Reckless Truths (Lost Kings MC)

Teller

“What the fuck is this?”Rock mutters. “Looks like an abandoned garbage dump.”

“Smells like one too,” Z says, pinching his nose.

I step out of the shadows of the grove of ancient maple trees giving us cover and scan the vast area. “A backwoods meth-making camp.”

“This is why making meth is bad, m’kay, kids,” Wrath says in his best Mr. Mackey voice.

“Jesus.” I step up onto a large, flat bolder and lift my binoculars, searching for any sign of Carter. Nothing but old, rusted campers and trailers dotting an open field of overgrown weeds and hilly slopes. Piles of trash and empty cans tangle in long blades of grass. Circles of dirt and fried grass mar the land like mangy spots on a dog. Piles of burned logs and rings of stones indicate they risk using some areas of their campground for bonfires. Glass from shattered bottles glitters in the dusky light.

Twigs and dried brush crackle under my feet as I jump off the rock and return to the safety of the trees. “One spark and this whole camp will go up in flames.”

Wrath pulls a lighter out of his pocket. “Let’s save that for later.”

“You see anything?” Murphy asks me.

“Nothing useful. There have to be ten or fifteen trailers set up. No way to tell which one Carter might be in. Or where they store the pregnant chicks.”

“Shit,” Rock mutters, turning toward the circle of dirty and broken blacktop where we’d parked our vehicles.

“Pretty much,” Z says.

Rock snarls at him.

“Easy.” Z holds up his hands. “I want him back too, Rock.”

“I didn’t see any movement,” I continue. “I gotta imagine they left at least one person guarding Carter.”

Rock glances at the seven of us. “Let’s split up into two teams. We’ll do a sweep and clear each trailer. See if we find anyone we can pry Carter’s location out of.” He pulls a hunting knife from my glove compartment and flips it in the air, catching it neatly by the handle. “Using any means necessary.”

“I’m down with that,” Murphy agrees.

“What do you want to do if we find the girl?” Z asks.

“If she’s hostile, leave her ass here,” Rock says. “Carter’s my main concern. If we find her, and she wants out, we’ll take her.”

Wrath’s gaze strays to the open field again. “She shoots at me, I’m shooting back.”

“Let’s try not to shoot unless we know what we’re shooting at. I don’t want Carter catching a bullet.” Rock glances toward the camp again. “And we don’t want to strike anything that might light this place up.”

Wrath nods.

We’re all aware of how flammable the chemicals used to make meth can be. And how unstable the people making the shit are after having their brains rotted out on the fumes.

Rock taps my shoulder, then points to Murphy. “We’ll go right. Wrath, you stay here and cover us.”

Wrath scowls.

“You’re the most accurate under these conditions.” Rock sweeps his hand in a circle, then nods to the rifle in Wrath’s hands.

They stare at each other for a few tense seconds, then Wrath responds with a tight nod.

Z points at Jigsaw and Grinder. “We’ll take the left side. Meet you in the back.”

I return to my truck and fill my pockets with ammunition. The shotgun gets strapped to my side in a single-point sling.

The first structure we encounter looks like an old RV from the seventies. At one time it was probably brown with orange pinstripes. Now, it’s some version of a faded tan with white lines breaking up patches of rust and dirt. Over time, the wheels seem to have rotted into the ground.