Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“The delivery driver was Terrence from Witherbys. We’ve been using them for years, and he’s been driving in and out of our compound for just as long. We know him. That’s why he had clearance,” Shooter says.
“So how the fuck did he end up driving a bomb into our clubhouse?”
“We went to his home, one of those one-room shit boxes near the abandoned railway lines. The guy was living paycheck to paycheck but had a thick wad of Ben Franklins stuffed into a hole in the couch.”
“The Inferno got to him,” Ares adds. “We also found a couple of baggies of Inferno meth stashed into the cushions.”
“A fucking payoff,” Jack mutters. His jaw ticks with irritation as he looks away, cupping the back of his neck with his hands as he thinks. I can see the emotion simmering beneath the look of fury on his face. Bronte almost died because he didn’t see the payoff coming, and it’s silently crushing him inside. He swings back to us. “No one comes into the clubhouse or the hangar unless they’re a King or an old lady, you got it?”
Normally, Jack and the committee of the Originals would vote on a lockdown at the clubhouse. But in this instance, the families have been moved to one of the aircraft hangars we use to dry and store our cannabis crops. It’s empty and big enough to keep everyone safe until the threat has passed.
More importantly, the Inferno doesn’t know about it.
No one does.
Years ago, this kind of lockdown plan was created if ever the sanctity of the clubhouse was compromised or breached. In almost forty years of the Tennessee Chapter’s existence, this is the first time it’s ever been executed.
The elevator doors open, and Sheriff Pinkwater appears.
Before he gets a chance to say anything, Jack points at him. “Max Stonecypher did this. So you need to find that motherfucker before I do because I’m going to kill him.”
Pinkwater has known Jack since elementary school and isn’t intimidated by him.
“Already ahead of you, Jack. That’s why I’m here. Max Stonecypher is in a cell down at the sheriff’s office.”
By the look on all our faces, we’re all surprised. Except Jack. His expression hasn’t changed from the murderous fury he’s worn since the explosion.
“Max is in custody?” Shooter asks.
Pinkwater nods. “Picked him up an hour ago eating a baloney sandwich at the diner on Main Street.”
We all thought the chances of finding Max were almost nonexistent. For someone who has managed to evade his rivals and every law enforcement agency in the country for the last couple of decades, finding him so easily is suspicious at best.
“It’s like he was waiting for us,” Pinkwater says.
“Because he was,” Jack says.
“You’re saying he wanted to get arrested?” Shooter asks.
“Yes, and I want to know why.” He turns to Pinkwater. “I want to see him.”
“That’s why I’m here.” He gives Jack a grim look. “He wants to see you too.”
I advise Jack against it because I know Max only wants to see him so he can bask in the aftermath of his dirty work.
By now, he’ll know about Bronte, and he wants to see Jack’s pain for himself.
However, trying to stop Jack from visiting Max in jail is like trying to stop a wave of seawater with your bare hands. Fucking impossible. So I insist on going with him.
“He’s playing games,” I warn Jack as we walk toward the steps leading into the sheriff’s office.
“Let him. The only motives I care about are my own.”
“Which are?”
“To look him in the eye and let him know I’m going to kill him.”
“Seeing you in this stage of anger is only going to fuel his amusement, you know that.”
Jack stops walking because he knows I’m right. “I don’t have any intention of letting him see any-fucking-thing. I’ll be as cool as a fucking cucumber.”
My phone vibrates with a message from Lily. She’s heading over to the hospital with the prospect Jack ordered to stand outside Bronte’s door in his absence.
“Lily is going to visit with Bronte.”
Jack walks off, and as I follow him up the steps and inside the building, it suddenly occurs to me that he blames Lily for Bronte getting hurt.
“You can’t blame Lily for this.”
He stops walking again. “Blame her? I don’t blame her. She saved my son’s life. No, what happened to Bronte is on me.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t look for blame. Max did what he did because he’s a psychopath.”
In a rare moment, Jack lets down his guard. “I didn’t see it coming. I thought we had every base covered.”
“Yeah, but you forget one thing.”
“What?”
“We’re at war, and no one ever wins every battle in a war.”
The muscles in his jaw tick. He’s eaten up inside with guilt, and if he doesn’t get a check on it, he’ll find himself in a world of pain.