Chapter Three
Koyn
T ick. Tick. Tick.
The giant clock on the wall in my office dances forward without a care in the world. As though Dragon and Katana last night didn’t deliver me the single morsel of information I’ve been salivating over for a decade.
Ten fucking years.
No leads. Dead ends. Cold case.
Now I have a name.
Randall Putnam.
Fire burns through my veins hot and searing. The thirst for vengeance is all I’ve known since I lost my girls, and now I feel like I’ll finally get a taste. Not just a sip, but I’ll gulp down the whole damn thing. Revenge is mine. So close.
I stare out the large window in my office, taking note of the trees and the way the rain patters down on the leaves, making them bounce. Despite all the rage flying around inside me like that of a F-5 tornado, this compound in Green Country keeps me as calm as someone like me will ever be. I’ve found peace here, and soon, I’ll find justice too.
Swiveling around in my chair, I stare at my computer. In my past, I spent so much goddamn time in front of it for my company. I was the best in my field. Annihilated the competition. Made a cushy life for my family. When they were murdered, I abandoned that life altogether. I spent the next year ruthlessly hunting down the man who ran from me. All I had to go on was he was a biker and the emblem on his cut. It led me to the Royal Bastards. Unlike those motherfuckers who took from me, the RBs were different. I felt a sense of brotherhood right from the start. The moment I met Filter, I knew I needed something to connect me to this world. Something to give me purpose. I found that in the club life.
I turn off my biker mind filled with revenge and hate, tapping into my IT brain. I once had contracts all over the globe, specifically with the National Security Agency, which paid me to hack their systems. To crack their security. I was to outline where they were penetrable and design programs to safeguard them from future attacks. Because our world revolves around information technology, it was a booming business to be in. One I was the absolute best at. In fact, I drove away all the competition by hacking into their shit and dismantling it. If they couldn’t protect their own information, they certainly didn’t deserve my clients.
While Copper hunts down Randall using his work connections, Halo shakes up his military buddies, and Dragon scours social media, I’ll do the dirty work. The shit I’m really fucking good at. I’m going to hunt him down and destroy him.
I start with his criminal record. Everything from domestic violence to child endangerment to multiple counts of sex with a minor. Fucking sick bastard. From his publically available criminal record, I then trace it back to which precinct he was booked into. I crack open their database with such ease I’m embarrassed for them, and then pull up the actual police reports. The child endangerment one piques my curiosity. I discover it’s his son.
His. Fucking. Son.
Eye for an eye, asshole.
Randall Michael Putnam, Jr.
I pause on Putnam to go on a hunt for his son. He’s twenty-one now. High school dropout. Last known address in New Orleans. I locate his son’s mother, a woman named Lydia who overdosed on methamphetamines when the kid was three. Putnam was an abusive fucker, but it never landed him any prison time. Just in and out of jail. When he got caught fucking with some girls, he went to the pen in Huntsville, Texas. Then, his son bounced around foster homes until he ran away for good at age twelve. Or was kidnapped. Putnam’s release date lines up with the son going missing.
Putnam doesn’t have any bank accounts or anything legal tied to his name, so the paper trail grows semi-cold. But hopefully the guys can come up with more.
“Hey, Prez,” a feminine voice purrs from my office doorway.
Stormy.
I let out a sigh and close out of what I was looking at before turning in my seat to regard her. She looks like a total slut today in her short shorts and fitted tank that dips low, nearly showing her nipples that are poking through the fabric. Her long blond hair hangs in waves in front of her shoulders and her red lips have been painted up.
“Hey,” I grunt out.
“You seen Filter?”
“He’s busy.”
She pouts and prances into my office like it’s her goddamn right. Stormy has gotten too damn comfortable around here. Whereas the guys all live on the compound because we’re a fucking family—Stormy overstays her welcome, shacking up with Filter like she’s his old lady.
“Whatcha workin’ on?”
“Cut the shit, Stormy. What do you want?”
