Page 18 of Redemption

Tonight, they elevated themselves from pests to enemies when they attacked two of our guys and made off with the shipment. That ain’t the kind of shit that any MC would allow to stand, especially with a ragtag group, half of whom ride crotch rockets.

Those who know me will tell you, I’m slow to anger, but when I get pissed off, everyone knows to get out of my path.

We start at the hospital. Plot was riding as the lookout for Wheel, who was in the cage with the goods. Wheel was shot and leftfor dead, but being the lucky son of a bitch that he is, the bullet merely grazed his skull, so once he regained consciousness, he called their location into Doc and Oak.

On the other hand, Plot was beat to hell, and since Doc was one of the first on the scene, he called an ambulance as Oak tossed the kid’s bike around on the road, making it look like an accident. We know damn well that none of the cops around here would spend too much time on a Grizzly in an accident, so the appearance of a few scrapes and missing parts was all that was needed.

“They knew we’d be there, Prez,” Plot wheezes out. “Disabled vehicle with flares out. There was a woman. I did what I had been trained to do, I gave her a wide berth, but something hit me.”

I nod, almost able to picture what had happened. To say this kid learned his lesson is an understatement. With a broken leg, several ribs, and one of his collarbones he’ll be replaying each of his actions every day until he’s back on his bike.

At least I did, when I was in his place.

After checking on him, we split up into a couple of groups to check out the most recent locations the Rebels had been squatting in.

“You got any sign of them?” I ask Oak when he picks up my call.

We’re standing outside an abandoned warehouse. Well, mostly abandoned besides the usual array of addicts, but there’s no chance the Rebels have used this space in the recent past.

“Nothing,” he replies. “Roman and I were talking about hitting up some of our contacts, find out if they want tovolunteersome information.”

“Stay in groups. I’ll check in with Chaser and see if he’s had any luck locating our shipment,” I tell him before hanging up and turning back to Tyrant.

He grunts, finishing up a text message before looking up at me. “All quiet at home, Prez. Last view of the truck that Chaser could find on any cameras it was heading to the highway.”

“No sense in running around until we know where to go,” I say, nodding to myself until I see the look on his face. “What?”

“Swann won’t say anything, but it’s pissing him off that he’s on full-time babysitting duty nowadays,” he informs me, keeping his voice low so the others won’t hear him criticize my decision.

“That’s too damn bad, isn’t it?” I circle my finger around, giving the others the sign that we’ll be heading home.

Swann’s wife was killed nearly two years ago. They had met in foster care and the club was their only true family, so there’s no fucking way that I’ll put him in the line of fire. Evon deserves to grow up with the only parent she has left.

Since the day we buried Marie, I’ve assigned Swann to stay back, protecting my sister and our home while the rest of us go on runs, or after whatever mayhem is afoot.

Whatever the girls have been up to in my absence doesn’t distract Bridget enough that she misses the security footage of us returning.

“Everyone alright?” she asks, popping her head out of the office door before obviously trying to keep her grip on it. “Stay put.”

“For the love of … Bridget, open the door.” We can all hear how annoyed Sloane sounds. When my sister gives up the battle, I can’t help but to smile when Sloane emerges with a glare in my sister’s direction. “Vector, I understand you want to keep me safe, but that doesn’t mean you get to keep me in the dark.”

“Bridget,” I say, sounding and trying to look taken aback. “You could have turned on the light in there.”

“Funny. Fine, I’m going home, and she sucks at poker,” my sister grumbles, sounding like a petulant child but my eyes are glued to the red head coming toward me and just for a split second I see a flash of mirth across her face.

“Tyrant,” I utter his name with a nod in Bridget’s direction, and he immediately follows her out. Looking back at Sloane, I try to get a read on where we stand now, but her face only shows her annoyance at being held here without any information. “We got a man in the hospital and a stolen truck we can’t track down.”

My announcement happens just as Crasher joins us from the direction of his office, giving me a subtle shake of his head to tell me he doesn’t have anything new before continuing, “There just aren’t enough cameras on the outskirts of town.”

“There are.” Sloane’s voice is soft as she stops beside me and I turn to face her again, my eyebrows knitting together in question. “Virginia Gas got funding from Homeland Security, in case of an attack on any of our substations. It’s not fully operational yet, so they’re still in testing mode. Um, Beta? I think.”

“Can you access them remotely?” Crasher asks her and she quickly shakes her head.

“No, just from work,” she replies, shifting her quietly assessing gaze from him to me.

I know what Crasher’s next question would be, but I wave my hand, cutting him off. Sloane shouldn’t be asked to jeopardize her job—or even get arrested, over something like this.

“What’s in the van?” she asks us.

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