Page 105 of The Wild Charge

Mentally, though, he was calculating the size of the hole Michael would need to dig to fit Jansen’s body.

~*~

Fox sent the boys off on their own to prowl the city and lay low. He entrusted Reese as the leader, in this instance, telling him to keep the other two from making any sort of scene.

“I’m right here, shithead,” Tenny grumbled.

But they offered no further argument, and Fox felt mostly sure they wouldn’t do anything too visible or stupid.

For his own part, he went searching. He rode into the industrial, unsavory parts of the city, past warehouses and derelict old businesses whose signage had flaked away into obscurity. He walked across cracked concrete, and snapped photos with his phone; ran his hands through the seed tops of waist-high weeds and climbed up to peek into old dumpsters. He found an abandoned row of train cars on a bit of disconnected track, crows calling ominously from the pines as he levered himself up inside them – but the dust was old, and thick, and there were no signs of human passage.

He’d known from the start he wouldn’t find anything, but he kept at it, well into the afternoon, and all the while, the back of his neck tingled with the knowledge that he was being watched. Someone, probably one of Hunter’s boys, was following him.

Which probably meant another one was tailing Tenny and Reese.

It’s what he would have done, if the roles were reversed.

When the shadows grew long, he went to the clubhouse, finally, and found that the feds had gone…and left a mess in their wake.

The common room had been tossed, couch cushions slit open, stuffing pulled out. Every liquor and soda and beer bottle in the whole place had been lined up on top of the bar, and the doors of the cabinets beneath thrown open, napkins, and cups, and limes spilled across the floorboards. He winced, imagining the dorms: the ruined mattresses and dumped drawers of every dresser and wardrobe.

Deacon came skidding into the room from the back hall, expression outraged. “One of those fuckers nicked my cherry-flavored lube!” he exclaimed to Boomer, who responded with, “Dude, not cool.”

Fox only got a few steps inside before Walsh stepped neatly in front of him, lit cigarette dangling off his lip, expression glacial. “Where have you been?”

“Out getting tailed,” Fox said, direct. Walsh had clearly expected a bit of snark, because his brows went up in surprise. “Where’s Ghost? We need to talk.”

He was in his office, wound up like a top, drinking coffee so heavily spiked Fox could smell the whiskey in it when he crossed the threshold. His hair, the natural curl usually tamed with a bit of gel, stood up from countless passes of agitated fingers. He had a reprimand on his tongue for Fox, along with the information that the women and children had all convened down at the nursery, well away from the scene.

His demeanor changed, though, when Fox pulled the note from his pocket and offered it over.

Fox knew a moment’s panic, just one low pulse of it deep in his gut, when he relinquished it. He was a lone wolf; he didn’t share ops; he had never found himself in a situation he couldn’t get out of.

But he had patched into the Tennessee chapter, and this was his president, and, all things given, he couldn’t be a lone wolf all the time; he had to be a Dog, on occasion, and Dogs didn’t hide things from one another. Not big things like this.

He told Ghost – and Walsh, standing beside him – what he knew.

Ghost fingered the crumpled edge of the paper, frowning. “Reese’s last name is Hunter.”

“I know. I don’t know if there’s blood relation there, or he gave Reese his name for simplicity’s sake. Either way, we’re dealing with someone who turns boys into killing machines very efficiently.”

“Then I don’t want Reese involved in this.” He tapped the note. “Probably not Tenny, either, if they’re…” He lifted his brows, asking.

“Yeah, no, they’re a set at this point.”

“You’re not going alone,” Walsh said, firmly. “That’s out of the question.”

“I agree,” Ghost said, before Fox could say something smart, a warning look daring the two of them to start arguing. “We’ll come up with something.” To Fox, he said, “I’m assuming you’ve already got most of an idea?”

“I’m pretty sure one of the little buggers has been following me all day.” He grinned. “Might as well use that to our advantage.” He turned his smile on Walsh, who, a beat later, frowned.

“Why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like this?”

“Oh, don’t worry. You won’t.”

Twenty-Eight

“Aw, poor baby.”

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