Thrill Ride (Black Knights Inc. #4)(51)
“Save it,” Boss interjected. “Here they come.”
And, sure enough, when Bill leaned past Boss to glance out the driver’s side window, he spotted Rock and Vanessa barreling toward them on a loud, rusty dirt bike. And, even at a distance, it was easy to see they’d been through hell. From what he could make out, Vanessa’s hair was a wild rat’s nest, and Rock looked like he’d taken a bath in mud, the tattoos on the guy’s bare arms nearly obscured. The only clean part on the Cajun appeared to be his face, and that was fixed with grim determination.
No doubt Rock didn’t like being here in the middle of the city. And Bill couldn’t blame the guy, considering the entire free world was out for his hide. Thumbing off his phone, Bill tucked it back in his hip pocket—he’d have to make that call to his sister a little later, because right now they had to get this party started—and opened the passenger door.
Hopping out, he gave a hand signal to Ghost and Steady parked in the pickup truck behind them before climbing into the bed of the first truck. Once Steady mimicked his maneuver, Bill slapped on the back window, alerting Boss they were ready to go.
And go they did.
Boss hit the gas, shooting through the cross traffic and slamming into the park where Rock had stopped the dirt bike. Steady and Ghost were hot on their back bumper until they crossed the street, then they pulled even and Bill, hanging on to the lip of the truck bed for all he was worth lest he find himself bounced right out, glanced across at the other vehicle to see Steady grinning gleefully. Because he was happy to be seconds away from having Rock back among their ranks, or because the crazy sonofabitch loved it when things got fast and dangerous? Bill didn’t know. Figured it was probably a little of both.
And, then, in a move straight out of the Operators’ Tactical Driving Handbook—if there wasn’t such a thing, there should be—both trucks sandwiched the motorcycle between them, pointing their front ends toward each other to form a V before rocking to stop.
Dust swirled up around them in a brown cloud, and Bill took that to be his cue. He stood up in the bed, his hand on the butt of the pistol tucked in his pants. Not like he’d use it, of course. But there was nothing wrong with a little showmanship.
“Hello, Rock,” he said as the dust—it smelled dry and tasted acrid on his tongue—began to settle. “We’ve missed you, man.”
Rock’s face contorted with betrayal as he glanced over his shoulder at Vanessa. “Get off the bike,” he enunciated slowly, concisely, his deep voice clearly legible even over the growl of the three vehicles’ engines. And it was a good thing Vanessa wasn’t fragile, because that tone, not to mention the I’ll-never-forgive-you-for-this look plastered all over Rock’s face, was enough to shatter the backbone of a lesser woman.
“Rock, I—” Vanessa began, but Rock cut her off when he roared, “Get off the f*ckin’ bike, Vanessa!”
She hopped off the rusty motorcycle like it suddenly grew teeth and bit her in the ass, plastering herself up against the bed of Bill’s truck. And then Rock did what they all assumed he would. He torqued the throttle, spun the bike in a tight one-eighty, and took off, head low between the handlebars. Which is when Bill and Steady jumped into action.
Jump being the operative word.
They both planted a foot on the side of their respective truck beds and launched themselves at Rock, yanking the guy backward as the dirt bike shot out from beneath him. From the corner of his eye as the three of them hit the ground in a tangle of arms and legs, Bill saw the motorcycle careen a short distance before slamming into the base of a big tree and toppling to its side.
Sonofabitch! He grunted as Rock managed to land an elbow to the bridge of his nose.
“Get off me!” Rock howled as Bill and Steady worked to gain the upper hand. “You don’t know what you’re gettin’ involved in!”
“We’re getting involved in saving your goddamned life, you crazy, Cajun sonofabitch!” Bill growled just as Rock managed to snake an arm free and clock Steady in the jaw.
“Pendejo!” Steady cursed, wrestling to get Rock’s arms secure.
It wasn’t working. The slippery bastard managed to break every hold they momentarily got on him and, goddamnit, they were losing him!
“Little help here!” Bill yelled, ragged breaths sawing from his lungs, pulse pounding in his temples due to the mighty struggle. He was relieved when Ghost sprinted around the back of one truck to lend a hand. And it was un-freakin’-believable, but it took all three of them to subdue Rock. Even then, it was still one hell of a fight.
Bill managed to scramble on top of the bucking man, pressing a knee between Rock’s shoulder blades as Ghost struggled to keep Rock’s hands behind his back. Steady whipped out a couple of zip ties and, in a flash, secured the Cajun’s wrists.
“Don’t do this,” Rock begged, heaving, trying to unseat Bill and doing a pretty good job of it. The guy was whip thin, with the physique of an Olympic swimmer, but his appearance was deceiving. Because the ragin’ Cajun was strong as an ox. “You’ll all wind up puttin’ your fool heads in the middle of someone’s crosshairs! Don’t do it! It’s not worth it!” His voice broke, and everything in Bill stilled. Breath, blood, thoughts. Just…full stop. Because, was Rock actually…? “It’s not worth it!” Rock choked again, his voice sounding like he’d sent his vocal chords through a meat grinder.