"What's the plan, Hunter?" Kellin asked, rubbing his cut-off gloved hands together, his left leg bouncing up and down as if he was having a hard time sitting there—sitting still—for that long and it was time for him to get up and get on with it.
"It's only a seven minute walk from the church to the bar where this motherfucker works," Hunter finally spoke, capturing our attention as he quietly and precisely laid out his plan. "I say you and Reaper follow him home, but force him somewhere where we can load him in the truck and bring him to the church."
I nodded, just wanting to get on with things already. I wanted to see Scarlett, so all I wanted to do was get the job done as fast as I could. The four of us walked to the back lot of the halfway house where Kellin's matte black truck was parked, completely tinted and blacked out in every way possible. He slid into the driver seat and Hunter slid into the front passenger, leaving Michael and me in the back with Reaper.
We pulled up to the bar in less than five minutes, and we sat in the truck, listened to music, and smoked blunt after blunt, each one laced with a different drug. All I knew was that I felt good, I felt like no one or nothing could touch me. And I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
"You're going to get out soon and walk Reaper around until he comes out, then follow him. We'll be right behind you," Hunter said as flat as he could, his voice having no emotion.
"I need some air anyway," I said, feeling like I needed to get that part off my chest, even though Hunter looked at me as if I was holding something back.
I stepped out of the truck, the cool breeze hitting my flushed face like a slap, grounding me in the present. Reaper jumped out behind me, his energy seemingly amplified by the anticipation of what was to come. I scanned the dimly lit bar entrance, trying to get a sense of the crowd spilling out onto the sidewalk. Shadowy figures moved in and out, laughter and loud voices mixing into a symphony of inconsequential chatter.
“Stay close,” I murmured to Reaper, who perked up at the mention of our usual engagement, now charged with an electrifying purpose.
The tension in my chest tightened as I moved towards the bar, my instincts running the show. Even without the drugs clouding my judgment, the rush of adrenaline was almost way too easy to fall into, allying with the anger swirling in me about what had happened to Scarlett. This was my chance to channel that anger; a way to let Reaper do what he was bred for.
As I walked around the bar outside, I kept my focus steady, searching for the man through the few windows that you could actually see out of. Hunter had given me a crude description—muscular, tattoos, a sneer that could suck the fun out of anything. There he was, standing behind the bar, loud andobnoxious, drowning in the easy conversation with his muscle-head friends and cheap beer.
“Stay here,” I whispered to Reaper, tension echoing in the way I held his collar a bit tighter than necessary. I motioned for him to sit, his big brown eyes snapping to mine, full of understanding, but I didn’t have time to linger in that moment. I couldn’t lose sight of my target.
I blended into the throng, leaning against a nearby wall, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The atmosphere was electric as laughter and slurred shouts reached me, but I only had one focus. My heart dropped when I saw him glance my way. Panic shot through me. Was he sensing anything? I knew he wouldn’t recognize me, but recognition was never about faces; it was about instincts, about threats. I held my breath, watching as he turned back to his friends.
Time dragged on, and I felt the weight of the waiting amplify in my chest, threatening to crush me with frustration. I needed to make my move. Suddenly, he rose, signaling to a couple of friends. They prepared to leave, swaggering towards the exit. My heartbeat quickened, the wave of decisive action surging through me. This was it. I got outside seconds later, and nodded to the guys in the truck as I walked right over to my dog.
“Let’s go,” I murmured to Reaper, giving the command with a nod.
The dog sprang up, his body tensing in anticipation as I released his collar. Together, we slipped into the flow of bodies outside the bar. The trio’s laughter was loud enough to carry outside, and I could hear their obnoxious chants about some ridiculous bet they seemed to be losing. I shifted into the shadows, calculated my steps, my body acting like a spring ready to release.
There they were, the two goons trailing a few feet behind him. Reaper responded to my silent command, following mylead as we sauntered through the crowd, our eyes glued on the unsuspecting target.
A premature grin tugged at the corners of my mouth, a rush of adrenaline washing through me as fear and anger mingled, creating a thrilling potion coursing through my veins. I felt alive, more alive than I had in weeks, and it was in that moment of clarity that the shadows creeping around me felt a little less suffocating.
“Let’s go,” I whispered again, my voice barely audible beneath the blanket of noise surrounding us.
I guided Reaper towards the alley, careful not to lose sight of the target. In a matter of moments, the trio turned to head down the darker side street loomed ahead—perfect. My pulse raced as I signaled to Reaper. This was not just a hunt; this was a reckless dance with revenge.
The two friends cackled as they eventually went their own ways, leaving the target alone and within reach, oblivious to the storm brewing behind him.
“Hey, man, you lost something?” I called out, my voice veiling my intent with false lightness.
The target turned, narrowing his eyes. The moment of shock flitted across his face as he took in the mask covering everything but my eyes, and time subtly stuttered as his brain registered the forthcoming threat.
“Who the—” he began, but I didn’t wait for him to finish.
With a jerk of my leash, Reaper surged forward, a streak of muscle and fury, instinctively knowing what to do. The world erupted into chaos: the growl of Reaper's indignation fused with my own bubbling rage. The alley was narrow, and the shadows danced wildly as adrenaline coursed through me.
“You want to hurt her?” I growled, feeling Reaper’s warm body at my side, prepared to keep him in check just long enough to get what we needed. “I’m here to show you the consequences.”
I let Reaper go and I lit a cigarette as he tore into the man and dragged him over to the waiting truck. I gave Reaper the command to stop as Hunter and Kellin got out of the truck. They picked up his bloody body and threw him in the bed of the truck on top of a few plastic liners.
I took a moment to catch my breath, the thrill of the encounter still sizzling in my veins. My heart raced, but it felt good—a reminder that I still had something within me that was alive and responsive. I crushed the cigarette out against the pavement, and as I glanced down at the writhing body in the back of the truck, I felt a cruel satisfaction swell inside me.
"Nice work, Jax," Hunter grinned, revealing a flash of white teeth against his grim demeanor. He looked like he would rather be anywhere else, but the exhilaration of the moment sparked a rugged energy that brought the edges of his rough features to life. "Reaper did great. We can use that fire."
Kellin climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine, his eyes flicking back and forth between the chaos in the bed and the street ahead. "We’d better move. Cops will come sniffing around here soon. Got enough problems without drawing unwanted attention."
I climbed into the back of the truck with Reaper, the dog's panting breath cutting through the tension. The target thrashed on the bed, trying to gather his wits among the shock and pain. I scoffed as I secured my grip on Reaper's collar, keeping him close. The man was in no position to fight back, yet the sight of him struggling ignited another flash of adrenaline within me.
