Chapter 3
Rage
Trouble, I thought the moment that the tall woman strode into the bar.
Her light brown hair was braided tightly on one side and curved around her head to flow over her opposite shoulder.
She walked into the bar with all the confidence of someone who had done it a thousand times before, expecting to know everyone in the room.
It wasn’t until after she got to the bar and the owner called out a greeting, that she seemed to pick up on the fact that she had more or less run into a keg of dynamite.
I’d been sitting here for nearly an hour trying to make heads and tails of what I’d come across during the day, barely touching the beer in front of me even after finishing off some quesadillas.
The locals were subdued, barely looking up from their tables and flinching when the outsiders would laugh and get rowdy.
It’s not that I know everyone in town, but I’ve been around here enough to know that the ten men scattered around the room were not from here and I’d bet my Harley that most of them had served time in prison.
If not for a break in the storm system we’d been getting and the early hour, I imagine they’d be the only ones in here.
There was a definite pecking order to the group, and I’d already pegged the man with the dark eyes and weasel-like expression at being near the top. More so when he decided to shoot his shot with the perfect ten who was waiting for her order at the bar.
She tried her damnedest not to engage with him but when panic shot across her face, I found myself crossing to her without thought.
Her amber eyes lit up when I mentioned Joanie, so I was glad I’d thought to name drop Mills’ assistant.
Unlike my brother, I never made it to six feet, I wish I was, but today the inch I have on the woman before me is enough, especially when we both stretch to our full height at the same time to lord it over the schmuck in front of us.
Unfortunately, the second she spit out her final ‘nope’, I saw the appreciation in his eyes change to hate and knew he’d never let it go.
Not ten minutes later, he proved me right when he and his friends were kicking the shit out of me in the parking lot. My heart nearly stopped when I saw her brake lights illuminate the dark road and I tried to yell, “Go!”, until a boot caught me in the jaw, and everything went dark.
*
The next time I start to wake up, I’m being pulled out of the trunk of a car. My head, ribs and shoulder are throbbing in pain, and it doesn’t feel too good being dropped on my ass.
“Hey, let me get that as a souvenir,” someone says although the words don’t register with me until I feel my cut being taken off.
Crossing my arms around my stomach takes every bit of energy I have and does nothing but earn me another crack over my head.
It’s daylight the next time I wake up, this time I’m in what seems like a large dog crate, my cheek is resting on hay and sawdust and as I sit up, I see it was scattered to soak up what was either mud or blood. My money’s on it being blood.
Sitting up, my head brushes against the top of the cage but that’s not my immediate concern.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly let it out, trying to determine if one of my ribs—because I know a couple of those are broken—have hit my lungs.
Of course, I’d probably be dead by now if either of them had been pierced; the only pain that comes from breathing seems to be from my ribs and muscle aches up and down my back.
My best guess is that my shoulder blade is cracked along with a couple of ribs and a concussion. Overall, I feel like shit.
The Kings know where I was heading, as long as I was only unconscious the one night then it was yesterday morning that I texted Bronco and I just have to hold on until they track my ass down.
I’d left my main cell phone in my kit back in my truck, and my burner is gone along with my wallet and boots. Which means they have the knife I keep there.
Meanwhile, there’s nothing for me to do but rest. The longer I stay quiet, the stronger my body will be, so I tuck myself into the back corner and smile, thinking about what I’m going to do to the son of a bitch who stole my cut.
*
I must have looked too comfortable, because when I wake up again it’s due to the spray of water shooting down on me.
A hose has been taped to the grate of the cage over my head and while it solves the issue of my thirst, it’s too fucking cold for this shit.
The small metal squares are too small to get my hands through, but eventually I knock it out of the way so it isn’t spraying directly at me.
Of course, sitting in a puddle of water in an unheated old barn in December, isn’t exactly comfortable regardless.
The line of the hose stretches across the room and out the door; I guess it doesn’t much matter that it was left open, not with the broken boards all around the space.
Leaning under the hose, I take another mouth full and swish it around before spitting it out.
