Page 12 of Scar

CHAPTER4

[WiseWave620: Is it wrong that I hacked into airport security to make sure they landed okay?]

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Construction was still underway on the newly-named Andrich Bridge. Billboards on either side of the road displayed blueprints of what the safer bridge would look like within a year. Due to the fact that the bridge was the only way to cross the river that split the two sides of Mount Grove, other than an extremely long mountain pass that added over an hour to someone’s commute, they could not shut down the bridge entirely to complete the work faster. Short-term traffic lights were added to both ends to signal if the now single-lane bridge was allowing northbound or southbound traffic.

On a nearly moonless night, Scar stood amongst the construction equipment and temporary concrete barricades looking down at the dark water below. The water was much calmer than the last time he’d been here. It was certainly shallower too but would still accomplish the task Scar had planned for it.

Pieces of mangled guardrail were piled to his right. According to the blueprints, the future bridge would be made wider on the northbound side to create an actual walking and biking path. A sturdier barrier than the former guardrails would separate the pedestrians from the vehicles crossing and then another barrier and fall net would be added to the edge of the bridge. Southbound would also have the newer, thicker barrier as well as the fall net.

The entire project was being funded by the Groveton Foundation, which was run by Sophia’s parents. Local lore stated that the Groveton family were descendants of the first settlers who created the town of Mount Grove, but there was also a compelling argument otherwise. The Grovetons owned most of the land and real estate in town, in addition to several businesses. They were extremely wealthy, but they were also good people. Scar had looked into them when Sophia had first started hanging around the club. As Jasmine’s best friend, Sophia had been invited to most functions and had even shown up to the ones that she wasn’t invited to. It had driven Pirate nuts until he’d realized he was in love with her.

The Grovetons did not flaunt their money or use it to intimidate the townsfolk. They truly cared about Mount Grove and the people who lived there. Scar had even read a newspaper article of Mr. Groveton apologizing to the townspeople for not having made the bridge safer sooner.

Scar looked down at his feet. Without the guardrail, there was no current barrier between him and the river. His boots stood right at the edge he’d so precariously been hanging off of a month ago. His left shoulder twinged as if in reminder but Scar pushed it aside.

He was going to need to get a more thorough scan of his shoulder done soon, but for now, he was just minimally using it. He’d considered using a sling or binding his arm to his center, but he wanted the use of his arm if he needed it. So he was just keeping his hand inside his jacket pocket and using his right arm for as much as possible.

It would have to do for now.

The bound and gagged Primis mercenary lying on the concrete to the side of him glared up at him with hatred in his eyes. The barely visible moon did not illuminate much, but the night vision contacts that Scar was wearing gave him the ability to see nearly as well as the goggles he’d used in the military. Likely the man only saw Scar as a dark silhouette.

That was fine, though it wouldn’t matter if he saw Scar’s face or not.

The mercenary had been scouting the VDMC property, looking for a weakness in Keys’ security grid. Now he would serve as Scar’s message to Alpha. He’d already forced the USB drive down the man’s throat. It showed Alpha part of the information Scar had on him, including the evidence that Primis was behind the raid that resulted in two hundred and fourteen dead civilians in Pakistan in 2011.

The message was simple: stay away from Mount Grove or Scar would release the information to the media.

The mercenary had been carrying two semi-automatic guns, a few throwing daggers, and a pocket notebook with all of theVia Daemoniamembers’ and family members’ names. Scar had forced the notebook down his throat too. It hadn’t been easy one-handed.

Scar could have killed the man, but he thought it more poetic if the mercenary went over the same bridge that Primis had found Scar at. Whether he lived or died, it did not matter to Scar; he was merely the bottle for Scar’s message.

Scar placed the sole of his boot on the man’s hip. A small push later and the man went over the edge. Scar did not wait for the splash below before he turned his back on the water and headed towards the south end of the bridge.

Scar had arrived in Mount Grove that morning, which was the day after the Florida bound club members had departed. It had taken him some time to do the research necessary to put his plan together. He hadn’t come to Mount Grove looking for a mercenary, but he was the first Primis soldier Scar had come across since escaping Washington, D.C., so the unlucky bastard got to be Scar’s message in a bottle to Alpha.

Scar wandered into the woods surrounding the road after the bridge. He knew approximately where he’d left his motorcycle the day he’d been shot and figured there was a chance it was still there. After all, why would the police and the club have been searching the woods around the bridge when Scar’s body would have quickly been washed downstream? Even if he’d been conscious upon hitting the water, the strong current would have taken him a long way before he would have been able to fight his way to shore.

Sure enough, there was his bike.

Scar didn’t feel sentimental about his bike the way others did. He’d never gotten into the habit of calling a car a ‘cage’ or cared about a lot of the stereotypical motorcycle club traditions. Like many others who joined, he was looking for that camaraderie he’d had in the military. The knowledge that he was surrounded by good people who had his back.

Being around José again had also been a big draw. Scar had missed his brother.

His bike was on its side exactly where Scar had left it. Both it and his helmet were sunk into the mud. Likely the rain shower that had soaked Mount Grove the night Scar had been shot was not the last rainfall of the season.

Scar didn’t work to lift the bike out of the ground. He didn’t know enough about mechanics to know if the bike would work after being caked so thoroughly. He supposed that was something he should know, but he didn’t.

Most bikers kept emergency kits, rain gear, or their helmets in their saddlebags. Scar only kept one thing in his: his cut.

The day Scar had turned his cut in to Steel, effectively going rogue from the club, he would have sworn it was the last time he’d see the thing. Scar knew better than to get attached tothings. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. And yet, the day he’d come back to Mount Grove to essentially say goodbye to José, he’d gone into Steel’s office to reclaim his cut.

It was foolish. Scarknewbetter, but he still wanted his cut back. Even if he couldn’t wear it anymore.

The right saddlebag was sticking out of the ground. Scar unhooked the metal buckles and lifted the flap up to reveal the black leather. He pulled it out, rubbing his fingers along the worn hide. It was folded in a way that his name and title patches on the left breast were facing upward. He touched the patch.

SCAR

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