Page 23 of Beautiful Ruins
Finally, Iron shoved a hand inside his leather cut and pulled out the photos from that morning. He dumped them on John’s desk, and they slid into the centre of the scratched-up timber.
“Lucky for you,” he said, shifting back into the chair. “I came prepared. This is all we have so far. I’ve got the boys out asking questions.”
John’s expression barely changed as he clenched his jaw and picked up the stack of photos, sifting through them. He paused at a couple, tilting his head, frowning.
“You asked over at Hollow Creek Farm?” he said, not quite meeting our eyes. “Old man Jenkins brought on a few new stable hands a couple weeks ago. Young lads. Could be them just stirring shit.” The words slipped out of his mouth like an afterthought, just another burden on his already heavy load.
Iron shifted in his seat, drumming his fingers over the ankle still resting on his knee. “Why don’t you head on out there, Rowan,” he said, the words more of a suggestion than an order. “Ask Jenkins what sort of idiots he’s hired this time.”
We were on the same page. The farm was a long shot, but we’d tried worse leads.
I nodded. Better to chase a lead than to sit through more of John’s bullshit excuses. Better than sitting around waiting for the next bomb to go off. We’d been here before—anarchy, then calm. A cycle I was fucking sick of.
John threw the photos back on the desk, rubbing his eyes. He wasn’t the only one being put out. And he certainly wasn’t the only one who had shit to deal with. “Maybe someone tipped them off.” He shrugged. “Paid them. You boys make any new enemies lately?”
He didn’t get it. Didn’t get that everyone was an enemy when you were on top. It was never just business with us. We had plenty of enemies who stabbed you in the back, then blamed you for bleeding. Rival clubs, old grudges. Didn’t matter. They wanted a piece.
It wasn’t big city rivalry, but it was close enough to get you killed. We didn’t play around, not when it came to club business, and certainly not when it came to our town.
Which is why I wanted Sadie nowhere near it. If John and I potentially had one thing in common, it would be that.
“You know how it goes, John,” Iron said, tucking the photos back inside his leather vest, keeping them close like he knew they would pay off. “There’s always a bunch of little shits stepping up, trying to act the part.” He paused, staring John down. “You think we have time to track down every single one?”
John linked his fingers together on the desk, the whites of his knuckles showing through his weathered skin. “Look, I’lldo what I can. I’ll ask around,” he said, the weight of his words hitting the floor. I didn’t buy it. “You find anything else, bring it to me. That’s all I can do right now.”
Sounded about right. John Cooper avoiding responsibility as usual. He made it look like art. I wondered if his daughter had any clue about the kind of deals he made with men like Iron. With lawless bastards like us. Did she know the same man who used to kiss her goodnight made deals with men like me to keep his house in order?
“Rowan,” Iron said, nodding to the open doorway. “You can leave now son. Go see what old man Jenkins has to say for himself.” He didn’t move, just sat there like he had all day.
I pushed off the wall, my muscles tensing. “What about you?”
He waved me off, giving me a tight smile. “The chief and I have a few matters to handle—privately.”
Right. Private shit he trusted no-one else with, not even me. It shouldn’t have pissed me off, but it did. Even so, I didn’t have the capacity for it. My tank had been on empty since the second I laid eyes on Sadie.
With a quick nod, I left the room, closing the door behind me. The sound of muffled conversation drifted out as soon as I hit the hallway. Iron’s voice low but firm, meant business. I didn’t have to listen too hard to know how that conversation would go.
I pushed through the front door and into the late August sun—not quite hot enough to burn, but enough to make me sweat.
Shane was getting into the blue and white police cruiser sitting under a tree in front of my bike parked on the other side of the road. Again, his gaze locked with mine. Assessing. Knowing more than he let on.
I gave him a slight nod, a smirk on my face, and repeatedthe same greeting I’d given him not even twenty minutes prior. “Elliot.”
He tilted his chin down. “Knight.”
I couldn’t even hate the bloke. Different badges. Same battlefield. His ended in cuffs. Ours in blood.
I pulled out my phone and texted Bear.
Me: Meet me at the clubhouse. We need to pay a visit to Old Man Jenkins out at Hollow Creek Farm.
I crossed the road and swung my leg over the bike, my gaze still locked on Shane. I could feel his on me, too, that same old heat. The heat from being under the microscope. He was watching, waiting for us to fuck up.
Little did he know, he’d be waiting a while.
I slipped on my sunglasses and kicked the bike to life, revving the engine just to get a bite out of him. Or, at the very least, to let him know the Ridge Riders weren’t going to be the ones left behind on this.
Hollow Creek Farm.