The fact that I have a pulse means that I wasn’t spotted nosing around their operation center yesterday. That went sideways pretty fast, so maybe they’re waiting to exact some revenge.
After driving around town for a little while, I had pulled a coat on over my cut and walked into the Sheriff’s station.
Joanie had finally reached out to let me know that she was on maternity leave and couldn’t see me.
Her message told me enough. That she was scared, and I wouldn’t help the situation.
I had never seen the man sitting in her usual spot, and I don’t think he was too happy with his current employment; what with his boots being up on the desk, destroying a pile of paperwork, as he bounced a ball off of the nearest wall.
He didn’t say a word to me after barely sparing me a glance. I stood in front of him, waiting to be acknowledged.
“Want something?” he finally asked me.
“Can I talk to Mills?”
“Don’t know a Mills,” he replied, reaching over to a pack of Syn to slide a piece against his gumline.
“He’s the sheriff.”
He snorted before grinning at me. “Not anymore, he ain’t. Now, why don’t you get on out of here before the new sheriff comes back?”
“Well, who’s the sheriff now?” I ask, pushing my luck even as I wondered what kind of sheriff would hire someone with neck tattoos and gauges in his ears.
“May. Now get the fuck out.”
I couldn’t stop myself from looking up at the camera over his shoulder, reminding myself that if I snapped his neck, they’d have me dead to rights in court. Except, that’s when I noticed that the wire leading up to it had been cut.
Turning on my heel, as if I decided to take his advice, I clocked the camera that points straight at the desk—the wire on that one had been cut also.
Staying as calm as a man nicknamed Rage could, I went out to my truck and drove to Mills’ home. My friend was dead, I knew that for certain. Now, I just needed to piece together who all was involved, because none of them were going to see the New Year.
Whoever it was that had tossed his place must have had his key, because his spare one was where he always left it. I reached for that but didn’t need it as the front door wasn’t locked. Maybe it wasn’t the norm for people out this way, but Mills was from Chicago originally and always locked up.
You can take the man out of Chicago. You cannot take Chicago out of the man, was a quote he used to excuse all of his odd habits; namely being a Bears and Cubs fan.
The few things of value he had seem to be missing, plus whoever had been through here threw together a bag of clothes to make it look like he was leaving—except they couldn’t be bothered to grab his toothbrush, deodorant, or shave kit.
As I was leaving, I heard the rumble of a truck and froze. It wasn’t coming up the driveway and the small yard behind the house ran up against government land. While he’d use it for hikes, there wasn’t another road back there.
Or there hadn’t been, I thought, watching a van drive by the opposite side of the house. Waiting until they were out of sight, I tossed my cut in my truck and headed to the garage to borrow Mills’ ATV.
“And how’s our guest enjoying his stay?” Comes a voice from the doorway pulling me back to the present.
I look up but he’s standing with the sun at his back, so I can’t make out his features.
The only thing I can clearly see is the short fuck from the bar is standing behind him wearing my cut and twirling my knife.
I’m going to have fun ending that motherfucker.
“Something happen to the prison?” I ask once he’s close enough that I can see he’s wearing a badge.
“Well, we have something of a two-tiered system around here,” he says around a shit eating grin as he unlocks the front panel. “This one’s for special guests. Cuts down on the paperwork.”
Staying toward the back so one of the three men in front of me will have to join me in order to get me out, I sit there without saying another word. Now would be a great time to make an entrance, Thunder, I think, quietly wishing my brother was storming the building right about now.
“Come on out of there, Rage,” he orders, drawing out my road name. “We just want to have a little chat, then you can be on your way.”
Bullshit. Does he think he’s talking to a child?
“Mills said he’d come looking for him,” the blonde-haired man behind the faux sheriff comments. “Kept us waiting, though didn’t he, Davis?”
“Shut it,” the man I now have a name for snaps out, while the sheriff shakes his head like he knows he’s working with two imbeciles.
“Davis,” I say, not bothering to look at him. “You look like a kid playing dress-up. Why don’t you take my cut off before you trip over it?”