Viper's Demands (Ruthless Sinners MC 8)
“Why’s that?”
“I want to make sure we got all these motherfuckers. Each and every one.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Axel shook his head. “I still don’t see how we missed the fucking tracking device in those goddamn crates.”
“No clue, but I’m about to find out.”
When I turned and started towards our unit, Axel fussed, “You’re doing this now?”
“Damn straight,” I answered. “Can’t take the chance on anyone else having access to that damn tracker.”
“I got that, but damn, you’ve been shot, brother. Let us handle it.”
“Not leaving here until we find it!”
“Understood.” When we passed one of the units with a broken lock and all the contents in complete disarray, Axel shook his head and grumbled, “They made a fucking mess of the place.”
“Yeah, they sure fucking did.”
“Should’ve never happened,” Axel complained. “We should’ve just dumped them in the fuckin’ river, and then none of this shit would’ve ever happened.”
“You’re right.” I didn’t know what it was about that fucking phrase “hindsight is twenty-twenty,” but it seemed to have a recurring theme in my life. “Unfortunately, what’s done is done, and there’s nothing we can do about that shit now. Just gotta make sure it never fucking happens again.”
When we reached our unit, the exterior lock was already busted open and the few contents inside had been ransacked, but fortunately, they never spotted the hidden security keypad. I went over and entered the code, then seconds later, the floor began to disengage, and the stairway that led to the basement vault was revealed.
With Axel following close behind, we trudged down the steps and grabbed one of the gun crates down from the shelf. As soon as I lowered it, I felt a nasty sting radiate from my wound. The adrenaline that had been pumping through me earlier was now starting to fade, and I was suddenly feeling the effects of the gunshot.
Unfortunately for me, I didn’t have the time to slow down because of some fucking gunshot wound. I had my boys to look out for, and in order to do that, I needed to make sure the issue with the fucking tracker was resolved.
Doing my best to ignore the pain, I carried it over to the table in the center of the room and started going through it while Axel did the same with another when Shotgun and Hawk came rambling down the steps.
As soon as Hawk saw what we were doing, he told me, “We went through them, Prez. Never saw any sign of a fucking tracker.”
“Yeah, well”—I continued pulling out everything from the crate—“clearly, you didn’t look hard enough.”
He said nothing but joined Shotgun in the search instead. We took everything out of the crates—every gun, every magazine, and every fucking piece of straw, and there was still no sign of anything. It wasn’t until we started taking the guns apart that Shotgun grumbled, “I’ll be damned. I found it.”
“Where?” I asked as I leaned in for a better look.
“It was stuffed inside an empty magazine.”
“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Axel huffed.
“Yep.” Shotgun held it up. “It’s so small I almost missed it.”
“Keep checking the others to make sure there aren’t any more.”
We went through every magazine, gun barrel, and any other possible hiding place, and once we were sure we’d left no stone unturned, we headed back out to join the others. As Shotgun looked around at all the Broken casualties scattered throughout the lot, he asked, “You want us to get started on this mess?”
“Yeah, a head start wouldn’t hurt. It’s gonna take Billy some time to get here.” I motioned my hand over at a couple of the bodies and ordered, “Load ’em up into one of the empty units until he gets here.”
“And Bear?”
“Put him in my SUV, and we’ll take him over to the clubhouse.”
“You got it.” He glanced down at my wound. “Hope you’re gonna be heading back soon. Doc needs to—”
“I’ll head back when I head back, now get this shit done.”
Without any further direction, they all turned and got busy doing as they were directed. I trusted that they could handle things without me watching over them, so I decided to go see about Gladys and Ada. When I walked into the house, I found Ada at the stove making Gladys a cup of tea. She placed her hand on her hip with a scowl.
I cocked my eyebrow. “Don’t you start with me, woman.”
“I won’t as long as you don’t start wit’ me.” She poured the tea into the cup and sassed, “The audacity of you fussin’ at me over saving your rear. You should be ashamed.”
“The cops, Ada,” I huffed. “I was worried about the cops.”
“The cops ain’t gonna come around here.” She shook her head and carried the cup over to Gladys. “I’ve shot dat shotgun a hundred times at coons in da garbage, and not one cop has ever showed up here.”