Bitter laughter sears my throat. “Come here.” I wrap my arm around his waist and encourage him to put his arm over my shoulder and lean on me.
“They sawed it off almost as soon as they got me into their death van.” Carter shudders. “Wanted me to know they meant business.”
“Fuckers.”
He flexes his hand. “I’m just glad it wasn’t a finger. I need those.” He pretends to hold a paintbrush in the air.
“You all right, kid?” Rock asks from the hallway.
Carter’s eyes widen and he stumbles again, fully leaning against me. “Rock? You’re here too?”
“Took a knock to the head, huh?” Rock’s low grumble makes it clear what he thinks of Carter’s surprise. “Whole club’s worried about you. Half of ’em are outside.” He reaches for Carter’s arm to steady him. “Teller’s not kidding, we gotta go. Can you walk?”
“Yeah.” Carter lifts his left leg. “Bleeding stopped a while ago. Still stings and throbs like a bitch, though.”
He limps and hops next to me but doesn’t complain as we navigate through the messy trailer. Cool air beckons from the wide-open front door. Carter hops faster toward freedom.
“Get me the fuck outta here,” he mumbles, scrambling ahead of me.
The dead body sprawled in front of the door stops us. I hadn’t bothered to look at him when we came inside. Now, I stop and study the owner of the shotgun. Black hole in his forehead says he’s beyond CPR. His vacant eyes stare at the ceiling and whatever’s beyond.
“Don’t think you’re headed in that direction,” Carter spits out.
“He the one who cut off your toe?” Rock asks.
“No, but he was a real asshole.” Carter taps his cheek where a red spot darkens his skin. “Thumbs. That’s the guy who cut my toe off. They called him Thumbs. I was scared shitless he was going to take my thumbs as a fucking trophy.” He croaks out the last few words.
Rock pats his back.
“June!” Carter’s eyes widen and he whips his head around, eyes wildly searching the trailer. “We have to find her.”
“Shit,” Rock mutters.
“No, she tried to take care of me,” Carter insists. “We can’t leave her here.”
“She’s the reason they took you,” Murphy says.
Carter’s voice drops. “They’re not nice to her, either.”
“Let’s get you out of here, first.” I slap Murphy’s shoulder. “Help me.”
With our assistance, Carter hops and limps down the steps.
Outside, he stops and faces me, grabbing onto my vest to keep himself upright. “You’re not making me ride on the back of your bike, are you?”
I lift an eyebrow. Glad to see they didn’t beat his twisted sense of inappropriately timed humor out of him. “If I say yes, are you planning to stay?”
He glances at the trailer. “Hell no.”
Wrath jogs up to us, still carrying his rifle.
“You all in one piece, Scribbles?” Wrath’s quick gaze slides over Carter.
I lift my chin. “Nice shot.”
“Thank Grinder for drawing him into the open doorway,” he says.
“Wait, I get a road name, now?” Carter asks.