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Underneath the wrapping was a plastic bag with something inside.
Something dark and red and…fuck, was that blood?
Jesse was back, shining the light down over the surface of the parcel.
“Jesus Christ, that’s someone’s hand!” Jesse exclaimed as he stared down at it.
Dante nodded, swallowing back bile.
No matter how many times he’d shot or killed someone, or how many dead bodies or body parts he’d seen, it never got easier.
That’s why Sonny was the lead enforcer and sergeant at arms and Dante was not.
“There’s a signet ring on one of the fingers. Can you make out any markings or designs?”
Jesse crouched down beside him and looked closer. “Looks like a skull… with a wild rose and a knife through it. The symbols on our cut.”
“Is that an ‘H’ on each side of the ring?”
“Yup. Since when do we have club rings?”
“We don’t. Or maybe we did, before I got here?”
Jesse shook his head. “Never seen my dad wear one.”
“He’s the only one who knows the answer.”
“But all our members are accounted for, and no one has a ring like this. So whose hand could this be? And how are they connected to us?” Jessed asked.
“I don’t know, Jesse, I don’t fucking know. But I got a bad feeling we ain’t gonna like the answer.”
3
SAGE
Sage drove her second-hand truck into town, the muffler making a god-awful rattling sound.
The guy who’d sold her this piece of junk a week ago had warned her that it was a shit car, but she gladly gave over the $500 for it. It was a backup vehicle after all.
It was a good investment for her purposes, and just the kind of excuse she needed.
There was only one place in Longford that did car repairs – the Devil’s Wrench. The shop was owned and run by the Hellraisers & Hellions club.
Sage drove by the shop every time she came into town, usually once a week. But she’d never had to use their service.
Until now.
The main road was quiet and dark. Save for several bikes heading west as she was heading east. But they weren’t her neighbors.
It was the Midnight Carnage crew. She recognized their cuts and in particular, the red beard of Padraig Flynn.
The president of the club. Rosemary’s husband.
What was he doing here? He lived near Canmore, an hour west of Longford.
Sage gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles whitened, and the vinyl squeaked under her palms.
But the bikers drove past her and didn’t spare a second glance, gunning it as they exited onto the highway.
