Teller
“Teller!”Swan races down the front steps of the clubhouse.
I stop and wait for her, keenly aware I need to stop by my house for the money, body armor, weapons, and get my ass on the road.
She skids to a stop and grabs my arm. “Are you going to find Carter?”
“Yeah.” I can’t tell her much more. She’s been around the club long enough to know that.
“Please, please, bring him back safe,” she pleads.
Any other time, I might tease her about whatever relationship she and Carter have going. Tonight, I don’t have it in me. “We will.”
And I’m going to gut every motherfucker who hurt my family while I’m at it.
“What can I do to help?” she asks.
“Stay put. Don’t leave the property. See if the girls need anything.”
“Of course.”
I rush to my truck and jump in. A few minutes later, I pull up to the front steps of my house, leap out, thunder up the porch steps and barge inside.
Clear head.
Standing in the entryway, I stop and run through a list of what I need. The safe upstairs has cash. I head there first. Kneeling on the floor of the closet, I punch in the code for the safe and start stuffing roughly the right amount into a backpack. I ain’t a fucking bank and can’t waste time counting every dollar.
While I’m standing in the closet, I strip down and jump into a pair of black camouflage, waterproof, tactical cargo pants. The material’s sturdy and shouldn’t snag on anything and the pants have loads of easy-to-access pockets and pouches. The Kevlar vest will add enough bulk, so I slide into a long-sleeved black compression shirt.
Next, I hit the nightstand by my side of the bed for a handgun. I press my palm to the screen and the biometric safe that takes up the entire bottom drawer clicks open.
No wimpy .22 pistol tonight. I wrap my fingers around the textured grip of my 10mm Kodiak. It’s practically a damn cannon, but I had it at the range recently and feel comfortable using it.
I sling the pack over my shoulder, holster the gun at my side, and pound downstairs. The vest I need is in another safe along with an assortment of long guns.
Merlin said the place was a camp. So we’ll either be outside or searching small tents and buildings? My fingers briefly brush against my hunting rifle. But then I choose my KSG bullpup shotgun, instead. Its small size will make it easier to use in tight spaces and the dual tubes will allow me to have more rounds available if the situation gets dicey. I grab my bulletproof vest, a knit cap, and rush out of the house. A few minutes later, I’m in my truck headed to meet my brothers.
Everyone’s waiting in the side parking lot at Ward’s grocery store.
Rock leaves his bike and climbs into my truck.
“You’re going to sit in the passenger seat?” I ask, unable to keep the shock out of my voice.
“Guess I finally trust you.” He motions to the windshield like he’s ready to go right now. “Stop fucking around.”
Rooster pulls up next to me in his truck. The big diesel shakes everything in the immediate area. Merlin’s in the passenger side, wearing a sour expression. I leave my truck running, grab the backpack of cash, and jump out.
“Here’s the cash.”
Merlin opens the door and I toss the pack in his lap.
“How do I know this big, bearded fucker isn’t going to gut me and leave me by the side of the road?” He jerks his thumb toward Rooster.
“You don’t!” Rooster shouts. “That’s what makes it so exciting.”
I snort-laugh, flip a thumbs-up at Rooster, and slide behind the wheel again.
Murphy climbs into the back seat and slams the door with a harsh thump. “Let’s go.”
Grinder, Jigsaw, and Dex take off ahead of us on their bikes. Wrath and Z follow in Wrath’s truck. Rooster goes next and I pull out of the parking lot last.
“We should’ve brought his toe,” Murphy says. “Coulda brought him to Ironworks Emergency Room on the way home.”
“I think a toe is the least of Carter’s concerns right now,” Rock says.
That kills the conversation for a while.
It’s a long fucking ride to Vermont.