Riding rough – chapter 10

Heavy counted the minutes while he waited. Anger raged through him, resulting in beads of sweats at his temples and across his forehead. It was her. There was no doubt in his mind that it was Madigan driving the BMW into Sergiev Imports.

‘Damn it,’ he muttered with gritted teeth.

Behind that metal gate and the two ex-Russian military guards, Madigan was meeting with the devil incarnate, Sergiev. Heavy had dealt with numerous warlords and the like in his previous life, but Sergiev still gave him that metal taste of fear in his mouth. He was completely without honor or other redeemable qualities and carried out his autonomous agenda without any scruples or value of human life.

Heavy remembered a prior incident with Sergiev, where one of their stash houses was compromised.

Police sirens filled the air, coming closer every second. The Lost Legion had already retreated, knowing that the police would arrest anyone in proximity, but Heavy stayed close to watch. Truth be told, the anonymous tip to the police originated from the Lost Legion.  

Sergiev ordered two guards to pour gasoline about the ramshackle boarded house. Inside were his own people, weighing and bagging drugs. Sergiev showed no compassion at all. He waited by the porch, lighting a cigarette with a sly grin on his face, before throwing it at the front door.

There was a single moment, where Heavy thought, it hadn’t ignited, but then the flames flushed around the old wood, creating walls of fire. Someone from inside opened the front door and met the wall. Sergiev laughed at the man’s stupidity as he climbed into his waiting car.

The screams from that house still echoed in Heavy’s nightmares. Seven people died in that house in order to prevent them from talking to the police.

Madigan was meeting that Sergiev.

Heavy’s first instinct was to rev out of his surveillance position and stop her, physically place himself and his bike between the smart BMW and the metal gates. From what he knew about Madigan, she would give him hell for even trying to persuade her to step out of harm’s way, but he would do so forcefully if necessary.

Heavy planted his heavy boots in the dust on either side of his ride, flustered of his protective instinct regarding Madigan. Damn, he never felt that way about a piece of tail before. Madigan didn’t belong in the same category as the sweetbutts and civvies he had dipped into previously. Madigan wasn’t just a good, slash that, motherfucking great fuck, she was more. Heavy winced at the realization.

Hell, if he would be pussy-whipped. Heavy checked his watch. She had been in there for 37 minutes now. Anger made a vein in his throat vibrate. Perhaps Madigan was playing him. She was connected to Sergiev and randomly turned up at the Narrow. Heavy replayed the events of that night in his mind’s eye. Madigan had been somewhat safe in the ladies’ bathroom when the shooting started. She ventured out into the hallway. Perhaps, it was her plan to leave with the shooters.

Heavy felt rage churn to a growl, but kept it down. Nothing about Madigan had set off his inner bullshit detector, not that night nor since. Not until this moment, where he was surveying the Sergiev impound, considering tactics and scenarios for a Lost Legion assault.

Even with his rage roaring in his ears, calling him to immediate action, Heavy steadied himself. Acting on his emotions and without an enforceable plan with extradition was a kamikaze trip. Whether or not Madigan played to Sergiev’s fiddle, Heavy needed to get the facts straight before hatching an executable plan.

The metal gates screeched open and Madigan’s BMW sped out of the lot. Heavy noted at a glance that she had been inside for 1 hour and 4 minutes and now, she was literally driving as a bat out of hell. Heavy wondered, if she was driving scared or simply gaining distance to cover her tracks. He released the throttle and followed her all the way back to downtown, where she swung into the underground garage at Allister Consolidated.


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