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Sig headed out to one of the sheds where he kept Razor’s Sig Sauer, an old Beretta, his oversized buck knife and a blackjack hidden. He hid everything on his person, then headed to the farmhouse to meet up with Trip.
He was ready to fucking roll.
Chapter Nineteen
Sig snuck as quietly as he could through the woods near the shed, Judge on his heels. Trip probably put the big man with him to make sure he didn’t go rogue and just take out everyone up there.
“Fuck,” he muttered. The door was still hanging open like the last time he saw it, but he leaned inside anyway to check to make sure it was empty.
“What the fuck is this?” Judge asked in a low, quiet voice.
“Just what you think it is,” Sig answered.
The club’s enforcer pointed a small LED flashlight into the building and took a peek inside. “Get the fuck outta here. This was where she was kept?”
“That ain’t the half of it, brother.”
“Jesus fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“This whole fuckin’ mountain needs to be dynamited.”
“Fuckin’ got any?” Sig asked. “’Cause I’m all fuckin’ for that.”
“Even if I did, blowin’ this whole place up might catch unwanted attention.”
“No shit. But might be worth it.”
“You landin’ in prison for fuckin’ life won’t help Autumn.”
Sig shook his head. “Thought I was helpin’ her. Them snaggin’ her proved I wasn’t. Shoulda took her elsewhere.”
“Your goddamn self-fuckin-pity right now ain’t helpin’. Just shut the fuck up about it and let’s keep lookin’. Where else?”
“She said Vernon and Tomlin lived in the main house. Anna should be in there, too, unless they’re all in hidin’. And if they are, we’re fucked. They could be anywhere. Sure they got all kinds of hidey-holes up here and maybe even bunkers.”
“Not thinkin’ they’re that smart. And their stupidity makes ‘em think they’re some kinda militia, which they ain’t. They’re just a bunch of inbred hillbillies with guns,” Judge said, then added, “Which don’t mean they ain’t dangerous, they are. Stupidity will get you killed.”
“Yeah.” He was pretty sure the Shirleys had won their share of the Darwin Awards.
“Trip, Rook and that Shady motherfucker were headin’ to the house.”
“Yeah, with the shed empty, hope to fuck they got her in the house. For fuck’s sake, she better still be breathin’.”
“And if she ain’t? Then we’re findin’ that dynamite,” Judge told him.
“Yeah.”
Fuck, after the Fury imploded and the survivors scattered, Sig never cared about anyone in his goddamn life except his baby sister, Syn. And only because he felt sorry she was born to their whore mother. Then he lost track of his sister the last few years during his last stint in that New York prison.
So, yeah, he’d cared about his sister and now Red.
He tried to protect both of them. He did his best for both of them.
But he failed Red for sure.
They never should’ve gotten their hands on her. Never.
And that was all his fault for letting his guard down.
If she survived this...
He would hand her his belt and she could beat him until he paid the fair price for failing her.
He would accept every strike no matter how hard it was because he’d deserve every fucking one. If she handed that belt off to someone else who could hit harder than her, someone like Judge, he’d be okay with that, too.
Whatever pain she endured during this, he needed to endure the same.
After clearing the barn and a couple other small outbuildings, Sig and Judge stuck to the edge of the woods—not out in the open and not where there may be booby-traps—and headed toward the main house.
They stopped when they saw a dark figure ahead of them hunkered down behind a junk car.
“That one of ‘em?” Sig asked, having a hard time making out whoever it was. And it turned out, that person was bent over someone else.
“Looks like that Shady motherfucker,” Judge muttered under his breath.
“As in the prospect?”
“Yeah.” Judge moved forward and when they got to Shady, the man looked up from where he squatted beside another man.
A man with a dark gaping slit across his throat.
Even in the dark, Sig could see the Shirley was bleeding out as Shady had a tight grip on the back of the man’s mullet.
“This one of the targets?” the younger biker asked.
“Hard to say,” Sig said, kind of impressed with the prospect. He never saw Tomlin except that one time in the vehicle when he and Vernon drove past Dino’s Diner. But Sig hadn’t gotten a good look.
Judge squatted down beside the body and turned on his flashlight, pointing it low and directly into the dead man’s face.
“Fuck. Know I dealt with most of the leader’s sons when they’ve been snagged by five-oh for one reason or the other, but they all fuckin’ look alike to me. Can’t tell if this is Tomlin. Bet we check his undies, his momma-auntie probably wrote his name in marker somewhere in them.”
