“What the fuck.” I shoot up, my eyes wide as I try my hardest not to roll them. Idefinitelyunderestimated the Reaper connection.
“The Sons are friends with The Reapers, Marco Mancini…” He waits for me to fill in thevery obviousblank.
“Fuck sake. Yeah yeah, I get it. The Butcher’s wife is Mancini’s sister and someone couldn’t keep their fucking gob shut.”
“Bingo. But, officially, nobody dobbed you in. Gobs were kept shut, but we already had our feelers out with The Reapers, which you know, so we all got the same information. Including the little pick-up you did yesterday afternoon because, surprise, lil sis, The Butcher uses his connections with the Reapers for intel and trades when in the U.S. The Reapers just assumed you were working with us…not going rogue.” Raising both eyebrows, he casually leans forward and grabs a pastry from the tray.
Rolling my head back, I groan, loudly, before fixing my gaze back on my brother. “We were gonna tell you. I realized I was being that dumb cunt who goes off with a half-cocked plan. I’m good, but I also don’t wanna die, and I certainly don’t wanna make Spenny die. Grinder would make me wear a strap-on to compensate, and while I don’t mind, it isn’t my favorite thing to do.” I could go on, but the bewilderment combined with amusement in Sledge’s face makes me stop. Probably—definitely—TMI.
“You were gonna tell me?” His smirk doesn’t falter.
“Before we get into a whole thing, I can back her up on that. As of about fifteen minutes ago, the new plan was to tell you guys what we know.”
Sledge’s grin and slight eyebrow raise as he nods makes me think he actually believes me this time.
“I got the weapons because I wanted to go in there like a lady John Wick and fuck shit up. After sleeping on it, I know I can’t do it alone. So now you know. Time to answer my question. But wait…” I hold my finger up to stop him when he goes to speak. “I wanna revise my question because you seem to know what I know. So…where was this stakeout?”
Chuckling, Sledge shakes his head.
“We split into three teams, one for each of the three known locations. Because we wanna go at this full fuckin’ throttle, guns blazin’, we need to know where they have Grinder and Kincaid.” He holds my gaze and makes sure I’m paying attention. “Because if we had run into just one of them and blown shit up, we’d alert the others, putting our club brother and sister in more danger.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re sayin’.” I huff. He makes perfect sense, and this is exactly why I should sleep on big decisions. “I can’t believe you went without me.” I sigh and ignore the chuckles from both of the males in the room. “Did you find the one they’re at?”
The three locations The Butcher gave me are relatively close to Rockford Beach. There’s a gated community in the next town over, Beauville, and down toward Myrtle Beach there’s another gated community and a huge fuck-off mansion.
Leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, Sledge grins. Slow and dangerous.
“Of course we fucking did. I came to see if you wanna come fuck some shit up.”
“Yes!” I jump up and clap my hands before turning to give my brother a serious look. “We should come up with a code word for ‘get the fuck down and take cover’ because I have a couple of grenades and I fully intend to use them.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Grinder
“I’m no expert, but I’m willing to bet that your pacing isn’t going to help this situation.”
I stop dead in my tracks just as I’m about to turn on my heel, then glare at Kincaid.
“Would you rather I punch the cinderblock walls, instead?” In a typical Kincaid move, she shrugs like whatever it is I decide to do, it won’t have an ounce of effect on her. Sitting in the corner of the damp cell with her legs pulled up and her cuffed arms hugging her knees, she looks like she could be hanging out at a frat party.
If said party were located in a dungeon with dirty floors and mold-eaten walls.
“I mean, it’d be interesting to see how you manage with those handcuffs on. You know, a teaching moment.” Where hers are locked in front, they’ve kept mine behind my back. They think I’m more dangerous than Kincaid, no doubt, and they would be so fucking wrong.
Maybe that’s why she’s so calm…
“You have a plan, don’t you?” Raising a brow like my question is ridiculous, she also allows one side of her mouth to tick up into a smirk that says it all.
“Nope.” Chances are, we’re being monitored and our prospect knows this.
It’s impossible to tell how long we’ve been here. Hours? A few days? No, not that long, but I’m sure we’re well into day two or at least close to it. Sleep is nowhere to be found, my adrenaline is pumping overtime with my mind solely focused on my sister.
“Hey, you cock sucking cunt face motherfucker! Don’t be a weak ball sack and come down here!” Yelling through the bars of our cell, I watch as spittle flies out into the empty space on the other side.
“You should get some rest, Grinder.”
I know she’s right, but how does she expect me to close my eyes and relax enough to fall into slumber? It’s impossible. I haven’t seen my sister in months, almost a year, in fact. Then she shows up, or more accurately, she’s dragged by her hair to stand in front of me. From the clothes she was wearing, it was obvious she’d dressed herself with her standard holey jeans that cost more than when they’re intact, and her crop-top band tee advertising some group I’ve never heard of before. Mostly because I don’t put in the effort to listen to new music. With almost ten years on her, our tastes are wildly different.