Page 38 of Ghost

Cipher shifted his hands over the keyboard without looking up. “Go. We’ve got shit from here.”

“Good,” I murmured, brushing my knuckles beneath Tamsin’s jaw. “Keep her behind the walls.”

“I’m sitting right here,” she reminded me.

“I know exactly where you are.”

“And you come back,” she added, catching my wrist before I could lower my hand.

“Planning on it,” I assured her, letting my thumb pass once more across her cheek before stepping away.

She held my gaze for another beat, then turned back to the screens with the same concentration she brought to a firing line. Within seconds, she was checking the driver’s location against the approved route and marking the points where a late dispatch change would matter.

The company truck left the warehouse under an ordinary Bellamy schedule. Bikes and club vehicles entered the route from different roads over the next several miles, keeping the escort loose enough that anyone watching the driver would not see us clustered around him.

Nomad rode ahead, checking intersections and blind approaches, while Trigger and Wraith shadowed the truck from staggered positions on their bikes. Hawkeye held back in a discreet truck with Breach, while Stryker and Smoke moved along the parallel road toward Quarry Cut without advertising where they were headed. I rode far enough back to avoid announcing our position but close enough to cover the distance before trouble reached the cargo.

The road narrowed as it left the busier edge of Sable Canyon, cutting between dry hills and scattered ranch properties before reaching the junction leading toward Bellamy’s secondary site. Heat shimmered above the asphalt, and the truck maintained the speed Tamsin had approved. I kept my attention moving between mirrors, driveways, vehicles behind us, and every place a road could be blocked.

Nomad’s voice came through the comm as he cleared the next junction. “Road’s clean through the county split. White work van parked near Quarry Cut, nobody inside.”

“Keep moving,” I ordered. “Don’t let the fuckers know you clocked it.”

“Copy.”

“Warning from Tamsin,” Cipher reported through my earpiece as the truck approached the last major intersection. “Bellamy dispatch just posted a route change to Quarry Cut. She says it’s bullshit. Entered after departure, no authorization attached.”

“Tell her we have it,” I told him, scanning the intersection ahead.

“Will do.”

“Original route stays,” I ordered, twisting the throttle as the company truck approached the intersection. “Nomad, turn your ass around. Trigger, Wraith, tighten on the truck. Hawkeye, close the rear.”

The company driver acknowledged through the club phone we had placed in his cab, then held his line instead of signaling toward the turn. The attempted redirect confirmed somebody with current access to Bellamy’s system was feeding the outside crew live information.

A dark pickup shot out of Quarry Cut before the truck reached the intersection and swung broadside across both lanes. At the same moment, a black SUV accelerated from behind, closing fast enough to trap the cargo between the two vehicles.

The driver braked hard but kept the truck straight, stopping with room between his grille and the pickup rather than jackknifing toward the shoulder. The pickup’s driver door flew open before the tires stopped smoking, while the man behind the SUV’s wheel leaned through his window with a pistol.

“Move,” I ordered into the comm as I twisted the throttle.

The Black Crowns closed from every direction. Trigger surged along the driver’s side of the Bellamy truck and planted his bike near the cab, covering the driver while Wraith cut around the front and boxed the pickup against the shoulder. Hawkeye drove the rear truck straight at the SUV, clipping its back quarter hard enough to spin it partly across the road before Smoke and Breach bailed out with weapons drawn.

A man came out of the pickup with a pistol aimed toward the Bellamy cab. I drove onto the gravel, dropped my bike under control, and reached him before he fired. My hand closed around his wrist, slammed it into the steel door, and ripped the weapon away while my other fist buried itself beneath his ribs.

“Down, asshole,” I growled.

The man folded, then came up with a knife from beneath his jacket and enough speed to prove he had used one before. The blade flashed and sliced across the top of my shoulder before I trapped his forearm. The hot sting sharpened the world without slowing anything down, and I slammed my forehead into his face before twisting until something in his wrist gave, then threw him against the damaged front corner of the pickup. He staggered backward when I released him, but he still had enough fight left to lunge again.

The attacker hit the damaged front quarter panel and kicked away, using the impact to wrench himself loose. He grabbed my shirt and tried to throw me into the road, but his leverage failed when I drove an elbow across his jaw. We struck the pickup together, and a jagged strip of metal peeled from the crumpled fender opened my side beneath the ribs.

Pain burned across my skin and soaked warmth under my shirt. I ignored it, caught the man by the back of his neck, and introduced his face to the hood hard enough to take the fight out of him. He sagged against the metal, and Trigger reached us in time to wrench both arms behind his back. The zip tie bit around his wrists while Wraith cleared the pickup and confirmed there was no second man hiding inside.

Behind me, gunfire cracked from the SUV as its driver rammed a club truck blocking the road. Smoke returned two shots into the dirt beside its front tire, forcing the driver to duck, while Breach reached for the door. The bastard slammed into reverse before Breach could drag him out, rammed the truck again, then punched through a rotten fence and dropped onto a rough ranch track with the rear bumper hanging loose.

Two bikes started after him, but I looked toward the Bellamy truck, the armed man near the cab, and the cargo we had used to bring the crew into reach.

“Let him go,” I directed over the comm, watching the vehicle disappear down the access lane. “Nomad, mark the vehicle. We hold this scene.”