Page 95 of Vengeance

Waking Charles up, he pins him down and forces him to watch as he hacks off the first hand. He places a large hand over his mouth to stop the screams and waits for his life to fade. It’s not the way he’d like to off this asshole, but he may or may not have a woman waiting in a pickup for him to feed and get to safety.

“Fuck,” he growls. “The box.”

Turning out the light, he walks up the stairs, careful not to touch anything, and walks to the back door to stay hidden by the night. He looks to see the pickup driving towards him, a cop behind it, and he freezes. This is not good. Both vehicles drive away, and he stays where he is, trying to come up with a secondary plan. He has to ship the head and hands to Diego or it was all for nothing.

“My phone is in the truck,” Psycho growls and crouches down. “I can’t just walk up to one of the houses to ask for their phone.”

To his surprise, the pickup comes back and parks in the same spot it was previously, and he hurries along the shadows until he reaches the driver’s side window. “What the fuck?” he asks Shannon.

“The cop pulled up asking if I needed help, and I told him I just stopped to try and call my mom. I had to drive away to get him to leave. I’m sorry,” Shannon says.

She looks so scared, and he sighs in relief. “That was smart. Quick thinking.”

“Are you ready to go?” she asks, her eyes wide as she sees the blood on his hands.

“I forgot something, but it’ll only take about fifteen minutes.”

Nodding, she sighs. “Thank you, Psycho.”

“You’re welcome, Shannon. Can you hand me that box?”

“Your hands are bloody. I’ll carry it for you.”

“You don’t want to see what happened in there.”

Grabbing the box, she opens the door. “Actually, I really do.”

Deciding not to argue, he leads her through the dark to the back door, and they walk down into the room where Charles Helmer now lies in four pieces. Shannon sets the box down, pushing the flaps along the side to stay open before she hurries out of the room.

“Poor girl,” he says and places the head and hands into the box. “Yeah, the wine box was the perfect fit.”

“Here,” Shannon says, handing him a towel.

“What’s this?”

“You need to wipe the blood off your hands. I also grabbed a shirt that should be good enough until you get home. Here’s a bag to put them in, and we can toss them in a dumpster along the way.”

His eyebrows lift as he takes the towel and wipes his hands before slipping off his shirt. “This doesn’t freak you out?”

“I know it should, but knowing he likely would have done this to me makes it kind of comforting. Plus, I know he’s dead this way.” Her eyes glance up at his. “You’re a Drifter?”

“You know about the Drifters?”

“Everyone in Southern California knows about the Drifters. I feel a lot better now, but... why are you here?”

Psycho chuckles. “I had to repay a debt, and it was lucky I chose tonight to do it. Now, let’s get out of here, and we’ll get you something to eat.”

Chapter Thirty

Griffin’s Beach

Beckett

Three hundred and fifty-nine men. The six of them took out over three hundred and fifty Slashers, and the enemy never stood a chance. Knowing what these men plan to do to people in his club, Beckett has no issues with what they just accomplished. When they were overseas, he struggled with the orders he carried out, and he knows he’s not the only one.

West refused to stay under the same roof as Undertaker, so he went back to Black Valley. The other six men make it to the clubhouse around five in the morning. Beckett wants nothing more than to crawl into his bed and sleep. It’s been a long two nights, and the changes in adrenaline as they shifted from one location to another, taking out man after man wearing the shamrock and dagger logo on his back, have him worn out. He’d been paired up with Gunner, and he found comfort being with his old leader.

Gunner parks, and Beckett climbs out of the jeep they drove. Beckett has no idea where it came from or who it belongs to, but he doesn’t care. He reaches into the back to help unload the weapons and bags of unused ammo. They were nothing if not prepared.

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