and paid for by the Stallions.

And I don’t have a warrant for what I’m doing, either.

Reaching out to the troopers in the area might make matters worse, especially when I don’t know which ones I can trust.

The best I can do is keep my eyes on the truck and my head as clear as possible.

And pray Tyler and Mitch aren’t too far behind.

Closer to Pine Hill,the betrayal and concern turns into a suffocating darkness as I watch the Stallions split off on two opposing side roads.

“What the hell are they doing?” I mumble.

The truck sticks to its lane, but it’s now unguarded. This doesn’t feel right. Checking my watch, I realize that Mitch and Tyler still have about half an hour before they’ll catch up with me, but I fear I might not have that long to wait for them.

Something sinister is going on.

I catch a glimpse of the truck driver looking at me through the side mirror as I draw my car closer. There’s no traffic on the main road, but there are plenty of side roads crisscrossing this artery all the way into Pine Hill, interconnecting different farms and warehouses on both sides.

“This doesn’t feel right,” I say out loud as I reach for my radio to tell Mitch and Tyler.

A split second later, I hear the loud rumbling of a V-twin engine approaching at high speed. I turn my head to see a Silver Stallion coming at me from one of the side roads. The other five soon join him. They synchronize to flank me, and they have their guns out.

“Shit.”

My Land Rover roars as I try to go around the truck, but the driver swerves to keep me at his back. I manage to pull my gun out of the holster just as the Stallions start shooting.

The glass on my windows shatters as projectiles fly past my head from all different directions. I crouch behind the wheel and give it a violent yank to the left, with no other choice but to ram my car into one of the riders.

The rest continue to pursue me, firing shots in my direction.

I fire back at the one on my left, managing to wing him in the shoulder. His buddies keep shooting, but I decide to run him off the road, too. They must’ve assumed I wouldn’t know how to handle them at this speed and under these circumstances, but I survived plenty of ambushes while with the Rangers, and my instincts are sharp.

I hit the brakes long enough to feel two of them ramming into the back of my Rover. Then, I point my gun at them and fire several rounds. Blood spatters and bodies drop as I resume driving, picking up speed so I don’t lose the truck.

Two riders remain, hot on my tail.

I’ve got a second to spare, so I reach out to Mitch. “Taking fire here! Move!”

“Shit, hang in there!” Mitch replies.

The crackling of the radio coincides with the approaching growl of another Harley.

POP. POP. POP.

I duck and swerve again, but this time I lose control of the car. Everything happens so fast, I can only focus on my survival. Tassia and our baby need me.

I hit the brakes so hard the tires skid across the dirt sideways. I slam into a tree, causing the airbag to deploy.

“Fuck.”

There are still two shooters. I hear their engines growl as they pull over on the side of the road, eager to get to me and finish the job.

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