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Sig and Shade, along with Rev and Rook, were ahead of them since they were heading to the cabin highest up Hillbilly Hill. The residence where, supposedly, Red’s mom, her sister-wife and Red’s stepfather were living in. Rev and Rook were to deal with getting the five kids and the sister-wife down to the van where Easy was hiding nearby with the stolen key, while Shade “dealt” with the husband.
Cage and Whip were to head northeast of the main house to a pair of small cabins tucked deep in the woods. One occupied, one supposedly not. To be safe, they weren’t going to stupidly assume the second one was truly empty.
Cage let out a hiss when the road captain stumbled beside him and Whip caught his arm. “You okay, brother?”
“Fuckin’ doin’ this in the fuckin’ dark with nothin’ but the goddamn spotty moonlight. Gonna be surprised if we all survive this. Don’t wanna leave my baby girl an orphan.”
“She ain’t gonna be an orphan. Dyna’s got Jemma.”
Cage stopped and, even in the dark, Whip could see his glare. “Okay, fatherless, then. Jesus fuck.”
“Let’s concentrate on what the fuck we’re supposed to be doin’ then so that doesn’t happen. And keep your fuckin’ voice down.”
After Cage huffed out a breath, they kept moving, skirting bushes, trees and boulders. Fortunately—or unfortunately—they’d been up Hillbilly Hill enough to know the area where they were headed. It also helped that the Shadows had drawn some damn good maps. Much better than the crude one Shade drew a couple of years ago.
It was hard to believe it had been about three years since Sig found Red running naked and pregnant down the mountain.
Three fucking years of dealing with these goat fuckers.
Tonight that would end.
After this, if the Fury ever came up this mountain again it better be for a damn good reason. And by good, he meant something they wanted to do and wasn’t forced to do.
Somehow they managed to reach their assigned destination without any broken bones or spilled blood. Two cabins sat alone in a very small but overgrown clearing. Whip peered around the big tree he had ducked behind.
The lit-up cabin had a piece of shit, rusty four-door cage sitting in front of it. The other cabin behind it was completely dark. But there was no way he would assume it was empty. Or not booby-trapped. At least with something other than the explosives the Shadows planted.
The thought of entering any structure knowing that they were rigged to explode soon made every fucking hair on his body rise. But they had a job to do and, goddamn it, they were going to get it done. And afterward they were all going to get off that mountain in one damn piece.
“We know most of these half-assed cabins only got one way in and one way out, so how do we wanna handle it?” Cage asked while scanning the area.
“Quickly,” Whip answered. The fucking timebomb was ticking.
“No fuckin’ shit,” Cage muttered. “Think we should make a noise outside the cabin to draw the fucker out. Then we take him down and slice his fuckin’ throat. Once we got him under control, we’ll go in and assess how many women and children are in there.”
Whip shook his head. “How about we look in the fuckin’ window and do a head count before drawin’ the fucker out so we don’t go in blind?”
“That could work, too.”
No shit.
“How many flex-cuffs you grab?” Cage asked.
“Two.”
“Same. Fuck it, let’s do this.”
They both pulled out their knives since they were told not to use guns, if possible. One, because a gunshot echoing through the woods would blow their cover, and two, when the explosion was investigated and the dead were found—or whatever was left of them—they didn’t want any ammo found in those bodies. Proof that the goat fuckers died before the explosions.
The guns were a last resort and would only be used in case of self-defense. Kill or be killed scenarios.
“Stay here for a sec. I’ll go look in the window.”
Cage warned, “Watch for skunks and snakes and other shit in those weeds.”
Whip stared at him for a second. “Like we don’t have enough shit to fuckin’ worry about already.”
Cage shrugged. “I’m gonna check the cabin in the back while you check this one. Meet back here.”
Whip nodded and kept low as they separated and approached the cabins. He crouched down under the dirty as fuck window and slowly rose until he could see inside.
He spotted one woman in a rocking chair sewing what looked like one of those prairie dresses by hand. Her uncle-cousin-husband was sitting at a crudely made table, cleaning what looked like a hunting rifle.
Thank fuck that gun was in pieces.
Two kids, maybe four and six years old, were sitting on the floor playing marbles.
Marbles.
No tablets, no TV, no comics, nothing from outside the Shirley bubble. Simply entertaining themselves by rolling small colorful balls of glass in a hand-drawn circle drawn in chalk on the wood floor.
