Page 73 of Blackbeard
And we were one step closer to the end of our marriage.
Chapter seventeen
Blackbeard
I stared at the long stretch of dark highway, fighting the restless twist of my stomach. In the distance, the mountains were silhouetted in a dark ridge against the midnight sky, dusted with stars. I adjusted my grip on the handlebars of my bike, waiting on the side of the road for our cue.
“They should have been here by now,” Baby Doll muttered next to me.
I said nothing, my teeth clenched so tight that my jaw ached.
An hour ago, I slipped out of bed quietly so I didn’t wake Leigh. After getting dressed and tucking my pistol into the back of my waistband, I paused at the foot of the bed and gazed down at her. Then I braced one hand on the mattress and leaned over, kissing her forehead lightly.
Do you love me?
I don’t know how.
I had been blind once, to a woman who used me, then tossed me aside. Leigh was in a prime position to do that. Our marriagecertainly hadn’t been founded on anything remotely resembling love.
But I could have sworn I saw it in her eyes, and felt it in her pulse, racing beneath my fingertips when I fucked up into her.
The rumble of engines echoed in the dark. A moment later, a single motorcycle headlight flickered on and off again, three times, signaling the Forsaken had arrived with the gun shipment in tow.
“Show time,” I said, kickstarting my bike.
A moment later, the Forsaken went flying by, flanking a large, unmarked utility truck. We didn’t know the route we were taking, or the delivery location. Popeye didn’t deem it necessary to share pesky little details like that. He was the frontrunner for this gig, and the rest of us were allowed to tag along on a need-to-know basis.
All we could do was fall into line behind the Forsaken and trail after them like goddamn puppies instead of grown men.
Brightwater was quiet as the grave as we rode through town. The Cattleyard Diner still had the lights on, with a handful of late night customers hunched over coffee or a plate of greasy comfort food. Our clubhouse was closed and dark—an unusual sight for a Saturday night—but other bars in town were busy, with full parking lots and blasting music.
Baby Doll pulled up beside me, gesturing to get my attention. She pointed.
It took me a second to see what she was indicating. Then I spotted the cop car, hidden so well beneath an old, sprawling oak tree that it was nearly invisible.
We were halfway through town by now. Popeye hadn’t specified whether the weapons would be dropped off here, or somewhere else in Montana. This ride felt like it had lasted a lifetime already, even though it had been only minutes so far.
Baby Doll gave a sharp whistle and pointed again.
Two more cop cars, parked at the gas station. Could be innocuous enough, I reasoned. Maybe they were on break.
At the edge of town, a thick stand of pine trees blocked out the moon and plunged us into the dark. Popeye veered hard to the right, disappearing onto a narrow dirt road. The Forsaken followed suit, zipping after him.
But the truck barreled forward as if nothing had happened.
It was too late to follow the Forsaken, now that we'd passed that narrow road. And if we left the truck, we wouldn't get our payout…
Then it hit me.
The Forsaken had abandoned us. They screwed us over. We had to get out before—
Blinding white light flooded the night. The shriek of police sirens pierced my eardrums.
Cops swarmed out of the woods. Dozens of them, dressed in tactical gear—helmets, shields, and armored uniforms.
A deafening pop was followed by a hiss. My front tire wobbled and my bike careened wildly.
Shit, they shot my tire out—
