Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
“Good call. Lay low for another day or two,” Blowback tells him.
“Will do.”
When Blowback disconnects, Creek says dryly, “I’m going to need that gentleman’s name and a witness statement from him.”
Yeah, that’s funny. “Handlebar said that Papa’s security rode around in similar vehicles, wore the same suits, were just as professional.”
His eyes narrow. “You think Papa took out his own muscle?”
“I think he’s making sure there’s no one who can point in his direction,” I say, my gut knotted up. Someone like Cherry. I knew that her being out in the wild would be dangerous. But Papa just took out an entire fucking club to cover his tracks.
That’s…I don’t even know what the hell that is. Some next level shit. Most assholes who are afraid of the cops tracking them down would just go to ground, change their names. Then if the cops follow all the leads back to him, he’s already a ghost.
So that means Papa has a personal life—or a public life—that he wants to hold onto. And he’ll go to real extreme lengths to keep it.
Creek looks grim. “Does Papa know you have the girl?”
I shake my head. He wouldn’t know to look at the Hellfire Riders, either. Or the Bedlam Butchers. We covered our tracks after the raid. And only Handlebar knows that I took her with me. Other than that, we were just random fighters who got freed with the others.
A short buzz sounds, and Creek glances at his phone. “Looks like there’s a fire at the Iron Blood’s compound. They’re sending me in. Sure would be nice if an anonymous asshole sent me a photo showing a cop talking to a member of that club. Then maybe we can chat more about a head start on Papa.”
“I’ve got audio, too,” Blowback says. “Telling Paladin about a man you planted in the Eighty-Eight.”
“You fucker.” Creek’s jaw clenches as he stares across the table. “If I give you a head start, it has to be clean. If you’re still on site when we show up, I can’t do a goddamn thing for you.”
As long as Papa’s dead, I wouldn’t care. But I tell him, “We won’t be there.”
“Then give me the recording.” He slides out of the booth. “And get something out of that girl.”
* * *
Get something out of her. Then give her up to the feds.
Only one of those will happen. When I take out Papa, she won’t need protection.
But she needs it now.
The knots in my gut don’t ease up the entire ride back home. Which is real stupid, worrying so much. Those Escalades rolled in so easy because Papa was friends with the Iron Blood. But Papa’s men couldn’t just waltz into the Hellfire Riders’ clubhouse—or the cabins. And the Riders are there, looking out for her. Protecting her.
But I thought the same damn thing about my sister. And those fuckers still got to Anna.
I’m not getting to Cherry right away, either. After hearing about the Iron Blood, the prez calls an executive board meeting of the club’s officers. Everyone else on the board is already at the clubhouse by the time Blowback and I ride in. So I head straight up to the second level, because the faster we get this done, the faster I’m back with her.
And it needs to be done. This will all be about threat assessment and figuring out next steps. But walking into the conference room, instead of a dead serious group of bikers, I’m greeted with laughter and hoots of approval as Gunner shows off his new tattoos. One I’ve already seen in the picture Anna sent to me earlier—her name scrawled over his heart. But the one across his back is new: the Hellfire Riders emblem.
I’ve got one just like it. So that even without my kutte, I’m wearing my patch. But this asshole never tatted up his pretty, pretty skin before. His cult of a family considered marring their natural beauty sacrilegious or some shit. So it looks like he finally made a complete break away from them.
Gunner sees me, grins and calls out, “She said yes!”
I tell him the same thing I texted to her. “And it’s about damn time.”
“Yeah, it is.” He laughs and hauls his shirt back on. “So let’s get this shit over quick, because this is my engagement night.”
I’m all for quick. So is everyone else, most likely. Usually these board meetings are on Wednesdays, and the veep’s wife provides a spread for us to eat while going over the club’s business. But there’s only one bit of business for today and no vittles to linger over.
I head toward my usual seat at the conference table, stopping to bump fists with patchholders I haven’t met up with since coming back—and pausing when I pass by Duke and Bull.
“Who’s got eyes on the cabin?” We’ve got plenty of cameras on the property, one aimed straight at Cherry’s cabin, and the video is monitored from the security station within the clubhouse.