“Out,” I clipped, gesturing with my gun for them to step out. “You got anyone old enough to vote up there?” I hollered to Linc.
“Barely,” he muttered as he appeared at the side of the truck, shoving two boys of similar age in front of him.
“Pike’s recruiting them young,” I muttered, referring to Brian Pike, head of the Rev’s. Young and untested, judging by their fearful expressions—one looked like he was about to piss himself. “First assignment?” I deduced with a head tilt.
They all nodded warily.
“How old are you?” Tank barked.
Three answers of “eighteen” chorused with one “seventeen.”
“Christ,” I grumbled. “You do realize the man you’ve decided to follow sent you on this job to die, right?” I demanded.
“Pike wouldn’t do that,” one argued.
“Then you tell me why he sent four kids on an assignment without one of his men who actually knew what the fuck they were doin’?” I demanded. “You know why? Because he knew we were coming and decided you four were expendable. I see I’m gettin’ through,” I mumbled at their slack-jawed expressions.
“To die or rot in prison if you got caught,” Lincoln threw in before his eyes turned to me. “Speaking of, we need to get off the road.”
I nodded in agreement. “Load these idiots in the SUV,” I told Lincoln. Lincoln and Ryland had brought the Yukon in case we had cargo.
“And the weapons?” Ry asked, knowing full well our club’s arsenal was well supplied. This had never been about stocking our own supply; the aim was to stop the Revs’ from getting larger.
“Looks like Detective Larson is about to get a hell of a tip,” I replied before telling Cason through the walkie to call it in.
We worked with the law when it suited us and threw tips their way to keep them in our back pockets.
“What are you going to do with us?” one of the boys demanded fearfully. It didn’t take a genius to know these kids weren’t the threat. Hell, Pike had probably found some sort of vulnerability in all of them and figured out how to exploit it.
“Try to knock some fucking sense into you,” I grunted. “Let’s go.”
The night had been a success—we’d kept more weapons from getting into Pike’s hands—but something told me our challenges were just beginning.
* * *
“Hi, it’s Grace. Leave a message, if you still do that sort of thing.”
I grimaced despite her cute as hell giggle at the end of her message, having reached Grace’s voicemail for the third time the next day.
“Still can’t reach her?” Tank asked gruffly as he leaned in the doorway of my office at the compound.
“Nope. Fuck,” I grunted, raking my fingers through my hair in agitation already regretting postponing my return to Hawthorne. Having my girl so far from me didn’t sit well.
“Did you do something to piss her off?” he asked with a cocked brow. Having been married to Dallas for the past five years, Tank knew something about taming a fiery female.
“The long-distance shit is hard,” I admitted. “And I’ve never been great on the phone, but I don’t think that’s it. I’m calling Gunner,” I decided, holding the phone to my ear. Either he or Emmie would likely know where my woman was.
“King,” he greeted after the second ring.
“Gun, hoping you can help me with something. Has Emmie talked to Grace lately?”
The pause that followed had my heart rate increasing.
“Hang on a sec,” he replied gruffly, and I could hear him murmuring something to who I assumed was Emmie.
After another second, it was Emmie who came on the line. “You haven’t talked to Grace?” she asked, and the concern in her voice ratcheted up mine.
“Not since last night, she’s not answering the phone or responding to my texts.”
