Jack (The Kings of Mayhem MC Tennessee 1)
“The name Britney Traeger mean anything?”
“The teenage runaway who got murdered?” Shooter asks.
“She wasn’t a runaway. She was walking home from her job at a burger joint in town when this piece of filth picked her up.”
“I remember the story… her body was pulled out of a pond near the cemetery,” Shooter states.
“She’d been raped and murdered.” I can’t help but seethe whenever I think about the Britney Traeger case. The Kings of Mayhem don’t tolerate violence toward women and children, and knowing what this fucker did makes my blood burn.
“And this is the asshole who did it?” Dakota Joe asks.
“According to law enforcement,” I reply.
It’s unfortunate the police picked him up before we got our hands on him. Not just because he knows where Ghost is, but because he is a raping and murdering sonofabitch who deserves a good ol’ smackdown from someone who isn’t afraid to keep smacking him down until he doesn’t get up.
But not even my friendship with Sheriff Pinkwater can get me access to the piece of scum.
I’ll have to wait for the right moment to strike, and we have plenty of loyal friends behind bars willing to do it for us if needed.
Either way, TomTom is going to tell me where Ghost is, or I am going to make him suffer.
“He’s an ugly motherfucker,” Merrick mutters as he passes the picture to Ares.
“Has one of those faces you’d never grow tired of punching,” Ares, my sergeant-at-arms, growls passing it to Munster.
“Give me five minutes with him, and I’ll wipe that smirk off his face. Britney Traeger was the same age as my Edwina.” Munster hands me the picture.
“We’re going to keep our eyes on this guy,” I say. “He may be inside, but I want to know everything there is to know about him. He was riding with Ghost up until last week, so he knows what the asshole has been doing and where he’s been doing it.” I look at my brothers around the table. “And if for some fucked up reason he gets out of prison, I want us to be waiting to give him a welcome-home party.”
When all eighteen Kings agree with me, I end church with a slam of my gavel.
As the chapel clears out, I look at Paw, our resident Sherlock Holmes. “You got a minute?”
“Sure, Prez, what do you need?”
An ex-FBI agent, Paw’s career in law enforcement ended after he was mauled by a mountain lion. The attack left the right side of his face heavily scarred from claw marks, deep gutters from his temple down to his jaw. He’s proud of those scars, and they certainly don’t affect his sex life. Women go crazy for the jagged lines on his face. Seems they love how indestructible and rugged they make him look.
Not long after the attack, he quit the Bureau and came knocking on our door. Nine years later, he’s an integral part of the club because of his contacts and exceptional skillset. He’s an internet bloodhound and can hack into some of the most secure federal databases if need be.
“Cooper’s best friend just arrived back in town.”
“Bronte?”
“Yeah, and I think something’s got her spooked.”
“You want me to look into what she’s been up to?”
“Don’t dig too deep. Whatever it is, it’s recent.”
I don’t want to go prying into her life more than I have to.
“Got it.”
I slip him a piece of paper filled in with a few of her details.
“Stays between you and me,” I add.
He nods. “You know it always does.”
I can trust Paw and believe in his expertise. He’ll notice something long before any of us will.
BRONTE
After hanging up from Officer Johnson, I take a shower.
The guy gives me the creeps.
And after five hours of driving and a ton of nervous sweat later, this girl needs a shower.
Bad.
Dumping my bags in my bedroom, I strip off and head to the bathroom. In the shower, I begin to wash the spontaneous road trip out of my hair while the warm water soaks into my aching muscles. Feeling relaxed, I start murdering Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” but stop when I hear an unfamiliar noise. I pause to listen and instantly know it’s come from inside the house.
Once upon a time, my instinct would’ve been to react fearlessly. To charge horns first into the fight. Now, my instinct is to freeze.
Goosebumps crawl along my skin as I stand as still as a statue, afraid to breathe, while dread creeps up my spine and worms its way into the base of my brain.
Another startling thump ripples through the sound of the shower as something moves inside the house.
Oh Lord, he’s here.
My heart palpitates in my chest.
He’s followed me.
Hands shaking, I turn off the faucet and grab the towel hanging on the wall then quickly wrap it around myself. I know grandma keeps a pair of scissors in the medicine cabinet. Unfortunately, the mirrored cabinet door creaks when I open it, and the sound bites into the silence, probably alerting whoever it is inside the house as to my location.