Blood & Bones: Whip (Blood Fury MC 11)

“All right,” he continued. “We need someone to go look for that asshole and report back. If we don’t find him in the time we got left, then fuck it. He never shoulda separated from Bones in the first place.”

“I’ll do it,” Judge muttered. “I’ll take Deke with me.”

“Fuck that,” Trip said to his enforcer. “You got two kids and another on the way. Deke just had a baby. You two ain’t goin’ back up. It’s too risky.”

“The only two standin’ here without an ol’ lady or kids are Easy and Whip,” Rev reminded them.

Great, another fucking reminder that he had nothing and no one. And, apparently, because of that he was dispensable.

“We’re wastin’ precious time here,” Trip barked. “Easy and Whip, you willin’? Ain’t gonna force you.”

“I’ll go,” Whip volunteered. He already lost Fallon, what else did he have to lose?

In truth, Trip was right. Why risk someone who had an ol’ lady or a family?

“Keep an eye on the time,” Judge warned them. “Don’t got much left. You don’t find him in the next ten, then you bail and whatever happens, happens. He knew about the timeline like everyone else. He was supposed to stick with Bones, he didn’t. Best you split up to cover as much ground as possible.”

“In the meantime, we’ll keep callin’ and textin’ him,” Trip said. “Wherever he’s at, he might not have coverage. If he responds or shows up, we’ll call you to get your asses back down here.”

“Ten minutes,” Judge reminded him and E. “No more. Even that’s gonna cut it too fuckin’ close.”

Whip nodded and glanced over at Easy, who was also nodding.

“Fuck it, let’s do this,” Whip muttered. “Text me if you find him. I’ll do the same.”

Easy nodded again as they set out.

At the far end of the clearing, they separated. They’d only have time to check a few places not far off the dirt lane, it was impossible to check them all. Whip took the left fork and jogged up the road, hoping like fuck he didn’t twist a fucking ankle in a rut. Ten minutes wouldn’t be enough time to hobble back down with a fucked-up ankle.

Just ahead was one of the larger cabins in the clan’s compound and he could see a light on inside through one of the windows. Whip assumed the Shadows had already cleared it of any Shirley men.

Still, he approached with caution. The door was hanging wide open and as he carefully crept up the rotting wood steps he couldn’t see or hear anything.

Unlike the crude cabin he and Cage entered earlier, this one had a bathroom inside instead of an outhouse, as well as a few rooms that could be bedrooms. It wasn’t as big as the clan leader’s house since it was only a single floor, but it was bigger than the majority of structures up there.

He saw a muddy boot peeking out from behind a dingy couch and he headed that way to make sure the body was a Shirley and not Scar.

It turned out to be more than one body. Two men were stacked on top of each other with eyes wide open, both bearded throats slashed, and dark blood pooling around the gray, lifeless bodies.

Whip took another quick glance around the interior. He didn’t see any more bodies in the main portion of the cabin, but he’d check the bedrooms before moving on. With his knife in hand he quietly crossed through the messy kitchen and stopped at the entrance to a short hallway.

That was where he heard it.

A muffled, rhythmic sound. Maybe even something—or someone—getting knocked around. What also might be a few deep grunts.

Did one of the Shirleys manage to take Scar as a hostage? Maybe the prospect was bound, gagged and struggling to free himself.

The clock was ticking in his head as he slowly approached the room where the noise was coming from. It could be a Shirley the Shadows left for dead but somehow managed to survive.

It could be the missing kid.

Or it could be that asshole Scar.

No matter who it was, he didn’t want it to be his ass getting slingshotted to kingdom come when that clock ticked down to zero, so he needed to hurry.

He pressed his back next to the room’s open door and quickly peered around the door frame. He jerked his head back and froze, trying to process what he saw.

What the fuck did he just see? There was no fucking way it was what he thought it was. That motherfucker wouldn’t dare, would he?

Whip peeked around again.

Fuckin’ motherfucker.

Just what he thought, Scar wasn’t alone and he wasn’t tied up. Or struggling.

But the person he was with was.

Whip stepped into the open doorway and saw Scar had his jeans pulled down just enough to…

Jesus fuckin’ Christ!

Scar’s hand was gripping the throat of a female, her face turning an ugly shade of purple at the lack of oxygen. Her mouth opening and closing in a struggle to breathe.