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I blew out a low breath. Bigger club, bigger problems. Shoulda known this might happen.
“Is this connected to the guns, then?” asked Angel, eyeing Tice.
I had known the Coyote for years. Before he became a prospect to our club, he was up and down the border, knowing the desert like it was the back of his hand. He had passed a lot of shit through, keeping an eye on any underground ops from a distance.
That, though, was before he showed up to Bou’s shop with a fuck ton of guns.
“What about the driver?” Angel asked.
Coyote answered, “Didn’t say much until I had him at the end of my own barrel.”
Angel pursed his lips, nodding. “Risky play, man.”
Coyote sloughed it off. “He was only the mule.”
“So”—Wilde stopped his pacing—“he cooperated?”
“Yup. Said he was running a shipment from Vegas to Puerto Peñasco in Sonora, Mexico, to be sold to the Jalisco Cartel.”
“And you just took the shipment and let the mule run free?” asked Angel, voice like a rumble of thunder. “Right back to whoever’s his puppet master?”
No reason to get up Coyote’s ass.
I opened my mouth to say something, but Wilde eyed Celt and cut in, “Have we seen anything like this before?”
Celt shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard of.”
Coyote, an eager kid though probably working his way toward thirty, rocked up on the balls of his feet and back. Anyone could be nervous in this group, but Celt and I trusted him for the work he had done at the border. Hell, he was the one who waved me through when Wilde and I brought back Wilde’s pissant of a father.
I saved him from having to explain more. “I’ll confirm too. No one has run shit like this across our border before. Coyote...” I jutted my chin toward the door.
He ducked his head, defeated, and left. He still wasn’t patched, so while we decided what to do about it, he needed to go.
“Coyote,” Wilde called before he exited. “Good job. Don’t take off. We’ll need your help in a few.”
Coyote nodded and left us.
“We need to be policing up and down highway 95,” said Celt, “especially if we have the Mafia and cartels bringing shit like that through our territory.” Celt turned to Wilde. “Do I have to ask if you’re in?”
“You know we’re here to stay,” said Wilde. “We did the thing up at Red Rock. Every patched member here and in LA wears the same goddamn letters.”
“Here-here,” Jackyl agreed.
“Nothing says we can’t use the guns,” Angel suggested.
Celt arched an eyebrow at Wilde.
Prez gave a decisive bob of his head. “Everyone, help load theguns into the shed out back, and Angel, you send word to LA.”
Jackyl and Hammer stood and shoved their chairs under the table, and Bou started for the back door where the car waited.
Wilde grabbed her wrist. “You should rest.”
Smiling, she leaned in and kissed him on the corner of the mouth. “Not a chance. I get first pick.”
Resigned to her ways—the way we all were—Wilde shook his head and let her go. “I’ll work with Cook on a plan.”
The three walked outside and the screen door slapped against the jamb several times.
