Page 20 of Beautiful Ruins
One I wasn’t keen on getting involved in, especially not with Sadie breathing down my neck. Christ, how much could a man take before he lost his mind completely? Mine had been on the way out for years. Only now I was realising how close I was to the edge.
“Who’s bikes?” I glanced between Scout and Bear.
Scout cleared his throat like he was waiting for permission. I lifted a brow, encouraging him to speak. “Rosie, Armstrong, and Nate,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
I pinched my lips between my fingers as I contemplated his words. Those three weren’t known to cause trouble, notin town anyway. Not sure if they were targeted specifically, or if the attack was purely an opportunity not worth passing up.
“They see anything? Anyone?”
Scout blew out a breath and shook his head. “Nah, they reckon they came out of the bar and the bikes were gone. Saw the flames from the mill and called it in.”
I raked a hand through my hair. Fucking perfect. Exactly what we didn’t need. If this was a message, it was just the first strike. And I had a bad feeling the second one would come a hell of a lot louder.
Snake sauntered in, Nicky and Pat flanking him. Great. That was all I needed.
Nicky dropped down at one end of the long rectangular table, scraping grease from under his fingernails with a pocketknife. Fucking loose cannon that one. Not sure if he was dropped on his head as a baby or what, but he wasn’t the brightest spark. And that was saying something considering the company he kept. Good for pulling a trigger when needed, though.
Snake leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, eyes fixed on me like he knew something I didn’t. “Awful clean job,” he finally said, letting the words draw out. “Almost like someone knew what they were doing.”
The air stilled. My jaw ticked. Snake was aching for a bite. And everyone knew it.
“Yeah?” I said, huffing out a hollow laugh. “You got something to share?” I met his stare, urging him to keep going.
He shrugged, feigning an innocence that didn’t belong. “Do you?” A smug smile crept in. “I thought Sadie Cooper didn’t mean anything to you. Didn’t look like that ten minutes ago. Seems you got a lot going on lately, VP. Distractions,distractions.”
I knew exactly what he was getting at. And I wasn’t the only one.
I was dropping the ball, and now that Sadie was back, this was all some big play to take my patch from me. Even more reason for me to get rid of him sooner, rather than later. He was a slimy bastard, but he wasn’t as stupid as he looked.
Bear shoved to his feet, his chair scraping across the floor. “Watch your mouth.” The tension rolled off him, prickling the air in the room as he glared at Snake.
Snake laughed, the sound scraping against the inside of my skull. “What are you going to do, big guy?” he said, lifting a scarred brow.
Bear huffed out a grunt. “For starters, I’m going to peel that fucking look off your face . . . Slowly.”
Iron stalked in then, a folder in his hands. “Where are we with the torched bikes?” he said, dropping into the chair at the head of the table, slower than usual. He rubbed at his chest absently, like something under his ribs was trying to claw its way out.
Christ, he looked worse than I felt. Gaunt. Faded. Too far gone to be steering this club much longer. His gradual decline hadn’t gone unnoticed. Nor did his disappearing act every couple of weeks for a day or two at a time.
No-one had dared ask. Not even me. But I’d had my suspicions. He was sick. No clue with what, but whatever he chose to divulge, that was his business.
“Weren’t amateurs,” I said, ignoring Snake’s continued glare as it burned hot against the side of my face. “Someone knew those bikes were there.”
“We got eyes on it.” Iron’s voice was rough, like sandpaper, catching in his throat. He tossed a set of blurry photos onto the table. “Best we could get. Surveillance was fucked with.”
Scout snatched one up, eager as a dog with a bone. “Jesus,they snuck right up there. Didn’t even care.” He threw the photo across the table towards me. “What do you think, VP? Locals?”
Three men wearing balaclavas filled the image. Iron was right—the surveillance was shitty at best. None of their faces were going to be recognised, but it was a start.
“Doubt they’re locals,” I said, throwing the blurred image back on the table.
“Cocky,” Bear said, grabbing another inconclusive photo. “They must have known the full crew wasn’t there.”
They were watching us, whoever they were. And next time, it wouldn’t just be bikes.
“Little shits,” Iron said, focusing on one photo. “Faces covered. I want some answers.”
“Boots,” I said, pointing to the one closest to me on the table. “Possibly a cowboy.”
