Page 55 of Clash
Snyder opened the box, allowing us all to peer over the flaps to glance inside, the second we did, we all recoiled, ready to vomit. Ranger and Sandman covered their mouths, pushing back the puke they both were about to wretch all over the tile floor. Poor Zeppelin, even being a medic and used to seeing blood, couldn’t stomach the putrid smell wafting out of the box. Snyder quickly closed the box back up, but the damage was done—it would take weeks to get out the smell of decaying flesh that now permeated every damn inch of our war room.
“What in the actual fuck?” Skid said, choking down his own vomit. “I thought Sabbath was the one who left the arm before?”
“We all did. But it looks like he wasn’t the one who dug up Nina’s body. That was someone else. And from this message, I’d say it was the Crows.”
He tossed a note on the table, scribbled in ridiculously bad hand-writing.
That’s right, fuckers…
We’re back and better than ever. Wasn’t what you were expecting, huh? There are more where this came from. I got twelve of these boxes packaged up and ready to disperse to every fucking cop within a hundred-mile radius, and a map straight to your clubhouse doors. You burn my club to the ground, I’ll annihilate yours. Good luck explaining to the cops how a pregnant woman, known to frequent your club, ended up dismembered and shipped off to every cop within a hundred miles.
You started this fucking war…
And the Crows are about to finish it!
Happy fucking hunting.
Deliveries start at midnight.
They didn’t sign a name. Just the stupid pathetic logo of their club. A crow without a head perched on the back of a motorcycle. Sick… just like them. Only fucking psychopaths would send a decapitated head to us.
It was almost ten.Fuck.
“Silver lining and shit… at least they sent us her head,” I said with a smile. But the mental image of her dead eyes staring up from the bottom of the box, her decaying flesh practically melting off the bones… yeah, that’s an image I’ll never wash from my brain ever again.
“Shut the fuck up, Clash. You’re an idiot. This is bad, really bad,” Snyder said with a sneer. He was pissed—his entire body writhing in fury.
“How the fuck did they get a hold of her body?” Wasp asked, suddenly looking ashen and incredibly sick. He hung his head in his hands, muttering shit under his breath. “We were careful.”
“What the fuck did you just say!” I roared, immediately springing up from my seat. “Please don’t tell me you were a fucking part of this!”
Wasp suddenly looked scared for his life, his eyes widening. And the guilt. God, the guilt was fucking evident in his eyes. He held up his hands in surrender. “Look, I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re thinking?” He reached down and lifted his shirt, showing us a gnarly looking scar moving across his ribs. “Since Sandman was down, he called me in to help him with clean-up at the cabin. He was fucking manic. The entire room was a goddamn bloodbath, and poor Nina… nobody deserved that kind of horrific death. I can’t even count how many times the bastard stabbed her. It was insane.”
I wasn’t convinced. “How does a fucking scar clear you of wrongdoing? It makes you look even more guilty in my eyes.” Looking around the table, I could see the scrutiny rushing through the ranks. Everybody was not believing him. It wasn’t just me.
“He made me help him chop up the body.” Just the thought of it made him almost vomit. “Then he burned the cabin to the ground. Before everything was done, he stabbed me in the side, digging his knife deep within my ribcage. He threatened me, said if I said anything, next was my life. I’m sorry. I should’ve said something earlier, I just didn’t know how.”
Snyder stood, shaking his head as he scrubbed a hand down his jaw. “I believe him. We all know how fucked up Sabbath was at the end. That stab wound shows just how messed up he truly was.”
“So, what are we going to do about this?” Skid asked, bringing our attention back to the problem at hand.
“If what they’re saying is true, we’re fucked,” Ranger added, saying what we’re all thinking. “There’s no way we can explain anything to the cops if those boxes end up on doorsteps.”
“Nothing identifiable was left,” Wasp admitted. “We cut off fingertips and all distinguishing features.”
“Sick,” Skid remarked, pushing the box even farther away from him.
“DNA is identifiable, Wasp. And I’m telling you right now, if the cops come sniffing around, I won’t hesitate to throw your ass under the bus.”
“Clash, we need the entire club to support each other right now,” Snyder scolded me. “It’s not every man for himself. Stop being selfish.”
Selfish? I’m the one who’s selfish? He’s the one that went back on our deal to share Shasta and claimed her as his own. Fuck him. He’s the selfish one, not me. He can keep the stupid bitch for all I care.
Rolling my eyes, I pushed away from the table. “I’m not the selfish one, Snyder. I’m just saying, if someone goes down for this, it sure as hell won’t be me.”
“We need to restructure our club,” Ranger offered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he changed the subject—something I was damn thankful for. The last thing we needed was for Snyder and I to get in another pissing match again. “I think it’s time to promote some prospects and fill these empty seats.” He motioned to all the seats at our table that were empty. With Axl gone and Warrant dead, we were down a secretary, and members. Skid did bring in those three new guys, but I always seem to forget their names. The only one I remember is Joaquin, and that’s only because he’s constantly hanging around Skid. “Here’s my suggestion,” he continued. “Let’s fucking patch in Poison, that dude fucking earned his patch. Then let’s add the hang-arounds to our roster. We’ll name them and bring them under the club. We can’t pussyfoot around this shit right now, and we need to act fast.”
“Can I request something?” Priest asked with a frown. He was staring at his hands that were clasped together in front of him, almost like he was praying or speaking to God in his head. “I’ve asked this of you all before…” He took a deep breath, his head weakly rising to look at his Prez. “I no longer have the faith to carryon being the club’s Chaplain. After what happened with Keelie my demons have resurfaced, making it incredibly difficult to stay right with God. I’d like to take over as Secretary of the club. With Axl nomad, and Warrant gone, the spot is open. Please, my faith is wavering and mediocre at best. I can’t continue parading around like a man of the cloth, when that cloth has been burned and singed by my sins.”
