I could walk in there and find Freckles eating cereal at the kitchen table, or I could walk into something I don’t have enough bullets for.
Kings of Anarchy never back down. But Kings of Anarchy never ride alone. And this has clearly developed into more than a simple recovery mission for my bike.
“They’re about four miles to your location.”
“Can you run these plates for me?” I recite the lifted pickup’s registration, gaze drifting back to the inanimate house afterward.
The faint sounds of Darko tapping fill the truck. “Huh.” He taps some more. “What you got there?”
“How’d you mean?”
“The plates belong to a silver CRV, but they’ve been inactive for two years.”
Yeah. I sure ain’t staring at some weekend grocery wagon. “Stolen. Great.”
“Can’t give you much more than that, sorry.”
A faint rumble sets the dog a street over barking again before it cuts out. I lean back a little and check the side mirror. Sure enough, Loki rounds the corner on foot with Circus close behind.They cut a path to the truck that mostly obscures them from view of anyone at the house, and then slide in the back seat.
“Pickup is unknown,” I say, filling them in. “Stolen plates. No movement at the house since I’ve been here. Unknown occupants.”
“Any indication it’s more than just her other than the truck?” Loki asks.
“None.”
“How do you want to do this?”
I lean back with a heavy exhale out my nose. “Guess I walk up to the door to start with. Hope for the best.”
Loki leans between the front seats to stare out the windshield. “I’ll cover you from across the street; make it obvious. Big boy, here, can do his thing and slip around the back while they’re distracted.”
“Best we’ve got.” I scowl at the scene before us. “There’s fuck all cover here.” No fences, fuck all trees, and a lack of parked vehicles.
Hands to my sides, I flick the safety off my pistols. I’ve done more complicated things than this, faced worse odds. But somehow this seems to mean the most.
I exit the vehicle first, Loki not far behind. Circus stays put until we’ve drawn the attention off him, keeping watch as we walk toward Jenna’s house. I survey the mystery vehicle as we approach her front path, scouting it for any clues on who it belongs to. The damn thing almost seems as though it rolled off the lot yesterday, far too clean and factory standard. No personal touches. No modifications other than the lift kit.
“Bet his pecker’s this big,” Loki teases, wiggling his little finger.
“Or his wife doesn’t know he’s gettin’ it elsewhere.”
The mood grows heavy the instant I turn off the road and start up the cracked and weed-addled path. I give my bike aquick once-over and find no clear signs of damage. Maybe she did look after it okay?
Loki positions himself near the tailgate of the flashy pickup, hand to his hip as he draws his weapon in preparation.
Fucking hope we’re all overreacting, here.I fucking ache for this all to be a funny story we share from time to time in the future. But my sixth sense tells me no.
I rap the plain blue door three times and then step back, keening my ears for any signs of commotion or rapid movement inside. There’s nothing, and then the sudden click of the latch before the door is opened a fraction.
“Can I help you?”
Tattoo over his left eye, scar on his chin, almost indiscernible against the dimple. Brown eyes and the stance of a man ready to fight. Yeah, it’s him.
“Your daughter here?”
Flinch narrows his eyes, right arm obscured behind the door.
My fingertips prickle.