Her lips part in shock at my tone. “Who says I want something?”
I glower at her, not in the fucking mood for games.
“Fine, I need money. Filter always gives me some when I need to buy stuff, but I can’t find him and he’s not answering his phone.”
“How much do you need?”
“Not much.”
I pull out my wallet and drop it on the desk. I’ve got about five hundred on me.
“Six grand is all,” she says, shrugging.
Excuse the fuck out of me. “Six grand? What the hell do you need six grand for?” I bellow. “I fucking feed your ass, clothe your ass, and put a roof over your ass.”
She flinches. “No need to get all pissy, Koyn. I just thought you’d have it is all.”
“Of course I have it, goddammit. But I’m not handing it over without you telling me what the fuck it is you need it for.”
“Boobs. These are ugly.” She squeezes her tits through her tank and bites on her bottom lip.
I whip open my wallet and toss a hundred at her. “Go buy a fucking bra. There. Problem solved. Now get the hell out of my office.”
Her face burns red, but she snatches up the bill before stomping off. I stop her with a sharp bark of her name. She turns around and glares icily at me.
“The Royal Bastards are not a fucking bank,” I growl. “If I ever catch you taking advantage of any of these guys—especially Filter—I will make you a past problem, Stormy. You can be the bottom of Keystone Lake’s problem. You feel me?”
She swallows hard. “Yeah, I feel you.”
“Get the fuck out of my sight.”
I need a goddamn cigarette.
Most everyone’s in the garage, working on shit, when Copper and Halo strut in with their laptops. From the leather couch that sits in a corner, I nod at them to join me. Stormy is practically dry humping Filter from behind as he attempts to change the oil on his bike. Bizzy stares at her ass like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen. I’m thankful to get a reprieve from this shit.
“Find anything?” I ask, blowing out smoke and stubbing my cigarette out in the ashtray on the table in front of me.
It’s cool this late afternoon because of the morning thunderstorm, so it feels nice sitting in the garage and listening to classic rock Payne has playing on the stereo. Copper and Halo drop down beside me on either side.
“Anything from Dragon?”
“Yeah,” Halo grunts. “He’s on his way. Had to fix his hair.”
Copper snorts. “Fucking pussy.”
The pussy in question saunters into the garage, grinning like a goddamn fool. He has his own laptop tucked under his arm. If he were walking down Rodeo Drive, they’d think he was modeling for a fucking biker clothing line. He doesn’t even look like a real biker. If I didn’t know what a crazy-ass psychopath he was, I’d think he was a goddamn poser too.
He pushes away the ashtray and sits down on the coffee table in front of me, his green eyes glittering with delight. “Hey, Prez.”
“Did you bathe in Axe aftershave before coming out here?” I complain. “You fucking reek, man.”
He smirks. “I smell lickable. Ask Stormy.”
“He does smell lickable,” she confirms from across the garage.
This earns her a swat to her ass by Filter.
“Whatever,” I grumble, eager to get this shit on with. “What did you three amigos find?”
“We can save the best for last,” Dragon says in a cryptic way that makes me want to shake out everything he knows right this second.
Copper launches into his findings before I get the chance. He pulls open his laptop and shows me a series of pictures. “There’s an open case on him in Texas. A string of murders. Teenage girls. Brutally beaten and raped. DNA matches Putnam. But once he took the kid and fell off the map, the case grew cold. There’s a warrant out for him, but nothing else in the database.”
And Ellie and Blaire’s murders aren’t even on that list, because at the time, we didn’t know who the fuck did this shit.
“Halo?”
“Putnam’s name pops up with my military contacts too. Brody says the border security was having a huge issue with a local El Paso MC gang around a decade ago, but then they all just vanished.” Halo taps on the screen. “BBBs.”
Copper clutches my shoulder. “We know you were responsible for the elimination of the BBBs in El Paso, so that’s not new, but what we didn’t know was what exactly they were doing over there. Halo said his guy Brody said they were smuggling in weapons from Mexico to sell to private contractors.”
