Page 60 of Mile High With the Bikers
“Piston! Beast! Take Shrapnel back and get him patched up.” King, who as VP outranks everyone else, dishes out the orders.
“With all due respect, King, fuck you. I'm not going home with my tail between my fucking legs, when Rory's in trouble.” I force myself to stand straight, even if every bone in my fucking body aches.
“Don't be an idiot. What’re you going to do? Bleed on them?” King doesn't look interested in my bullshit.
Too bad, I’ve got a lot of fucking bullshit. “If it was Emily, would you let someone put you on the sick wagon so you can sip tea while you wait for Hero and Wild Child to let you know if she made it? Hypothetically?” I wipe my face with my arm, and the sleeve comes back bloody. Fuck, I got my ass kicked.
For a long moment, he just glares at me, pissed that I'm talking back and pissed that I'm right. He'd never fucking stay back if it was his woman. “Fine, but Bull and Diesel are in charge of you. They decide you've had enough, you've had enough. I'm not gonna risk the whole crew on you being a weak link, got it?”
Some day when Eagle-eye finally decides to step down, King's gonna be a strong president. “Got it.”
“Here.” Diesel hands me my gun. “Kept this for you.” Just another reason why he’s one of my best friends.
I wince as I swing my leg up and haul myself onto the back of Bull's bike. I need to set my fucking nose, but if I pass out now, King's definitely sending me home. Shit's gonna have to wait.
“The road splits up ahead.” Diesel looks up from his GPS. “And there's a highway ramp. They could've gone anywhere.”
King pulls out his phone. “Guess Snark's day isn’t quite over.”
31
RORY
The SUV pulls upin front of a nondescript building in an office park on the edge of town. We pull around the back into a courtyard where we park. A solid set of stairs lead up to an entrance with a plain-lettered sign lit from below. Logistics Center, U.S. Navy. What the heck are we doing at a military facility? The other SUVs from earlier arrive right after us and pull in on either side, spilling out their suited enforcers. A couple of them take up positions outside the entrance, but most wait, watching us.
The lead henchman gets out and opens my door. His smile is slimy. “Welcome.”
I don't bother to answer him, just grab my bag and step out. I'd love to make a run for it, but I don't fancy my chances. I'm sure this guy's faster than me, and even if he isn't, his men probably are. I'd never even make it out of the courtyard.
One of his men opens the front door, and nods as I'm led in, followed by the enforcers.
Immediately inside is a little hall with a reception desk. And on the floor next to it, lie two men and a woman in uniform. Oh God, are they dead? I try to calm myself, because I can't panic now, but this is worse than I expected. If they're not afraid of killing actual soldiers, then there's very little that they'll stop at. How did they even get the jump on them?
Maybe just through numbers. In here, there are several more armed men. Whoever set this up has deep pockets.
“This way, Ms. Whittaker.” The lead henchman waves for me to follow him to the elevator, and then two more fall in behind me. If I'd hoped to play on their complacency, that hope is immediately dashed. The elevator climb is almost surreal, like we’re just commuting to the same office. The ding is so loud I jump. My nerves are so shot.
The elevator spits us out into a featureless hallway. Gray floors, light gray walls, each door down the central corridor completely unmarked, except for a little plaque on the wall next to it, indicating the department. Filing. Accounting. Data Records. They all sound the same to me, and they're all closed. What a dreary place to work.
We stop next to a door labeled Operations, and the man at the lead opens it.
“Leon, you made it,” exclaims a vaguely familiar voice. “Welcome, Florence! I have to say, this would’ve gone much more easily if you’d’ve just come in for an interview.” None other than Mary Haney walks towards me from around a corner, dressed in a navy suit.
I shrug. “Sorry, I’ve been meaning to get back to you, but you know. Busy.”
Her henchmen move out of the way as she passes. Combined with the ones downstairs, she's brought a small army. “Of course. I understand. There’s always something, isn’t there? So sorry about your poor security guard, what was his name? Jason?”
“Mason.”
“Right, of course, but if you want loyalty, you might want to remind your father to at least do yearly cost of living increases. The poor guy had two kids to put through college and a crippling gambling addiction.” She shakes her head sadly. “Your father is really such an unpleasant man, isn’t he? Having you serve us on the plane just to build his own ego. You can do better.”
“Working for you?”
“It’s one option.”
“Where is he?” The office has several computer terminals and wraps around a corner, but no sign of Dad, at least not yet. He has to be nearby. Please let him be okay. My mind flashes to those soldiers by the entrance. How did it only now occur to me that she might've killed him?
“Worried? Don’t be. He’s safe and sound. Quite angry at you, though. And me, but I’m not flesh and blood.”
