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“I’m not your father,” Rock says in a Darth Vader voice.
“But you wish you were. Don’t lie.” Baja ushers me to the door.
Once we’re out in the hall, I tuck against Baja’s side. “Where’s Rosie?”
“Night Train took her and his dog, Hondo for a walk. The dogs are getting along like they’re in puppy love. But don’t worry, Hondo’s an old pit bull, and he was fixed years ago. Night Train fed Rosie, too, so your dog is in good hands. Night Train loves dogs.”
When we get to the main room, the two dogs are lying on the floor next to a bar stool with a man I haven’t met before, both asleep.
Baja leads me over, and I squat and pet Rosie.
“Elaina, this is Night Train. I don’t think you met the other night.”
The man is older with a grizzled beard, and he’s tall, but he has a sweet smile. He holds his hand out.
“Nice to meet you, Elaina.”
“I hear our dogs are getting along well.”
“They sure are. I’m glad Hondo has a friend for the day. He gets lonely. I’ve been thinking about getting another pup to keep him company.”
Baja bends and scratches Rosie’s ears. “Hey, Night Train. You mind keeping an eye on Rosie today? Isabella wants Elaina to come over for a few hours.”
“Not at all. Be glad to.”
“Thanks, brother.”
We leave the clubhouse in Baja’s pickup and drive about ten miles out of town, when Baja gets a call.
“Yeah, brother. We’re almost there, what do you need? No, I haven’t passed it yet.” Baja squints into the sun. “Sure. I can do that. See you in a few.”
He hangs up and flips his blinker on, slowing the truck as I spot a gas station and diner off to the left.
“Trez wants us to get some margarita mix. Guess you girls are having margaritas with your tacos.”
We turn in by the gas station, and I see there’s a small liquor store to the right. Baja parks at the pump, fills up with a few gallons, then leans in the door. “You need anything?”
“No thanks.”
“Okay. Be back in a minute.” He heads inside, and I scroll through social media. A few minutes later, I hear a couple of ninja bikes fire up at the café on the opposite side of the gas station. They pull in at the pumps behind Baja’s truck. I watch in the side mirror as one of them swipes his card and pumps gas for about thirty seconds, then hangs the nozzle and puts the cap back on his gas tank. He's the only one who takes his helmet off.
One of the other men gestures to the truck, and I straighten, a tingle going up my spine. I hit the button to lock the doors. The next thing I know, they’ve surrounded the pickup, and I can hear them taunting me.
“You a Bastard’s ol’ lady, pretty girl?”
One taps on my glass. “Roll your window down, honey.”
The one who pumped gas appears on the driver’s side and tries the door handle, then slams his hand on the window. “Open the door.”
He’s the only one I can see clearly. He’s young, with a thin face and dark hair.
I lay on the horn until I see Baja running from the store. He reaches inside his black sweat jacket and pulls out a handgun. He darts behind a box truck parked on the other side of the pump. I don’t think the bikers have spotted him.
I stop pressing the horn, and a second later, Baja pops around the pump and puts his gun to the head of the one at the driver’s door.
“Tell your buddies to back the fuck away from my truck, or I’ll blow your head off.”
The other two pull their weapons. There’s not a doubt in my mind they’re completely capable and willing to pull the triggers.
