Free War-N-Wit, Inc. - The Coven (War-N-Wit, Inc. - Book 3) by Gail Roughton Page B

that hurts !” Spike exclaimed, holding his head.
    “What’d he hit you with?”
    “Beer bottle. Out of the blue. Musta gone out like a light, never saw the rest of the fighting start. He knew that’d do it. Fights break out every five minutes somewhere or other, nobody’d give it a minute’s thought. And now that I’m focusing a little bit more here— what in the hell are you two doing here? We told you to stay at the hotel! Where you’d be safe!”
    “We very seldom do as we’re told,” Stacy said. “Either of us. Especially me. Is that a problem?”
    “I’ll work around it.”
    Toenail Granny returned with our drinks. Our not terribly large drinks. “That’ll be fifteen bucks.” Welcome to Bike Week. Spike handed over a twenty.
    “You need change?”
    “No, ma’am, have a great day.”
    “Don’t guess you need any connections, not with the lookers you sittin’ with, but they don’t treat you right, come back and see me. I’ll hook you up.”
    Granny moved to new customers. And I moved back into darkness.
     
    * * *
     
    Highway 47. Mile Marker 16.
    “ You’re surrounded! Hands in the air! ”
    “ Sonofabitch! What the fuck?! Break! Break! ”
    Cycles spun and swerved and gunned. Riders tore off into the darkness. Some made it, some didn’t. Metal screeched as bikes hit dirt. Sound of gunshots. Shrieking sirens. And faintly in the distance, the roaring engines of the bikes that made it out.
    The Alabama Snowman hung back from the escaping pack, falling behind. When the last rider in his sightline rounded a curve , he pulled over to the side, punching viciously at the keypad of that dinosaur of a cell phone.
    “What the fuck ?! Are you guys completely insane? That wasn’t a take-down , at least half of ‘em are on the road! Best guess is the third safehouse. ”
    He shoved the phone back into his jacket and tore off into the night.
    Rush of wind. Light drizzle of rain. Another warehouse. Where, I didn’t know. Not the same one. Sanctuary. Safehouse. But not for the Snowman.
    The biggest rider—the Prez? Ripped his helmet off and slammed it down on the concrete floor.
    “Set up! Fucking set-up! ” The Prez turned. “Snowman? Where the fuck you disappear to all the time?”
    A hand flashed. The Snowman’s t-shirt ripped downward from the neck, bringing the zipper of the leather jacket with it.
    “ Wired! You’re fuckin’ wired , you bastard!”

 
    Chapter Ten
     
     
     
    “Ariel! Earth to Ariel! Where the hell’d you go, honey?”
    Spike shook my arm and Stacy reached over to stop him.
    “Been happenin’ all afternoon. Flashbacks. Not hers, Chad’s.”
    “Not Chad’s either,” I protested. “The Alabama Snowman’s. Haven’t seen you in ‘em yet, but I know you were involved. How?”
    “Wasn’t really involved. I just— helped end it.”
    “You wanta explain that?”
    “Nope. Not really.”
    “Didn’t think so. So what happened after the—Prez? Is that what they call it? Fingered the Snowman?”
    “Flashbacks that good, are they?”
    “They’re makin’ progress, yeah. Just not quick enough. So fill me in.” But he didn’t have to. The damn flashbacks, once started, had a time-table of their own, accelerating with light speed.
     
    * * *
     
    The Prez whipped out his own dinosaur of a cell-phone.
    “Snowman’s a plant. Put the word on the street.”
    Wail of sirens. Blare of loudspeakers. Most telling of all, the click of automatic weapons at the ready that sounded from the shadows. From the inside shadows.
    ‘ Best guess is the third safehouse.’ Good guess, Snowman.
    “You’re surrounded! Come out with your hands up!”
    The Prez looked at Snowman with reptilian eyes. “Judas.”
    One of the armed agents laughed as he stepped forward out of the line. “Wow, I’m impressed, douche bag, you know your Bible.”
    The Snowman’s right hook flashed out and the agent hit the floor.
    “You stupid sonofabitch!”
    “What the hell? Your cover was blown,