“Private contractors?”
“Firms kind of like the one you owned,” Copper says. “Those private contractors had gigs with the NSA and were basically selling smuggled weapons back to the government at astronomical prices. All in the name of national defense.”
“Putnam was with the BBBs who’d been paid to run guns, but after what happened to your family, and then the subsequent slaying of their entire chapter, he ghosted out of there,” Halo tells me. “Poof.”
“I know your next thought is back on Putnam and where he went,” my brother says, “but I wanted more information on these private contractors. So I did some digging and found a handful we still need to check out. Putnam was obviously in with someone and I want to know who. It might lead us to where he’s at now.”
Dragon, who’d been quiet until this point, leans forward, grinning his boy band smile at me, a dark curl of hair falling over his brow. “While you dinosaurs were roaming the databases, I did a little social media stalking. Found this.” He shows me his laptop screen. “Putnam is old like you fuckers, so he doesn’t have any accounts, but his son…this has to be him.”
Junior “Milk” Putnam.
He pulls up a picture of some kid who has the same dirty blond hair and icy blue eyes I remember. The kid looks just like Putnam did back then. Those eyes. Gleaming with intent. I fist my hand, wanting to punch the fucking screen. Instead, I study his black leather cut.
Roaring River MC.
“Arkansas,” Dragon says. “I looked at some of his pictures and there are a bunch with him at a bar with some chick. She tags him in a lot of shit. The bar’s four hours from here outside of Little Rock.”
“You think Putnam’s there?” I growl.
“Roaring River MC doesn’t have any legitimate shit like the Royal Bastards MC, so there’s nothing official online for them, but I did message that girl. Juicy.” Dragon snorts. “She’s just a club slut. I told her I was looking for a badass chapter to patch into in the area. The bitch just blabbed all about their club. When Church is. When they fucking party. Who to come see…” His grin turns sinister. “I asked her if Milk was her boyfriend. She said they fuck around but she’s not married to him or anything and if I’m cute she might suck my dick.” He shrugs.
Pussy magnet.
The fucker will charm his way into the pants of any woman.
“And who are you to go see when you get there?” My blood is boiling with the need to maim—destroy—kill.
“Magna. Milk’s daddy.”
No fucking way.
I’m about to explode with the information, desperate to hop on my bike and haul ass to Little Rock so I can put the bullet in Putnam’s— or Magna’s —skull tonight. But I have to be smart about this. I need Alec Walker.
“Guns. Load up Copper’s truck. He and I’ll ride together with the weapons. I want the rest of you following on your bikes. We’re going to see Alec first.” I scrub my palm down my face as we stand, thrumming with pent-up energy.
“The Animal? That Alec?” Halo asks, his brows lifted.
“We need backup. He’ll know the area and he’s a ruthless fucker. We’ll need his local connections so this shit doesn’t hit the news. I’m going to blow them all the fuck up. Magna will watch his son die like I watched Blaire die.”
All three guys hang their heads, no doubt feeling my pain.
“I want to leave by seven. This shit ends tonight.”
After they leave, I dial my buddy Alec. I met him at a bar passing through one day. He’s a fucking psycho, but these days, who isn’t? He picks up on the third ring.
“I’m going to kill Magna and every motherfucker in that club,” I blurt out in way of greeting. “You with me or not?”
He chuckles. “My man Koyn. Good talking to you, brother. Let’s see…Magna beat the shit out of my friend’s little sister and put her in the hospital last month. No proof, but her word’s good enough for me. I’ve been looking for a way to bury that motherfucker that won’t land me in the pen.”
“My brother’s a Fed. Ain’t nobody getting locked up over that piece of shit. You feel me?”
“Hell yeah.”
“We’re headed your way. Give me four and a half hours.”
“See you soon, man. About time we take out the motherfucking trash around here.”