Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
BULLSEYE
Suddenly, a piercing whistle breaks through the noise in the room. It’s Dum, the prospect. I’ve often used his attention-getting ability before. Realising it must be something important, I jerk my head toward the jukebox. Paint, nearest, hurries and switches it off.
Dum shouts. “Is there an explosive expert in the house?” What the fuck? The prospect continues, “Someone just threw a package over the gates. Need it checked out.”
Freak tenses beside me.
“Freak…”
The enforcer turns to his old lady. “I’ve got to go look.” His face softens. “I got this.”
“You fucking better,” Trixie replies. But from the way her jaw tenses, I know she’s worried as fuck.
What kind of prez would I be if I didn’t follow him outside? I’m not the only one. Most of the brothers exit the clubhouse with no regard for the risk to their lives.
Staying close to Freak, I hear him tell Dum, “You did good.” He steps closer to the package. Turning, he waves the rest of us back. We all retreat a few yards.
Crouching on his haunches, he spends a minute just eyeing what to me looks like a brown envelope, slightly puffy as though it’s lined with bubble wrap protecting whatever’s inside. Then, he reaches out and, with the tip of his finger, turns the package over.
I hardly dare breathe, and from the hushed silence around me, neither does anyone else. There’s an audible gasp as Freak moves his hand over the surface. Then, we all take a further step back as he reaches out and picks it up.
Standing, with it in his hands, he walks over to me. “I can feel no wires. There’s a lump at one end, but nothing to suggest an explosive.”
Nevertheless, I gingerly take it. “I’m safe to open it?”
Freak grins. “You could always give it to a prospect.”
Dutifully, I laugh. There’s no way I’d do that. “Stand back,” I warn everyone, confident in the assessment of my enforcer, but unwilling to take the chance we’re not yet out of the woods.
And loyal as they are, all the brothers, except for Freak, shuffle back.
Taking my Ka-bar from my belt, I slip it under the flap.
When nothing happens, I peer inside. I extract a sheet of paper, then tap out whatever else is in there.
When the clear plastic-covered object comes into sight, I almost drop it in shock.
It’s a finger. Clearly, recently cut off.
And, as I examine it closer, it bears a wedding ring just like the one Freak told me Ames still wears.
It’s Rat’s. A sign he’s alive? Am I right to assume the amount of blood surrounding the finger suggests it wasn’t cut off postmortem?
I turn my attention to the letter accompanying the gruesome offering.
Tell my dear sister she’ll get the rest of her husband back in parts unless she contacts me at the number below. I may even start with his dick. Or an eye.
If she wants to see Flynn Ellington alive, she has to call me now. I’ll start cutting bits off him every hour, starting at midnight.
And yeah, underneath, there’s a number.
I pass the letter to Freak, who reads it, then Saint steps up and takes it. Tempest is next. Suddenly coming out of the stupor Stone’s words had put me in, I yell, “Church. Now!”
Short’s walking out with Bronwyn and Trip.
He pauses at my shout, turns around, kisses Bronwyn, then hands something to her, which I assume are his truck keys.
He must have heard the urgency in my voice, as without any complaint or request for information, he simply raises a brow toward me as he heads into church.
I watch as brothers, still carrying drinks they haven’t yet gotten to finish, follow Short back inside.
In the clubroom, Woody hastily pulls out of Star, sporting a, well, woody that he hastily tucks back into his pants.
No one grumbles or raises shit. Under the circumstances, they all know this has to do with our missing brother.
As normal, I’m the last one to enter, always liking to give them a chance to settle themselves first. Tonight, I don’t leave them waiting long.
Ah, there’s one extra empty chair apart from mine. I sit, look pointedly at the empty space, and it’s Words who responds. “Winchester had to take a shit.”
Probably TMI, but at least he’s got an excuse. I just hope he doesn’t take too long.
Without waiting for him to return, I take the plastic bag I’d kept safe in my pocket and lay it down on the table.
Most of them have already seen the grizzly offering, but a couple, including Woody, who’d been otherwise occupied, stand and lean over the table to get a better look at it.
Sombrely, I tell them, “From the wedding ring on the finger, it’s definitely Rat’s.”
“He’s alive?” Piston’s eyes are wide.
Words walks to the top of the table, picks up the plastic and eyes the contents.
“Can’t guarantee it, but there’s a lot of blood.
Dead bodies don’t bleed so much. Freshly killed they might ooze.
Dead for longer, there might be a little dark blood.
