“The fucker’s got something planned, but for now, you and Myles are good. Stay the fuck focused, Mase, and we might come out of this after all.”
“I’m lookin’ to get home, Cas, there’s nomightabout it.”
We're frogmarched into a damp, dank, basement. The door slams, echoing around the empty, bricked space.
“At least we can stretch our legs down here,” Sparky says, adding, “Though the last time I was locked in a basement...”
Cutting him off, I snap, “We all know what happened, Sparks. It ain’t helpin’.”
Mason wasn’t there, but the sons have all heard the stories about Oak. The good, the bad, and the death.
“Fuck knows how long he’ll keep us down here, we need to come up with a plan,” I say.
“I wouldn’t ever go against us, but I’m not living in a cuckoo world either. There are five of us, two of which with gunshot wounds. We have not one gun between us, and we’re in the middle of a fuckin’ Motorcycle Club who wants us all dead. It's gotta be some plan, Cas,” Mason points out.
“There ain’t shit we can do right now, so let’s put our heads together and come up with something.”
JJ and Myles are shoved down the steps and Mason rushes over to stop them from falling, not that he can help much with his hands tied behind his back.
“You good, brother?” Mase asks Myles, while Sparky tips his chin at JJ.
Leo should be here. His body left lying on the grass back in fuck-knows-where. I have no idea where my boy is and how to find him when we get out of here.
“Yeah, they stitched me up. Can already tell he done a shit job, they’re too tight. Gonna have a fucked-up scar.”
“You’re alive, who gives a fuck?”
“Em does. Last time I got my ass in a situation like this, I came home with scars that scared the crap outta her.”
JJ falls onto an old rickety chair and sighs heavily. “They gave me antibiotics, said it looked like my shoulder was infected.”
“Looks like they have everything here that they could possibly need,” Myles tells us.
“What else did you see?” I ask.
“There must have been about thirty guys I counted walking over here. There were forty-three bikes, so there are more guys around here somewhere.”
“We’re fucked,” JJ mutters.
“Not necessarily,” I disagree. “There will be an opening, we just have to be ready for it.”
No one looks convinced. “I don’t see how we’ll get past them all,” Myles moans.
“A little fuckin’ confidence in who we are wouldn’t go amiss,” I snap losing patience.
“I’m just sayin’, Cas, that the odds are stacked against us.”
Smirking, I say, “It will make it all the sweeter when we’re on our way home, won’t it.”
We're led up the stairs and out into the night. The fire pits are all lit, and the music is turned down in volume. Hog fucks are stood around, beers in hand, cigarette’s burning, and they cheer and holler when they see us. The five of us keep our heads held high. We're stopped by the makeshift boxing ring. Nothing good can come from this and the five of us know it. Hopper stands himself in the centre and calls for everyone’s attention.
“As you’re all aware, we have ourselves five special guests!”
His men listen with rapture. Mason brims with electricity beside me and Sparky reminds me of the guy he was twenty years ago. Time has made him lazy, which the same could be said for me since I stepped down from the gavel.
“As a reward for all your hard work of late, I'm givin’ ya one night to have fun with our guests.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Mason mutters quietly.
