Page 23 of Beast
The farm did two things for the club. One, it was a place for everyone to get away when they needed a break. Unless, of course, guns were stored beneath the barn. Watcher, Big Kentucky, and Slash were waiting outside the barn, the barn doors open, no guns waiting for transport.
“The fuck is going on,” I asked. I walked past the others and entered the barn. “Where the hell are they?”
Slash came in and stood across from me, a bad sign. “We got here, and they were gone.”
“Beast,” Cinder said. He held a phone, and his face looked drained of blood. “Stimpy’s on the phone. Someone dropped off an envelope at the club. Said it was full of hair. Long brunette hair.”
“Okay. So?”
“They also dropped off a boy’s backpack.”
I stood there longer than I should have. There was nothing to process in my brain, but my mind didn’t want to believe what the brain was saying. It was simple. Skittles and Mark were gone.
“Leave the Prospects here,” Cinder said. “Big Kentucky, Watcher, Slash, you’re with us. Beast?”
“TexMex and Brainiac to my house. They’ll get there faster. Have the Prospects lockdown the club. Find out where the fuck Diesel is and have him ask around.
We left the farm with no guns and my mind reeling. Rip was playing a dangerous game, one he would lose. He had to know that. Whoever took Skittles and Mark had to know that.
When we got to the house, TexMex and Brainiac were waiting outside, gloom and doom on their faces.
“A note? Anything?” I asked and stormed inside.
The place was trashed. Another message from whoever was orchestrating this shit thought they were in complete control. It was time to go scorched earth on Pine Bluff. I barreled my way back outside, the club watching me with intensity and trepidation. I would go scorched Earth for any of them.
“Where we headed?” Big Kentucky asked. “You about to do what I think you’ll do?”
“Fucking straight, my man,” I said. “My old lady. Any of you can head back to the club if you want. Rip and I need to talk.”
I climbed on the bike and pulled away from the house, the club following me. I didn’t think anyone would return to the club, but I needed to give that option since we were riding into a gunfight.
The Hell’s Messengers club sat on the edge of West Pine Bluff. It sat in the middle of a large junkyard. Rip had turned the old warehouse on the property into a nice place for his club. It had all the amenities on the inside, but on the outside, it looked just like his club members—like shit. It was sixty acres of cars, SUVs, trucks, and vans, all in various undrivable conditions. Six rottweilers ran the property, keeping out those foolish enough to try and sneak inside. I stopped at the gate, and an AK-carrying Prospect exited the guardhouse.
“The fuck do you want?” he asked. Clubs kept up with other clubs, and we generally knew Prospects, but this guy was new.
“You keep pointing that shit at me, and you’ll find it up your ass,” I said, revving the bike. “Tell Rip Beast is here to talk.”
The guy’s eyes grew wide. He recognized my name. He wasn’t going to shoot me on purpose, but the way his finger trembled around the trigger, he sure as hell might have done it on accident.
“Lower the fucking gun, Prospect, or you’ll never see a rocker on that piece of shit vest.”
“Let him in,” a voice called from an intercom inside the guard house.
The Prospect lowered his weapon. “Sorry about that.”
“Open the fucking gate, pussy,” I said, and he did as he was told.
All the stalling by the Prospect at the gate gave Hell’s Messengers enough time to rally the troops. When we pulled inside, nearly fifty club members surrounded us. There was not going to be a gunfight. The six dogs took up positions around us. Though every man held a weapon, none pointed them.
Rip came outside, descended a few steps, and cut between two of his men. He wasn’t nearly as big as me, but he looked like he’d been through the ringer a lot more. He had scars along one cheek, his forehead, and both forearms. His nose had obviously taken a beating on a few occasions. At five-nine, he was probably the smallest club president in the country.
“Stupid as shit rolling up in here like this, Beast,” Rip said. He kept about fifteen feet away. Enough distance that I’d be shot dead if I went after him. “Must have something important to say.”
I climbed off the bike and stood much bigger than ninety-nine percent of the Hell’s Messengers. “Where is Skittles and my son?” I took a step forward, and every gun raised.
“Fuck, Beast, I didn’t know you had a kid.” Rip’s surprise seemed genuine. “And why the hell would I take either of them?” He looked around me. “Could take you motherfuckers out right now if I wanted to.”
“But you won’t.” I took another step, and Rip grew nervous. “Now, where’s my fucking family, Rip. Fucking around like this will bring down a barrel of shit on you and your club. Hand them over.”
