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Chapter Twenty-One
Psycho
Since we know Thomas isn’t walking the streets lost, brothers have been returning to the clubhouse. Keys is furiously tapping away on his laptop, and every click is driving me further into a rage.
I didn’t see this coming. I thought keeping Evie and Thomas away from club life—my other life—would ensure their safety. The audacity of someone taking Thomas from school is only deepening the rage, boiling my blood.
Chaos warned me years ago that my side job better not come back to bite the club on the arse, and it never has. But I’d rather trouble came for the club. At least my brothers are capable and strong enough to hold their own. Thomas is an innocent, and a kid to boot.
I’ve never been worried about anyone before, and I don’t like the feeling now. The second I get him back, I’m never letting anything get close to him or his mother again. Word will spread in all the right places of the example I’m going to set before this night ends. No one will dare even speak to them without my permission. Evie asked Psycho to bring Thomas home, and I’m not going to hide him from her any longer.
“Found out who he is,” Keys announces, bringing his laptop over to me.
I see his photo first. From what I can remember of his brother, I can see the resemblance.
“Jordon Bowman. Lives alone. He’s thirty-nine, divorced, with no children. Worked as a teacher till his brother showed up dead. There’s not much on him since then, but I’ve got an address.”
He passes me a slip of paper with a place on the other side of town. The prospect calls Chaos over, and I watch intently as he whispers in his ear.
Seeking me out, Chaos waves me over. I hope to fuck he’s got good news for me.
“There’s a police car up the street, two officers. They’re watching us.”
This is all we need.
“I’ve got the prick’s address. They’re not stopping me from going to search it out.”
Sighing heavily, he says, “I’ll distract them while the prospect drives out. Take Mayhem and Riot, sit in the back, don’t be seen, and check out the place.”
Nodding, I pocket the address and grab the prospect. “Have the van ready to go in thirty seconds.”
“Sure thing.”
I round up my brothers and we shrug out of our cuts. We all know how this is going to go down, and the less people who recognise us, the better. Not that I’m concerned about witnesses right now. I’ll kill them all just to do what I’ve got to do.
I jump in the back of the van first, followed by May and Riot, all of us carrying guns in the back of our jeans.
My heart’s racing, my blood pumping as I imagine all the ways I’m going to hurt Jordan Bowman before I kill him.
“He won’t have hurt the kid, Psy. He’ll be using him to get you in his sights,” Mayhem insists.
“Let’s hope,” I grunt.
Regardless of whether Thomas has been hurt or not, Bowman will die horrifically at my hands.
“We got anyone following us, Prospect?” Riot hollers through to the front.
A few moments later, he calls back, “No.”
Mayhem turns to me. “How do you want to do this, brother?”
“He’s in a block of flats. The three of us go up, kick in his door, make as little noise as possible. The prospect will wait in the van, ready to get away and keep watch.”
The next ten minutes drag by painfully slow before we’re pulling up to Bowman’s address.
Climbing out the back, I roll my neck and crack my knuckles. I’m so fucking ready to commit violence on a level not even I’ve dished out before.
“Let’s go,” I say to my brothers.
