“What’s going on?” Rob asked cheerfully as they came to the door.
“Saks and I are going to take off for a while.”
“Oh?” Rob responded. He arched an eyebrow, which reminded Saks of Rob’s brother Gibs. Saks never could get over how much Rob looked like their deceased workmate and club brother. Only when Rob smiled and revealed his chipped front tooth did the illusion fade. Gibs was the best Harley mechanic Saks had ever met, Luke included. Rob was decent, too, but not as much fun to have around as Gibs.
Plus, there was the specter of Rob still working undercover for the FBI. He’d revealed this the day Chrissy left with Pearson.
Luke shrugged. “I’ll call Emily and ask her to watch the desk.”
“Is there something I can help you with?” Rob offered.
“No. This isn’t your thing. Saks, go get the jobs ready for the day. Sort out immediate jobs first, and we’ll push the rest for tomorrow.”
“Sure thing, Luke.”
The shop was always chilly when he entered. The cinder block building stood on a concrete slab which captured the cold of the ground in winter and stored the cold of the air conditioning during the summer. Saks shivered as he sorted through the plastic envelopes on the desk with keys and work orders. He picked four for Rob to work on, then hung them on the pegboard.
Rob stood at the coffee machine, getting it fired up.
“There you go,” Saks said.
Luke came in from the back garage.
“Em will be here in a few minutes.”
“You sure everything is okay?” Rob asked Luke.
“Yeah. Fine. Let’s go, Saks.”
“See you in a few, Rob,” Saks told him.
Rob stared after them as they left, and Saks felt the tension stretch from the undercover agent to them. But Luke, if he noticed, ignored it.
“We’ll take the truck.”
“I can ride,” Saks said stubbornly.
“No. Besides, a truck is more cover in a firefight.”
Saks' chest tightened as he remembered the weapons the Rojos had. Back then they’d lived in a trailer. Now the group lived in a farmhouse on the edge of Westfield.
Luke swung the truck onto the highway, his jaw set.
“We don’t have to do this now.”
“Hell, yes, we do. Those assholes will be still asleep and hungover. I want to strike them at their weakest.”
Within fifteen minutes they drove up the gravel drive of the Rojos’ unkempt farmhouse. The dirtied white paint was peeling off the building, and the grass had grown in thick and untamed. Luke did a three-point turn to make sure the truck was pointing toward the road.
“Come on.” Luke moved to the back of the truck and rummaged through the capped bed until Saks heard the sound of chains. The shop owner pulled out lengths of it and handed one to him.
“Not a gun, but can do damage.”
“Do you really think they’re going to let us in holding these?”
“Hell, no.”
Luke opened the driver’s side door of the truck and leaned on the horn, blasting it repeatedly until there was movement at the window of the farmhouse. The front door creaked open. Pez stood in the doorway, blinking, his long hair an unruly mess on his bare shoulders. He wore no shirt, showing an array of tattoos spread on his chest and arms.