Page 52 of Ride or Die

“Fucker never got to wherever he was supposed to get to,” he utters, watching the scene unfold. “These assholes were tryin’ to put the blame on Boss.”

I narrow my eyes, looking harder, and that’s when it hits me. The guy getting his ass handed to him by Austin, the one clinging on to the last thread of his life, is the guy who was driving the truck the other day, went by the name Rojas, if I’m not mistaken.

“Where’s the fuckin’ product?” a mountain of a man roars, stepping out of the circle and shoving Austin out of the way.

“I told ya, I don’t know nothin’!” Rojas groans.

The man-mountain looks up at someone in the circle, waving a hand. Another guy steps out, a big fuckin’ knife held in his grip. He walks around the back of the chair, grabbing a fistful of Rojas’s hair and tugging his head back, holding the blade to his throat.

“Where’s… the goddamn product?” the first guy yells as the metal cuts in deep enough to draw blood.

Rojas kicks his feet, his words garbled, combined with panting whimpers and harsh breaths.

I shift on my feet, averting my eyes. I’ve seen a lot in my time; don’t mean it gets easier.

“One more chance, motherfucker,” he yells. “Where’s the fuckin’ product?”

Rojas garbles again, only this time he coughs and splutters, and when I force myself to look, I can’t help but wince as chunks of vomit spew out of his mouth, causing him to choke.

“I think he said something!” someone yells, rushing in and clearing Rojas’s airway.

“Fuckin’ sick fuck,” the first guy utters on a grimace, brushing something off his front.

“What’d you say, motherfucker?” the second guy shouts, smacking Rojas’s face hard.

Rojas cries out, his words all strung together in a jumbled mess of sounds that don’t make no sense, the two men leaning closer to hear him.

The man-mountain glances at the one holding the knife and shakes his head. The blade cuts deeper and Rojas screams as more blood seeps out, drenching his already bloodied shirt.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ die anyway, asshole,” the first man utters, less than an inch from Rojas’s face. “Tell us, or your fuckin’ lady gets it too.”

I shift again on my feet, looking down at that because I know these guys are not to be messed with.

“Patch!” Rojas chokes out.

“Huh?” The man-mountain leans in closer.

“At the patch,” Rojas hisses.

Both men step away, looking to someone else in the circle, Rojas breathing a little easier without the blade pressed to his jugular. But then, without warning, the second guy draws his gun, aims it at the back of Rojas’s head and pulls the trigger.

Less than a second later, two men are moving in and untying Rojas’s lifeless body, carrying him outside, all while my ears are still ringing from the gunshot.

I glance sideways to find Cruz still just standing there, an unreadable look on his face. Turning, I follow Webber over to where Austin is talking to Elias, the boss of Texas’ most dangerous underworld organization, the one everyone calls Butch, short for the Butcher on account of his company owning the biggest slaughterhouse in operation in the panhandle.

“We gotta get on the road,” Butch says gruffly. “If the load’s at the patch, then it ain’t safe.”

“I’ll drive down tonight.” The man-mountain steps forward, wiping his bloodied hands on a rag, nodding at Austin and Butch. “I can take Cyrus with me.”

“No,” Butch objects, and suddenly his shrewd eyes are on me, a knowing smirk curling his lips that causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. “Cole can drive down with you.”

I blanch, but before I can say anything, Austin steps in. “You don’t need none of my men.”

“Cole owes me,” is all Butch says, eyes narrowing, smirk lingering. “Ain’t that right, Cole?”

I grit my teeth so fuckin’ hard my jaw hurts.

“Fuck’s sake…” Austin mutters, and from my periphery I see him shake his head.