Chapter 27
Keith
The man lived out in the country. According to Zane, he and his wife divorced over the incident, and he moved to a trailer in the middle of nowhere. Which was perfect; nobody would be around. We made a pit stop at the funhouse for some supplies. The drive took damn near an hour, and when we reached the run-down single-wide, it was late.
Lights were on in the living room and kitchen, and a silhouette walked in front of one of the windows.
Did the old man hear the truck? Pulling my pistol, I motioned for Zane to head around the house toward the back entrance. The plan was for him to text me when he was in place, and then we’d rush in together. I only hoped we didn’t force the old-timer to have a heart attack. I really wanted to present him to Quinn alive.
When my phone buzzed, I shoved it in my pocket and nodded to Taven. We rushed the door, kicking it in easily. I heard another crash, and Zane came rushing down the hallway. There was a gunshot, and Zane cried out. I lifted my gun, ready to fire, when Taven dove at the man, knocking him to the ground and making the pistol go off.
My heart raced; what was he doing?! I stomped on the old man’s hand, forcing him to drop the weapon. He screamed, and Taven shouted, “I got him. Go check on Zane!”
Nodding, I turned to our fallen comrade. He was propped up against the wall, moaning. His face twisted into a scowl. “That fucker shot me!”
I glanced back at the old man, who was surprisingly still trying to wrestle Taven off. “Where did you get hit?”
Zane lifted his shirt, revealing bright red blood seeping from a wound on his left side. I poked it, and he cried out.
“Stop being such a baby; it just grazed you,” I snapped. Upon further inspection, it was obvious that the bullet had taken a chunk out of him, but there were no holes. He would have a gnarly scar, but he would live. “We can stitch it up later.”
“I’m sorry, boss.” Zane banged his head softly on the wall.
I rolled my eyes. “Stop being so dramatic. It’s my fuck up; we should have parked where he couldn’t hear the truck.”
“Who the hell are you people?!” the old man shrieked.
I instructed Taven to hold tight as I retrieved the supplies from the truck: duct tape, a ball gag, horse tranquilizer, and a blindfold. The last item wasn’t really necessary, but it was there.
Taven gave me a questioning look as I stuffed the bright red ball into the man’s mouth and strapped the Velcro around his head. To ensure he stayed quiet, I slapped tape over the gag for good measure. “Hold him up.”
With a grunt, Taven forced the man to his feet so I could wrap his body and legs with the tape, making sure it was extra tight. The man fell flat on his face and whimpered but couldn’t do much else. His eyes begged me for answers, desperately trying to figure out why we were doing this. “Let’s load him up.”
“What about the drugs?” Taven asked.
“He’s old as fuck, I don’t want to accidentally kill him before he gets to confess his sins.”
Again, the old man’s bright blue eyes begged for answers. He most likely had no idea what he’d done wrong. I almost wanted to tell him, but I’d rather leave him hanging in suspense.
Zane managed to get to his feet, pressing a hand firmly to his side. “I’m getting blood all over the place.”
I looked around the house. Even if we cleaned it, the cops would figure out there was foul play. And the bullet had Zane’s DNA on it. If they looked hard enough, they would find it, and the gig would be up.
“Jim Horton,” I muttered. The men nodded, giving me a knowing look.
I picked the man up by his legs. “Let’s go.”