“Is it wrong that I’m looking forward to killing a man?”
Cowboy just shook his head. “Not from where I’m sittin’. Sometimes, people just don’t deserve to breathe, and you know that as well as I do. I think Pic is at that point. Not only did he betray the club, but he also betrayed his wife and kids. After finding out that he’d been puttin’ his hands on Lola toward the end, I’d say he definitely needs to be put to ground.”
We stared at each other solemnly, and I had no doubt that he was caught up in the memory of the one and only time we’d ever gone to such extremes. Three years ago, Cowboy had vowed to track down the man who’d killed BeBe while robbing the jewelry store she managed. I’d been right beside him every step of the way. A few days later, thanks to a couple of people on the streets who were willing to talk, we’d found the junkie hiding in his shithole apartment, surrounded by several pieces of stolen jewelry and baggies of meth that he’d scored after pawning some of the other pieces.
We’d dragged the murdering junkie from his bed in the middle of the night and tossed him into the back of the van the club owned, which we’d outfitted with plastic tarps so there would be no trace evidence left behind. We’d packed some of his clothes and left the rest of his shit behind, so the police assumedhe’d skipped town when they’d found his apartment the next day.
We’d taken him to a hog farm in a little town in the northern part of the state, one that just happened to be owned by a shell corporation backed by Luca Rossi. For a hefty price, he’d been happy to allow us access to his family’s disposal site. Standing side by side, with the tweaked-out shitstain crying on his knees in front of us, Cowboy and I had both placed our guns directly in front of each of his eyes and fired.
I’d never killed anyone, before or since, but I had zero fucking regrets. I’d watched the back of his skull blow apart, cursing him to eternal hell for what he’d done to my baby sister. Cowboy and I had tossed his body into the hog pen, where there was little, if any, trace left behind for anyone to find. We’d immediately driven straight back to the clubhouse, burned the plastic tarp in a metal trash barrel out back, then used the plasma cutter in the bike shop to cut the guns into pieces before we disposed of them in various spots along the White River. The guns were untraceable, purchased using the Rossi’s connections, but we’d wanted that extra layer of protection.
The only downside was that for a solid year afterward, I’d been unable to stomach the idea of eating any kind of pork after seeing those hogs in a feeding frenzy. It had fucking sucked, especially since I love bacon. It had been a small price to pay for making sure the man who killed BeBe never drew another breath, but I was glad that I’d gotten over my pork aversion in the last couple of years.
I glanced up as the door opened, and Bull walked in with a small backpack that he placed on the table in front of me.
“The phones and a charger are in there, along with the cash. I also programmed the number for the burner phone thatwe’ll keep here for you to contact us on. Irish said the truck was already gassed up and good to go. He’s pulling it around from the garage now, and Trick is just about ready to go.”
“Great, I’ll meet him out front in a few minutes.”
I shouldered the backpack with the phones and cash, then went into my office pushed my desk aside to access the small safe built into the floor. I opened it and retrieved one of the unregistered, untraceable guns inside, along with a box of ammo, and slipped them into the backpack. I was carrying my own legally registered gun, as always, but this one would be used exclusively for Pic. After closing the safe and moving the desk back into place, I locked my office and exited the building.
Trick was putting his own bag in the truck as I approached, and Cowboy, Bull, and Irish were with him. Irish had parked it next to mine, so I quickly grabbed the two bags I’d brought from home and tossed them into the club’s truck, too. One bag had toiletries and a few changes of clothing. The other had drinks and snacks for the road. The fewer stops we needed to make along the way, the better, especially with the abundance of cameras around.
I opened the glove compartment on the club’s truck and removed the owner’s manual and assorted registration and insurance information we kept in there. Shortly after we’d bought the truck, I’d had Viking add a false panel on the back side of the compartment, creating a concealed space. My personal truck had one, too, although I’d never actually had to use mine before.
I slid that panel to the side, revealing the small hidey-hole that was just large enough for the gun and ammo that I placed inside. I slid the panel back in place, satisfied that it was all but impossible to detect should we be pulled over by thecops, then shoved the manual and shit back in the compartment before closing it up again.
I pulled my phone out and glanced at the time, then cursed as I realized that I’d completely forgotten that I was supposed to take Ella to dinner tonight.Dammit!
Me: Sorry, something came up, so I have to bail on dinner tonight. I’ll call you when I can.
I hated to cancel on her, but I had no choice. We needed to get on the road.
I turned to Bull and tossed him the keys to my truck. “Take my truck back to my house and park it in the garage as usual so my GPS system will show it’s there. I have my security cameras off, so you won’t be seen. Irish, follow him so you can give him a ride back here.”
I paused as I had another thought. “Bull, take my phone, and Trick’s too. Leave them turned on and leave them at my house. Stop by a few times each day that we’re gone, and stagger calls and texts to Cowboy and Irish from them, so they will ping from that location if things go sideways, and the cops pull our phone records later.” I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to ease the tension there. “The only thing I can’t control is my neighbors, but hopefully it doesn’t come down to them being questioned. Luckily, none of them are the nosy type. They all keep to themselves, so I doubt they’ll notice anything out of the ordinary.”
“Damn, Prez, you’re covering all your tracks. Those true crime shows you watch are paying off,” Irish snickered.
I flipped him off, causing everyone to laugh. “It might be a little overkill, but I’d be damned if Trick or I ended up behind bars over that piece of shit traitor.”
“You got that right, man,” he said. He wished Trick and I a safe trip, then ran over to the garage to get the club’s van, telling Bull he’d meet him at my house.
My text notification went off, and I saw that Ella had responded.
Sugar: No problem. Just call or text when you have a minute, and we can reschedule.
Me: Will do.
Thankful that she didn’t seem upset about me canceling on her, I handed the phone over to Bull for safekeeping, and Trick did the same.
“You two be careful out there. See you on the flip side,” Bull called out as he got in my truck. He started it and pulled out of the lot, with Irish close behind him in the van.
“Cowboy, let Sinner, Jag, and Rome know that I’m not gonna be reachable for the next few days, but to keep it on the downlow. If it’s an emergency, they can let you know so you can call me on the burner phone. Don’t tell them where I am. The less they know, the better.” He nodded in understanding.
“We need to hit the road. It will take about three and a half hours to get there, and I’d like to scout out the hotels and shit around the strip club before her show starts, on the off chance we spot Pic anywhere.” I told Trick. He nodded and went around to get in on the passenger side of the club truck.
“Sounds like a solid plan,” Cowboy agreed, then grabbed my shoulder and pulled me into a one-armed hug. We slapped each other on the back, then he took a step back and looked me in the eye.
