Page 93 of Broken Skulls

Jacob grabs my other arm. “Why didn’t either of you say anything?” he asks.

My gaze goes back and forth between the two of them. “I … she …” I don’t know what to say. “He didn’t do anything to us. We had it …”

Dirk finishes for me. “You both thought you had it handled?”

The way he reads my mind has my lips instantly curling between my teeth. I think I’ve said enough.

His gaze shifts to Jacob. “I’m going to need to borrow your fucking room as soon as I find my wife.”

Jacob grunts in agreement.

“We start at the Harley shop,” Dirk says.

“It’s Sunday. They're closed,” I tell him.

He chuckles so darkly it makes my skin crawl.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Elizabeth

My mouth hangs open as I watch Dirk take an axe to the large window at the Harley dealership. The alarm instantly goes off. He doesn’t give two fucks. His tattoos ripple with sweat as he swings it again, the glass shattering in a thousand pieces around him.

Raffe and Jackson step through the window with him. The rest of the club waits on their bikes as they search the office.

“Won’t the cops show up?” I ask Jacob.

“Eventually,” he says.

The men come out a few minutes later. Dirk holds up a piece of paper with butt fuck’s face on it. “This him?” he asks me.

“That’s him.”

He taps me lightly on the chest with the folder. It’s his way of saying thank you.

This is the only reason they brought me along. I wonder if Jacob will take me back to the warehouse now.

Jackson waves Dirk in front of him, letting him take the lead before heading out onto the highway.

Jacob looks over his shoulder at me. “You don’t leave my side.”

I nod.

The sun drops behind the mountains as we turn on a road that looks like it leads to nowhere. A hand painted sign hangs haphazardly from a post. It reads:Hold onto your teeth. Potholes ahead.

It would be funny if it wasn’t true.

The group has to slow down.

It’s dark by the time we reach our destination, which is an old building in what looks like a ghost town.

Jacob parks on the street. “Never thought I’d be in this shithole again,” he mumbles as he helps me off the bike.

I look up at the faded sign above the door. Big Dan’s Tattoo Shop.

“Fucking Trap County? You’ve got to be kidding me,” Raffe joins Jacob in his grumbling at where we find ourselves.

Dirk bites the lid off of a marker, slamming a dirty paper bag against the window. “The house is here.” He draws several lines and then an x, marking the address on butt fuck’s employee record.

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