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“Are they dead?” Prosper asked dispassionately.
“Not yet. You want ‘em dead?” Derringer cupped his hand over the end of his cigarette and lit it. Then he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes as if relaxing after having had a very long work day.
“Nice rings.” Diego snorted.
Derringer looked down at his hand as if just remembering the bloodied brass rings on his knuckles and grinned. He pulled them off and set them on a table that held a few pairs of pliers, a set of surgically sharp tweezers, and a box full of small shards of splintered glass.
A collection of razor edged knives were laid out on a black velvet cloth, and next to it sat a small tin cup filled with a bloody soup of what looked like…teeth?
“Did they talk?” Prosper looked with disgust at the prone figures.
“Oh, hell yeah. Big asshole sang like a canary. Little one took some gentle persuasion.” Derringer grinned a terrible grin.
“And?”
“We got a problem.”
Prosper spat on the concrete floor and snorted in derision, “When don’t we have a fucking problem?”
“Problem’s name is Eddie Lobards. He goes by…”
“Rooster.” Diego finished for him. “His club name is Rooster.”
“What do we know?” Prosper turned to Diego.
“Prospect’s been with the club for about six months. Comes from Nevada. He’s a mouthy fucker, likes his women dirty, and his sex public. He was at the after- wedding thing we hosted.”
“He the one that had that bitch caterwauling and blowing him under the spotlight?” Reno asked.
“Yeah, that was him.”
“Who sponsored him?” Prosper asked.
“Cap called in the request for his transfer from Boulder City. Prospect was just about at the end of his year when he asked permission to make good on the rest of his time here on the east coast. Reason he gave for the move was that his mom was sick.”
“But he’s not one of ours.” Prosper knew every goddamn man in his home chapter inside and out. Every member who wore the Crownsmount patch was handpicked. He expected the presidents of the other chapters to do the same. The selection process was tough for a reason.
Thisfucking reason.
Diego picked up where Reno left off. “He’s with Brute’s boys over in Highpoint. Me and Reno did the initial interview together, and then I had Jules go over his shit with a fine-toothed comb. Every bit of Rooster’s story checked out, but there was just something about him that made me uneasy. Nothing I could put my finger on though, so I sent him along to Brute’s crew, but I had Brute attach a rider. We added an extra six months to Rooster’s probate time.”
“How deeply is he involved?” Prosper looked at Derringer.
“Up to his nut sack,” Derringer snorted. “Sold the club out for 100 K and a piece of the drug action that Sebastian is still trying to make work with the Colombians. He was the one who gave up the location of the lake house, and helped arrange the hit on Gianni’s daughter.”
The muscle in Hal’s jaw was working overtime, and there was hell to pay in his eyes when he turned to Jules. “We hear from the plane yet?”
“No.”
In the next five minutes, two things happened in lightning fast succession. One was the call from Gianni’s guy informing them that Gia had not made her connecting flight back home. The next was the call from the crew waiting at the hangar.
“Talk to me.” Prosper spat out then listened for about ten seconds before he hung up and growled out to Jules. “I want everything there is to know on that traitor, Eddie Lobards. Put in a call to Brute and let him know that his goddamn prospect is a turncoat. And I want word out to every chapter on the east coast to get out on the road and look for that cocksucker. Maybe we’ll get lucky, but my guess is he’s already got those girls and went into hiding with them.”
“You sayin’ Valentina and Gia are both missing, Boss?” Hal asked while the muscle in his jaw jumped, and his hands clenched in tight fists.
“That’s exactly what I’m fucking sayin’.”
It wasn’t long before Valentina heard the approach of an oncoming car on the other side of the road. She scurried into the bushes when she saw the black SUV make its way slowly up the deserted highway. Its ominous approach was like something out of a horror movie—dark, menacing, and filled with evil intent. The SUV pulled over to the side of the road, and three men wearing sun glasses and dark suits got out and stood at the twisted guardrail. One man spoke into a cell, one took pictures with a close-lensed camera, and the other started pulling branches off trees and using them to camouflage the break in the guardrail. They worked with quiet choreographed efficiency—not their first time at the rodeo. Then the men gathered together again and spoke for a few minutes. When one of the men turned to look at the rest area, Valentina felt a cold prickle of fear race down her spine. He stared for a few minutes right towards the bush that sheltered her, and Valentina held her breath when she realized that she had left the backpack sitting on the rest area bench. When the guy finally turned away and followed the other men to the vehicle, Valentina almost fainted with relief.
