Chapter 39
RAZOR
Present Day
The drive was a long one, but it flew past with my memories of Sunday to keep me company.
It helps not to focus on what a huge mistake I made letting her go.
I was an asshole and deserve the main award for that.
In saving her from me, I put her in the path of her enemies, and now she may not make it at all.
It turns out Ashton was right. She is better off with me, and it’s taken losing her to bring me to that conclusion.
If I get the chance, I will tell her everything, and she can decide. I should have given her the opportunity in the first place. I blame myself for that.
I turn into the yard, noting the bikes lining the lot. Their chrome gleaming as the searchlights power on, and I swallow the lump in my throat.
I will never forget the morning that Sunday left.
I watched her leave along with my brothers.
She waved at us as she drove off in the compact I last saw parked under the tree.
I will never forget how I felt in that moment, and I stood there for a long time after everyone had left.
I am my own worst enemy. I understand that, and now it’s up to me to make it right.
If I get the chance.
It’s late, or is it early? I’m not sure anymore, and as I head inside, I’m surprised to find Ryder and Snake waiting for me.
“Welcome home, soldier.”
Ryder’s expression is grim, and my heart sinks. What the fuck is this?
They head to the bar and not his office, which probably isn’t the best place for me to be right now. There are too many memories of Sunday serving behind it, and I swallow my pain as I follow them in.
Snake heads behind the bar as Ryder takes a stool, indicating I should sit.
He wastes no time.
“We believe she is currently at De Soura’s home in LA. His jet landed there yesterday, and a woman was seen disembarking.”
“Do they have the name on the manifest?”
I switch my mind to business leaving emotion at the door and Ryder nods, his expression grim.
“Yes, Josephine De Sauro.”
“She’s married?”
Fuck, I wasn’t expecting that, and Snake adds, “Not yet. It appears that he applied for a license, but it’s dated for next week.”
“Then why name her that on the manifest?”
Ryder shrugs. “He could call her anything; there are too many officials on his payroll. I expect he was hoping nobody would pick up on it. Why would they? Plus, Sunday Monroe is officially a missing person, so it directs the heat away.”
“So, we go to his home.”
“It’s not that easy.”
Ryder sighs. “Santiago is due to be awarded a huge honor at a charity ball in LA on Saturday. He is attempting to build up his image and go legit. We believe he will be taking Sunday as his plus one, which gives us the perfect opportunity to steal her back without a full-scale operation.”
“Saturday.”
I blow out a breath, my fist curling because a lot can happen in a few days, and every minute she is with that creep is a minute too long.
“The plan is to attend the gala, have men on the inside and the outside. If we can’t remove her from inside, we can stage an intervention on their way home. Standard procedure, but that runs the risk of Sunday getting hurt.”
Fuck! The thought of Sunday caught up in one of our interventions is not something I want to dwell on too long.
Snake sets a black coffee down in front of us, and I raise my eyes.
“Fuck, Razor, it’s 3.AM. Coffee is all you’re getting.”
Ryder chuckles as I smirk, happy to be back with my brothers, despite the circumstances.
Ryder continues. “We spend the next few days going over the plan and making sure it goes without a hitch. Every eventuality will be considered, and as soon as Sunday is safe, Santiago will discover he has taken his last breath.”
The mood is ominous, the stench of retribution hanging heavy in the air.
This is the moment the Reaper shows his scythe.
When everything else has failed and the only option is death.
Santiago overstepped the boundary, and his fate is sealed.
Mess with a Reaper, whoever they are, and you don’t survive, period.
* * *
Waiting is torture, and even Blade can’t calm me down. I’m a walking human bomb, liable to explode at any moment. Anything could be happening to Sunday. That man is a psycho, and the intelligence Ryder and Snake have gathered proves my point.
His list of medications is a walking red flag. Stuff to control psychosis, shrink reports that don’t make for good reading. There are the stories of the fucked-up shit he does for fun, usually involving torture, death, kill; what a fucking great guy.
I can’t bear being here knowing Sunday is suffering; the only thing calming me is the fact she’s due to marry the creep. It’s the week after the gala. It will never happen because, as it turns out, it will be over his dead body.
On Friday night, we are packing. Ryder decided on a select team for this mission, preferring to use local resources where needed. The Wild Angels have graciously agreed to offer us hospitality and assist us in any way they can.
Luckily for me, Blade was selected, along with Ryder, Snake, Creed, and Tyson, who is currently in LA for one of Summer’s concerts and only happy to assist.
The plan is to take the jet and head to the Angel’s clubhouse where they will provide hospitality.
As I pack up my black suit, last used to liberate Delilah from her past, I only hope we can do the same for Sunday.