Page 75 of Diesel
Well,fuck him.
I rub my palms against my thighs, the denim rough.I don’t know what is waiting for us, and that’s the worst part of this.
Will Crank have numbers on his side?
Are they armed?
Is this a fucking trap?
He left with at least six patched members—or at least there are six who weren’t with the dead and aren’t accounted for. If they’re with him will we have to kill brothers?
Don’t.
You do whatever you have to do to get back to your wife.
My fingers find the knife sheathed under my kutte. I’ve got a gun too, but knives don’t jam or misfire. They don’t hesitate to kill, and neither will I.
Blade whistles low. “You think he’s here?” he asks, like we’re on a fucking sightseeing tour and not hunting a man who betrayed every single one of us.
I slide my gaze toward him. He’s sitting next to me. Again. Like we’re suddenly fucking friends. I don’t trust him, even if Nic does. Riot doesn’t either. His eyes narrow on him.
No one answers.
Crank’s a fucking coward, but there’s no joy in bringing him down. No one loyal to the patch wants to cut out the poison from within or to fight men who should be standing beside you.
The van stops and I brace as Riot pushes to his feet, Mace following.
My guard is up as my boots hit the gravel path, my gun in my hand, pointed low. London brothers merge with Manchester and the small group of us propping up what’s left of Birmingham.
I’m expecting a warehouse, something impressive maybe, but the building is…Boring. It’s a small red brick house, tucked down a lane. It’s similar to the safehouse we used only a few days ago, only this is remote.
Fields stretch forever beyond the boundary fences, the sunlight bathing everything into spun gold. I don’t know where the hell we are, but we’re definitely not in the city anymore.
It’s too quiet. Too clean. I can feel death breathing against my neck. Not today, fucker.
We move in tandem, as if we’re connected by one brain, and we move fast. The element of surprise is the only advantage we have.
Ravage creeps forward with Nox, watching each other’s backs like brothers are meant to. I keep my eyes locked on Nic. He’s the only person other than Dash who I trust right now.
Nothing moves but us. The silence is wrong. I expect shouting, gunshots. A fucking war. Not this. This isn’t an ambush. I’ve seen those. Seen bodies laid out like sacrifices, walked through blood like I didn’t feel it beneath my boots.
This feels abandoned. Deserted. Empty.
Even so, my skin prickles, my nape too as Nic cracks the door open. It creaks like a warning, but he still slips inside like he’s not afraid the reaper might be waiting on the other side. Riot follows closely with Mace, both armed. Both ready to defend the man we’ve crowned king.
I follow them inside because loyalty is a bitch and I am loyal to my patch, to my club. To my brothers.
“Fuck,” is muttered ahead of me, and I realise why when I slip in behind them.
Two bodies are crumpled on the patterned carpet. Red stains the pile beneath them like spilt paint. I can’t tell who they are beneath the injuries to their faces, but the kuttes, the patches, tell me all I need to know. They’re ours. Or they were.
And they were executed like fucking dogs.
Nic drags in a choppy breath. His eyes blaze. “Check the rest of the house.”
Riot growls low in his throat, straightening from the nearest body. “He’s fucking done. We end this shit.”
I agree. He needs to die, and soon.
