Page 81 of Ryder

“He’s stayin’ at the Highway Hotel?—”

I end the call. That’s all I need to know. This fucker has had his day of reckoning, and that day is today.

I’m gonna have blood on my hands, and that can’t be helped. This bastard has continued to plague my every waking thoughts for years. Sometimes I’ve imagined what I would do to him in great detail, and I don’t even feel bad about it. Feeding him aliveto the alligators out in the bayou would be way too kind. And I’m not a kind man, not where my wife and baby are concerned.

My phone buzzes again. I pick up when I see it’s Bronco. “What?”

“Nice, hangin’ up on me, dickface. I was about to say don’t go over there until one of us is with you. Still tryin’ to get hold of Cash.”

“If you wanna be helpful, call Tag and Harlem and tell them to get the warehouse ready. I wanna do this slowly,” I say.

“Ryd, I get you want this over with, but the christenin’ is in two hours.”

“Then you better get your ass into gear.” I sneer. “You know I’ve been waitin’ years to do this. What better way to avenge my wife than to fuck him up today of all days. It’s a sign.”

“Just don’t go crazy until we grab him. I know you. You’ll act in haste then we’ll have to sweep the entire motel for fingerprints and evidence.”

“Wastin’ time talkin’.” I grab my keys off the hook and head outside toward my sled.

“I want this motherfucker before he gets anywhere near my family ever again.”

“That’s not gonna happen. Devils don’t even want him back.”

I snort. “That explains his absence all these years. He doesn’t have family here, but I wouldn’t put it past him to come snoopin’ around.”

“He won’t get the chance. Wait for me to get there. I gotta call Cash.”

“How far out are you?”

“Twenty.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen. I’m not waitin’, Bronc. He’s mine.”

“You don’t even know his room number.”

“Won’t be hard to find out. I’m the VP of this club, I don’t need to ask Cash shit. He’ll understand. He’s been here.”

Cash and Deanna are now a couple after she spent some time here, escaping from a bad situation back in Bracken Ridge. Can’t say Hutch was too pleased about it, but they seem to have buried the hatchet. I became VP after taking a bullet that was meant for Cash. We joke that I'm his personal bodyguard/VP. Any one of the brothers in this club would do the same for each other. That’s how we all roll.

I hang up again, shoving my phone into my back pocket. I crack my neck, sliding a leg over my motorcycle. Today, I’m gonna ride like I never have before.

Our club motto isRide or Die, and that’s never been more apparent than it is right now.

Adrenaline pumps through my veins at what I’m about to do. About what justice looks like. This asshole has had it coming, and if vigilante justice is what it takes to make sure that he stays dead this time, then that’s what I’m gonna do.

The slimy weasel has the audacity to look surprised when I turn the door of the motel and walk right on in. I was expecting to either shoot the handle off or kick the damn door in, but the stupid fuck left the door unlocked.

He also makes the fatal mistake of hesitating. When I see his glock on the end of the bed out of his reach, I grin.

I hold my gun, aiming at his head as he raises his hands. “Jimmy. We meet again.”

“Who the fuck are you?” he grits.

The years haven’t been kind to him, that much is certain. He’s unkempt, unshaven, looks strung out, and there are bottles of empty whiskey strewn all around the room. Untidy fucker.

“Funny, you don’t remember me, asshole, but you might remember my ol’ lady, Crystal?”

He frowns, then recognition dawns on him and he scowls. “That stupid bitch I fucked up? Yeah, you’re right, I remember her. Should’ve choked the life out of her when I had the cha—” I fire. The gun makes no sound since I borrowed one of Riot’s silencers a while back. I don’t need the fucking cops crawling all over the joint.

---