This? It's fresh and there’s a lot of it.
So yeah, I’d say there was a good chance he was alive when it was cut off.
” Words would know, dealing with corpses is all in his day’s work.
But then he adds, “Whether he is now, there’s no saying one way or another. ”
And ain’t that the fuckin’ truth?
The door bursts open. “What have I missed?” Winchester rushes around to his seat, catching sight of the finger on his way. “What the fuck?”
“It’s Rat’s,” Woody updates him. “We think he’s alive.”
When they all start talking at once, I bang the gavel. “Don’t count on him staying that way for long.” When all eyes come to me, I unfold the note I received and read it to them.
“We got a problem, Prez,” Freak begins. When I raise a brow toward him, he shakes his head. “Ames won’t be speaking to anyone for a good few hours. Bronwyn gave her the good shit. She’ll be knocked out until morning.”
There are a few comments about how to rouse her, but a couple of the brothers who’d experienced the ‘good shit’ fully understand.
“It’s eleven o’clock now,” Tempests observes. “Do you think he’ll carry out his threat if she doesn’t call him?”
“Odds are he will,” the enforcer tells him. “He’s already cut off a finger. He’s not afraid to get his hands bloody.”
“Prez?” I raise my chin toward Genie to let him know he can speak.
“Why don’t you call him, explain the situation.
We can record the call and try and see if there are any clues that give away his location.
” He turns his eyes to Saint. “I know Pippa’s got her hands full but I could really use her expertise right now. ”
Saint gives a sharp nod and offers a simple, “She’ll help.” Then he adds with a quirk to his mouth, “I value my balls too much to keep her out.”
The situation is so serious that no one laughs. But in the short period of silence that follows, I think we’re automatically waiting for Rat to interrupt with something to the tune of Saint handed over his genitals when he got married. Of course, he’s not here to lighten the situation.
“Saint, can you get Pippa and bring her into church?”
“Trix is still here. She can go babysit Jade. I’ll get one of the club girls to go sit with Ames.”
After nodding his thanks to Freak for the suggestion, Saint gets up and leaves.
It’s one of our rules that we always leave our phones outside and never bring them into church.
The only exception is mine, and even then, I power it down.
You never know who might try to hack into it and use it as a listening device.
Paranoid? Yeah, but it keeps us free and breathing.
While the VP’s gone, no one’s in the mood to make light conversation. Piston leaves his seat, comes to the top of the table, and stares at the bloody digit, taking a closer look. He doesn’t let on what he’s thinking, just gives a shake of his head and goes back to his chair.
One of the benefits of Saint having built a house on the compound is that he’s back within minutes, bringing Pippa with him.
She looks like she’s just rolled out of bed.
Her hair’s sticking up, and while no one’s stupid enough to point it out, her t-shirt’s on inside out. The VP pulls her down onto his lap.
“Saint quickly updated me.” Pippa doesn’t wait to be asked for her contribution. “I’ve got an idea. We need to get tracking software downloaded onto his phone so we can trace where he is.”
Stalker snorts. “Then, we, what? Ask him if he doesn’t mind loading a program?”
Even I cringe at the death stare she turns on the treasurer, while he slides down into his seat as if wishing he could disappear under the table.
Genie, to the contrary, sits up straighter. “You mean send him a Trojan?” He shakes his head. “He runs his own tech company, we found that out when we looked into him.”
Pippa raises her chin. “Yeah, it will have to be something that sneaks in under any anti-virus protection he’s got set up.” Then she adds quite matter-of-factly, with no pride in her skills. “I’m sure I can knock something out in a couple of hours.”
“But we’ve still got to get him to open a message up and click on a link.” Genie frowns as he voices the problem.
“Send him the link to some nudes,” Woody suggests. “I’d click on that.”
Unfortunately, he’s sitting next to our tech expert, who backhands him around the head. “You better fuckin’ not,” Genie growls.
Woody doesn’t know when to shut up, but does try to redeem himself. “Send him a message saying he’s had a big win on the lottery. Make it official-looking. Who wouldn’t click on that?”
Nobody answers.
Genie’s gone a strange shade of red. In a voice barely containing his anger, he snarls, “You give your fuckin’ phone to me right after this meeting.”
In a deceptively gentle voice, Pippa informs Woody, “You know.” She starts casually, “It’s exactly the type of ploy the Feds would use. Send a text or email that an idiot is sure to open. Then get into everything stored on your phone.”