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Reaching for my phone, I texted Scribe.
Me: Find everything you can on Bailey’s grandmother. Then get ready. We’re going hunting.
Scribe: About time.
Six weeks later, I stood facing a very pissed off Bailey as she glared up at me. “You can’t be serious. I have a business to run, King. I can’t just sit at home like the little woman waiting for her man to come home. I’m not, nor will I ever be, Donna Reed!”
I chuckled. “Just the fact that you know who Donna Reed is makes you perfect for me. I’m not asking you to sit and wait. I know you have a business to run. I’m asking that when you’re done for the day, you allow one of the brothers to bring you back here. Your apartment isn’t safe, Cupcake. There are wires everywhere and you don’t even have a working kitchen or bathroom yet.”
“And who’s fault is that?” she screeched, pushing me away from her. “I could have been making money and hired a contractor to get my apartment started, but fuck no! You kidnapped me, dragged me up that God damned mountain and broke my hand! Then you low-jacked my ass. You are driving me crazy!”
I moaned. “Come on, Cupcake.”
Waiving her hand in the air, she walked away from me, shouting. “Leave! I don’t care. Do me a favor and don’t come back!”
I stood, mouth gaping as I watched her walk away, not even looking back once. Never had I ever had a sendoff like that. I actually believed she meant every word she said. I knew getting Bailey to trust me was going to take time and patience, but fuck, did she have to rip me to shreds in the process?
“She is something else, Callum,” Gunner said, standing next to me. “Are you sure you want to shackle yourself to that firecracker?”
“What? As opposed to the line of easy pussy you have on call?”
“Hey, I know my limitations and accept them. No woman will ever shackle my ass. Not happening.”
“He’s going to fall hard,” Pyro muttered.
Agreeing, I added, “And I’m going to sit back and laugh the whole time.”
“Fuck you both. No bitch is going to tie my ass in knots!” Gunner muttered, walking away.
“You sure you want to do this? Thought we were done with that shit?” Pyro asked, changing the subject.
“She’ll never let me in if her past is still a threat.”
“All right, brother. I’m with you.”
Grabbing my bag, I left the clubhouse with Pyro, Priest, and Frankenstein behind me.
We arrived at our destination in the early hours of the morning. Moving quietly in the dark, we each scattered, knowing our destinations. Scribe worked furiously to gather as much information as he could about the location and those who were at fault. In the end, I decided they all were. The whole motherfucking gene pool needed to be eradicated. Scribe made a few phone calls and within hours, CPS and local police rushed to remove the children close to our targets or living with the targets. Still, we weren’t taking any chances. Before we did anything, I wanted visual confirmation that no child was present.
Each of us had our own target. Frank was taking out the labs. I wanted them gone, evaporated as if they were never there. Scribe found out that Bailey’s grandmother had two other sons, Boone and Wyatt, who, like their big brother Ray, were deep into meth.
Instead of rescuing their niece and nephew, Boone lived happily in a trailer close to town with his sixteen-year-old girlfriend. Fucking sick pervert. Pyro looked forward to talking to him.
As for Priest, well, he wanted Wyatt. Apparently, the youngest brother was a proclaimed devout Christian and the deacon of his church. Priest wanted to educate the good deacon on the morality of greed and make sure he received a proper penance.
I wanted the fucking bitch. Vernetta Bailey. The matriarch of Bailey’s fucked up family. The woman who tormented and abused not only Bailey, but her disabled grandson. The woman was vile. Her time on earth had come to fruition. Now it was time to pay the piper.
I wasn’t surprised when I walked out of the woods surrounding her home to find a piece of shit trailer. Bailey told me she lived in one most of her life. The place was the epitome of hillbilly trash. The place was a certifiable dump. Duct tape on the siding, holding it in place. Windows boarded up with cardboard or black trash bags. An old Pitbull chained to a tree lifted its head before falling back asleep. Trash was everywhere, along with several vehicles up on cinder blocks. The only life around this place was the lone light on inside the trailer.
Making my way closer, I didn’t bother knocking as I kicked the front door open to find an old frail woman sitting in a rocking chair, crocheting a pink blanket.
“He told me you’d come. Didn’t believe him, but here you are,” the old woman’s voice croaked. “Knew that bitch was trouble from the moment my stupid girl birthed her. Should have sold that brat to that Mexican man when I had the chance. But he assured me he would finish the job. So, get on with it. Do what you came to do.”
I raised my hand, aimed my gun and shot the cunt dead. The second my bullet penetrated her head, a little wail came from the back of the trailer. Holstering my gun, I rushed to the back room to find a crying baby.
“What the fuck?” I muttered. Turning, I hit my com in my ear. “Target down. Got a fucking problem, though.”
“Me too,” Pyro said. “Fuckers dead. The girlfriend is gone, but there’s a baby here.”
