Page 42 of Huge Dynamite
Holding up her hands, she laughs. “I’m afraid this is also where we have the after party. The catering will also be done by yours truly.” She bows. “But we’ll have boxed cookies, and I make a mean fruit punch.” Stepping toward him, she grabs the lapel of his jacket and leans forward. “Of course, Colt, if you want to spike the punch in our paper cups, I won’t tell.” Winking at him, she lets go of his jacket. Looking at us both, she adds, “I’m sorry the tutoring was canceled and no one told you. It’s time for me to go back to work. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to carry some heavy paint cans up from storage.” She turns to walk away and then looking back over her shoulder, she adds, “It was nice to meet you both.”
“Uh, wait.” Yanking off his jacket, Colt tosses it on a chair. “I can help you with that. The heavy paint cans, I mean.”
“Wow.” She stares at him wide-eyed.
Looking at Colt, I try to see what she sees—he has arm muscles bulging out of his T-shirt sleeves for sure, but he’s scrawny compared to me. Walking up next to her, however, he looks like a friggin’ bodybuilder.
Blink!Glancing at my cell, I read a text from Bullet.
The guys at the construction company say they can’t break ground. Materials issue.
What the fuck?
“You sure you have time to help?” Erica smiles at Colt as they walk away.
“Colt?” I call after him.
“Yeah?” Turning back to face me, I can hear the annoyance in his voice.
“I need to head back to Hoppa. You all set?”
Putting up his hand and waving me off, he rushes up to Erica. Walking off together, she looks up at him and smiles. Good. I’m happy for him… I think. She’s cute and seems sweet and determined, but I can’t help but feel something is off about her. Nah. Shaking my head, I let that go. I’ve been thinking that of everything and everyone since Holly and I split. But there is one thing that is off for sure—there is no fucking “materials issue” on my watch. No way. I handled that negotiation and ran all the numbers myself. Everyone was happy.
Quickly, as I walk out the cafetorium door, I type back,WTF? We’re set to go. What materials?
The text comes back:Concrete.
Concrete. That has “Dog” written all over it. I can smell them from here. Shit. This is going to be bad. The tension has been heightened between us ever since that surprise attack on our turf—when they came crashing in, colors blazing, to pick a fight. Even though they outnumbered us, they lost, mostly because we had Tess and that fighting machine, CJ, on our side. That night, the Dogs learned that even though we’re not an outlaw group like they are, we’re not to be fucked with.
Then, just a few months back, when Clyde brought that warning to Bullseye, we knew we had to be on alert, but now, things are really bad. Since Colt was slashed with a knife by one of them on our turf, they know we have to retaliate—and we will—but on our terms and in our way. That’s what they’re afraid of. But, by forcing our hand by stopping our build, they think they have control. We have to confront themandwalk into their trap. That’s a win-win for them. Thing is, they can’t force us out of the new property because it’s not Dog turf. Which means there has to be a fight.
Shit. All of this makes me think of Holly that night at the hospital and the poor business owners who were brought in—nearly beaten to death—by the Dogs who attacked their businesses because they were unknowingly running product for the Vipers on Dog turf. Yeah, a couple of them were in with the Vipers, but a bunch of the people who were hurt that night were civilians. The freaking Dogs don’t care. They have no moral code or laws they follow—if you’re in their way, they do whatever the hell they want with you. Christ, I feel bad for anyone who lives or works on Dog turf.
Making my way to my bike, I focus on the text Bullet sent. Concrete. Concrete is a union job—and this particular union is connected, which means…
Fuck. Are the Dogs playing in the big leagues now?
It was one thing when they were only connected on their own turf and in Rumble, their town. Yeah, Rumble is bigger than Hoppa, and the Dogs do work with some organized crime members to control the builds in Rumble, where they pretty much own everyone and everything. But if those damned Dogs think they can put their filthy paws on areas outside Rumble—whether it’s our territory or an unclaimed zone—well, shit—there’ll be no stopping them. They will just grow and grow, feeding off of everyone in their way. With organized crime backing them, nothing will be able to stop the Dogs from claiming all the open territories between here and Phoenix and beyond—and taking anything they want that’s there when they arrive.
Like Holly.
Mounting my bike, I rub away the uneasy feeling in my gut. Holly’s hospital is in unclaimed territory between here and Phoenix, and the damned Dogs have already seen me with her.
Christ. Just by knowing me, I have put her into serious danger when all I wanted to do was protect her. Fucking Dynamite. Why do I always act before I think?
No, Holly is safe at the hospital. Hospitals are always autonomous, and there’s no way the Dogs would be able to claim a hospital. Good. She’ll be safe at the hospital and in her apartment in Phoenix. One small, crap bunch of bikers wouldn’t be able to rule Phoenix, not without serious backup and support from connections way bigger than they have access to.
Bullseye, on the other hand, may be able to get those connections—so Phoenix is clear.
That’s something. But it doesn’t stop the Dogs from expanding onto other turfs. Only we can do that. Now, thanks at least in part to my impulsivity—being spotted by a Dog at the hospital and then fighting with the Dogs outside our clubhouse and buying cement from a connection they’ve been working—the only way to protect Holly and stop the damned Dogs is going to be all out war.
Chapter Eleven
Holly
“Hey, baby!”
Catcalls and whistles become my theme music as I walk down the old street in Greenville, just outside of Hoppa. How ironic that it’s named “Greenville” when there’s not a patch of grass anywhere. Looking around, I feel like I’m trapped on the set of an old musical where all the buildings are red and yellow and clotheslines hang from building to building. There’s a convenience store on one side of the street and a fruit stand on the other. The street is clean, and I smile at the few row houses that have potted plants and flowers before them.
