Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
****
Dirty pulled up against the side of the truck.
This was a second truck that had been intercepted. The club knew what this meant, and now their suspicions were confirmed. The drivers were not seen. They didn’t work the club, but as development on the old Evil Fuckers MC land had commenced, there had been trouble along the way.
First, a notice to cease building, which required them to get a lawyer involved, and that began to raise suspicion. Then, workers started to quit. The building materials started to go missing, or in this case didn’t turn up.
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Warden. It took a couple of rings for his Prez to accept the call.
“We’ve got another one,” he said.
“Fuck!” Warden screamed.
In the background, he heard something smash. It sounded like a picture of an ornament, and knowing Warden, it could be both.
“Evil Fuckers MC are back,” Warden said.
They all knew the day would come, and like cowardly bastards, they were doing it in secret, hiding away, and that was pissing them all off. The club had the money to complete the project, but there would come a time when that money would run short if these problems kept happening.
Their enemies were easier to hunt when they knew how to find them. Whoever was leading them, they didn’t mind not making an entrance. Daemon liked everyone to know who the Evil Fuckers MC were and who was leading them. He was no coward. Deamon had looked death in the face and laughed.
Dirty didn’t like this. They could be anywhere, anyone, and anything. He glanced around, his hand poised on his gun, waiting. He didn’t even know if he was being watched right now.
“The driver?”
“Not here,” Dirty said.
“They’re going to turn up.”
“Yeah, and we all know they’ll be in body bags.”
“I’m on my way. Don’t touch anything,” Warden said.
Dirty hung up his cell phone and walked around the truck. There was nothing there. The driver’s door had been opened, and even the radio and the mechanics inside had been stolen.
It was like an innocent car theft, but Dirty’s gut was saying it was anything but. Keeping close to the truck, he looked out, trying to see if there was any place for anyone to hide, and it was a stretch of road, open for the eye to see. No one was around.
He kept his gun in his hand and didn’t have to wait long for Colt, Warden, and Crow to arrive. All three joined him as they looked over the truck. Warden didn’t touch anything. None of them did, just in case the Evil Fuckers MC were playing a game.
“What do you want to do?” Colt asked.
“I’m going to talk to the supplier. Ask if their drivers have been in touch, and while we wait, I want you and three others to go and ride them out to the job. I want every single—”
He was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone.
Dirty looked toward Colt.
Warden frowned. They all knew it was the ringtone for his wife, Kim. There was one occasion, years ago, where Kim had been trying to get in touch with him. Anyway, Warden had ignored the call, and it had awakened a mean streak in Kim.
Dirty hadn’t been there for the falling out, but his bike was trashed as she took a baseball bat to it. To make sure it didn’t happen again, Warden put her number with a different ringtone. He never missed her call again.
“Babe, I’m busy right—” Warden paused. “What? When? Fine, I’ll be right there.” He hung up his cell phone.
“What is it?” Colt asked.
“The Evil Fuckers MC land has just been taken by the cops. Two dead bodies have been found on that land.”
“Shit,” Colt said.
“Let me guess, the two drivers who are supposed to be delivering our stuff?” Dirty asked.
“Yeah.”
“We’ve got security footage on that land,” Crow said. “Do they even know that?”
Warden clicked his fingers. “You and Colt, go check the security footage in the past twenty-four hours. Crow, you’re with me.”
Dirty made his way back to his bike. The security detail for the Evil Fuckers MC land was not at the clubhouse, but at their warehouses, manned by one of their best computer experts. Fritz was a red-haired, very skinny, twenty-nine-year-old, who had been trying to get into the clubhouse for the past eleven years. It didn’t matter how much food the kid ate, or the weights he tried to pull, he couldn’t put on any weight nor any muscle. The truth was, the kid was a bit of a disaster. He couldn’t fight, and sparring with him was deadly. The man was a klutz. He also couldn’t shoot.
When he was handed a gun for fun and target practice, Dirty didn’t know how it happened, but he somehow managed to shoot Rooster in the ass.