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“Who said anything about you getting out of here?” I tell him. “The only way you’re leaving this place is in a body bag.”
Walters only opened eye widens. “But… but,” he fumbles.
We turn our backs on him, finished with our pressing business. His weak voice calls for us to come back but then a manic laugh echoes off the walls, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise. “He’ll come for you and Juan José will take his revenge. You killed his heir and only family. He’s coming for a son!”
Stone exits through the door, locking him up until it’s time for him to meet his maker. Pacing up the stairs and out of our building, we breach the surface, the hot sun warming my skin. The Texas heat isn’t for the weak-hearted. The summers can be brutal at times.
“I’m dropping these by Donald’s office on my way up to the hospital,” Stone informs me as we walk down the path towards the clubhouse.
“Was gonna head over to take a shift after I check on the property and the brothers,” I say.
“Tell Bullet and Bulldog I’ll be by later tonight after I get Raegan back home and settled.”
“Will do, Prez,” I say in salute as we branch off at the front of the clubhouse.
Our place is still packed with brothers from other chapters around the country. Bullet, the president from our Arizona Chapter, and Bulldog, who prospected with Stone, is the president of our Montana Chapter are all here holding down the cult compound.
Over a club vote, we’ve decided to split the three hundred acres up into sections. With a fifty-acre lot, we are going to add club businesses. The brothers voted for a strip club, wrecking yard, tattoo studio and gun range.
A hundred and fifty acres are going to be a cemetery and crematorium. What better way to hide all the bodies if we can control the area or burn the evidence. We’ll open it up to the public with the intention of keeping eyes off our backs. It’s a lot of land to scatter or bury ashes. Donald is already working to get the approval from the state.
The last hundred acres we’ve decided to make a warehouse for club business. The back part of the lot where our Colombian cartel enemy flew his jet in is the perfect place to hide our products for Dead Road. It also makes it easy for our new business partners in Las Vegas to come collect our newly found cocaine to be distributed in their territory.
Walking into the main area of our clubhouse, I see that my brothers are everywhere. Some are in the corner shooting pool or throwing darts. Others are at the bar drinking and talking. Several are engaged in sexual acts with club whores.
Looking around I find the brother I’m needing, spotting him over at the end of the bar with some female company. As I make my way over, I’m stopped multiple times with small talk or to give a message to Stone.
Once I reach Hawk I signal for a prospect that’s behind the counter and he rushes over to hand me a cold beer.
“Got what I asked for?” I ask Hawk after taking a long pull from my drink.
“There wasn’t much, brother,” Hawk says, nudging the woman off his arm so that he can talk business.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I question.
“Let me show you.” He stands after grabbing each of us another round of beers.
I follow him down the hall where our rooms are located. He opens his door with his key and I walk in after him. His room runs hot with all the computer equipment he has running in here so the guy has a window unit and extra fans blowing to keep it freezing in here. He’s got monitors everywhere with programs running to ensure our club is safe. He has an entire room next to Stone’s office dedicated to computers that help keep us out from behind bars but he still prefers to have some within arm’s reach while he sleeps.
Hawk plants his ass in his gaming chair and hits the keyboard a few times, bringing to life a few of the screens on the wall.
“I ran the name you sent me along with date of birth,” he starts. “According to records she’d moved to Connecticut about a month or so after you were arrested.”
I vaguely remember her mentioning that she had grandparents up there. That would explain why she wasn’t at my trial. I scoff at the thought that I had an actual trial in that pissant small town.
Victor, Idaho was as small town as you could get with just over two thousand people who populated it. It ran on a ‘good ol’ boy’ system where one family ran the entire city.
“And…” I urge him to continue as he starts to get distracted with another screen that doesn’t concern me.
“Oh, yeah, one of the last physical things I have of a Remington Carter is several hospital visits within three months of her being taken there,” he says.
“Last thing?” My heart sinks and I start to rub my chest as an ache begins to form right at the top of my ribcage. “Does it say what she went in for? What do you mean last thing? That was over fourteen years ago…”
“The records of those visits have been deleted or scrubbed. I can’t access it unless I have the actual hard drive from the hospital system. They used the old school method of keeping records at the hospital.”
“Did she…” As mad as I was at her for not showing up for me when I needed her the most, I physically cannot bring myself to ask if she died.
“There aren’t any death certificates for her but I’m afraid that her guardians did file a missing person report on her six months later. According to the report, she had gone to the store to grab some groceries to make dinner and didn’t come home. They found her car at a gas station later that evening on the other side of town.”
