Page 115 of Paladin's Hell

Chapter 37

Paladin

“Jeez, Brother. You okay?”

I take the hand Shooter’s holding out, gratefully accepting his help to get to my feet. Gingerly I shake out my arms, and check out my legs, flexing my limbs. I’ll have a good selection of bruises to come I expect, but nothing’s broken or permanently damaged.

My bike though, that’s a mess. It’s scraped up badly. As I’ve been checking out my limbs, Shooter’s picked it up, and kicked down the stand. It leans forlornly.

“Looks rideable,” Shooter says.

“Stupid fuckin’ thing to do,” I curse myself. Should have been riding more carefully. But I’d been so anxious to get back to the club. The bend had been sharper than I’d expected.

“Got a fuckin’ graze on your face, Brother. You bang your head?”

Probably, yes, if the ringing in my ears is any indication. But I brush it off. “I’m fine to ride. Need to get back.”

He looks at me carefully, then, clearly seeing nothing to worry him, goes to his bike. “Let’s get going then. We’ll take it easy. You feel dizzy we’ll pull over and stop. Not any real need to hurry, Pal. Taser won’t know we’re onto him.”

Touching my hand to my scalp, I’m not surprised to feel the stickiness of blood. I ignore it, paying attention instead to the sense of urgency that’s eating away at my gut. Despite what Shooter’s said, I feel a strange need to get moving. I’ve got to get back. Point the finger in Taser’s direction. Let everyone know he’s gone bad. I have no idea of the reason, but expect there’s something in his closet that maybe others who’ve ridden beside him for longer will be able to find.

Grimacing as I see the dent on my tank and fender, I start the engine. It roars, nothing, luckily seems wrong with it. Ignoring the various pains in my body, knowing they’re just superficial, I take off again, this time, keeping the speed down.

I need to take this to an officer. Mace or Thunder. Demon if he’s around. I’d rather not go straight to Hellfire, but will if I have to. The burning intuition suggests there’s no time to waste. I’ve never trusted Taser, now I know he’s responsible for at least the break-in. The body dumping makes sense as well, he’d have fucking known those cameras weren’t showing the dumpster. As for who he was working with? Probably his cousin who benefited from the parts.

While I don’t know why, I suspect his actions are going to escalate to something worse. No one goes against the club without good reason. It’s far too risky. Once started, it’s something that needs to be finished. He’s got some plan, it’s down to me to make sure he doesn’t complete it.

Wills opens the gate allowing Shooter and I onto the compound. We park.

“Got to make sure someone knows about this, Brother.”

My chin raise is the only answer he gets.

Hellfire had called church for later, so the number of brothers milling around doesn’t surprise me. Pyro acknowledges me with a raise of his hand. Taser’s holding court by the bar with Lizard and Ink. One by one my eyes roam over my brothers, but I see none of the four men I want. I do notice music is playing loudly.

Shooter raises his eyebrow; I shake my head. Rusty is sitting by the end of the bar, his sharp eyes have spotted my injuries. He stands and approaches leaning in close so he can be heard over AC/DC. “What the fuck happened? What does the other guy look like?”

Shooter grins. “The ground came off best.”

“Huh. Landed dirty side down?” Rusty’s hand lands on my shoulder, and his eyes examine me. “You alright, lad?”

I don’t respond wanting to waste no time reassuring him, neither have I time for him to check me out. I brush away his touch and concern. “Rusty, I need to speak to one of the officers. Is Hell in his office.”

The old-timer tilts his head. “Urgent?” It must have been in the tone of my voice.

“Nothing more.”

He leans in closer. “These old eyes see a lot. Can put two and two together. Reckon Prez has found our traitor. Saw him, Mace, the VP and Thunder a while ago, looks like they had their man.” He taps his head. “After all these years, not much passes me by.”

But Taser’s at the bar with a drink in his hand. Unless there’s more than one, Prez is questioning the wrong person.

“Rusty. I need to see them. Now. Where the fuck are they?”

His hand points downwards. “In the basement. Doubt they want to be disturbed.”

“Shoot, you with me?” Then I leave Rusty with his jaw dropping, and push my way through brothers and women, heading for the cellar that I know is set up in a remarkably similar way to our storeroom back in Tucson.

With my brother at my heels, I race down the steps. The door’s locked. I bang on it loudly. When that doesn’t work, I try to kick it down.

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