“Have we fixed this shit?” he asked, looking around at Gauge and Dom.
“Yeah, cost the club a couple of grand to set it right. The glazier’s coming tomorrow to put a new window in,” Gauge said with an annoyed sigh.
“I’ll cover it. The club doesn’t need to pay for my bullshit,” I said, hoping that would put the matter to bed, because I really didn’t want another fucking lecture about it.
Shooter nodded. “All right. You cover the costs, and we’ll keep everyone sweet about this shit. But Beast”—he gestured toward the window, or what was left of it—“this can’t happen again.”
I gritted my teeth and nodded. “Understood, Prez.”
“That’s settled then, back to business. Doctor Collins thinks once physio starts you should be moved back to the clubhouse so we can keep you safe. Ain’t much he can do to keep it under wraps that you’re alive after that. You’ll be seen around the hospital and the more people that see you, the more likely it is that the fuckwits that put you here—or even those that want to take a hit on the club—will come for you. It’ll be too risky keeping you here.” Shooter’s expression was neutral but I could tell he wasn’t happy about the situation. Not a whole lot he could do about it though. Moving me to the clubhouse was dangerous because I wouldn’t be surrounded by doctors every day and it could set my healing back, but keeping me here was too risky on everyone else in the hospital once I was out of this room.
The Highwaymen had been busy figuring out who had attacked Echo and me, and they’d finally pinned it down to a shitty little drug-dealing outfit that we’d sent to ground a couple of weeks before the attack. They’d been catering to our clients and trying to cut us out of deals, but worse, their shit was basically that—shit. Cut up so bad it was more flour and aspirin than anything else. And bad shit going around our city was a no go. I thought I’d taken them all out, but apparently not. Little punks were nothing but a bunch of lowlife crackheads that had gotten fuckin’ lucky. My blood boiled with that news.
Echo was dead because of those pieces of shit. And they probably didn’t even remember what they’d done. At least if it would have been another club taking a strike or the cartel it would have been a death to be proud of. But he’d been killed because I hadn’t done my job right. He was rotting in the ground because I hadn’t listened to my gut and had missed a couple of crackheads sneaking up on us.
The realization was eating me up and stirring up the crazy in my head.
“Fuckers were probably too high to remember what they did anyway. Which is good,” I snarled, “because they’ll have no idea what’s coming for them.”
Death.
That’s what was coming for them.
A death so bloody and painful their bodies wouldn’t ever be identifiable. I’d pull every tooth and nail from their body, eyes, tongue, every fucking scrap of hair from their bodies while they were wide awake before slowly peeling their skin away from their bodies to reveal the fresh meat underneath. And then I’d let them heal long enough for me to start all over again.
I was practically salivating at the thought of it.
Gauge exchanged a look with Casa and I frowned, my brows pulling in.
“Spit it the fuck out,” I snapped.
“Casa doesn’t think it was them,” Gauge said, pulling a cigar from his pocket and sniffing it like it was a line of snow or some shit. “He’s got some theory like he’s…who the fuck is that detective?” He turned to look at Dom with a scowl.
“Sherlock Holmes?” Dom shrugged.
Gauge snapped his fingers. “Yeah, Casa here thinks he’s Sherlock Holmes or some shit.” He laughed darkly.
Casa stood up, bouncing on his heels like he always did. Brother never sat still for longer than five minutes at a time. Surprised it didn’t drive his old lady mad the way he was constantly twitching and moving.
“It ain’t a theory, motherfucker.” Casa grinned from ear to ear, giving Gauge the middle finger before looking back at me. “And I should have been one of the motherfuckin’ Hardy Boys, brother.”
“Can we cut the chitchat and tell me what you have or don’t have?” I bit out.
“Sorry, you got places to be?” Gauge said dryly, and I threw him a look that wiped the smug look off his face as quickly as it had come.
“Their car was broken down half a mile from the farmhouse,” Casa said as he paced the room cracking his knuckles. “There were cell phones, guns, and a fuck-ton of your blood and skin covering their knives still in it, but they were gone. What kind of idiots leave that sort of shit behind?”
“High ones, dickhead,” Dom said with a shrug, and Casa punched him in the arm.
“Fuck no. So they’re clear-headed enough that they can catch and carve up a man like Beast, but too high to remember to take all the evidence that links it to them?” Casa shook his head. “Nah, brothers, that don’t make no sense.”
The room fell silent until the door opened and Belle came in. Her hair was up off her face instead of clipped back with a little silver clip like usual. I liked this look though; it was up in a high ponytail and showed off her slender neck.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had visitors,” she mumbled.
“It’s fine, we’re done here anyway,” Shooter said, pushing away from the window ledge.
“No, we’re not. Belle, get the fuck out,” I growled, making her flinch. Some days she was all feisty and hard as nails, and other days she was all jumpy and shit like this. Couldn’t work her out at all, but I was asshole enough to admit that I liked it when she flinched. Though after our little encounter last night she was obviously being extra cautious.
