Page 53 of Amy's Santa

I nod. “I was just passing and saw them.” I look him up and down. “I didn’t want to approach them by myself, but the two of us can probably chase them off.”

“Damn right we can.” He puffs up his chest, then pushes me aside and strides off to where his car is parked.

I follow, surreptitiously sliding my phone into my hand and shooting off a text to Blade.

Damn but Devils are good. In the few seconds head start I’ve given them, by the time I round the corner it’s to see Flint lying on the ground, tape over his mouth. Though it’s not necessary right now, but will keep him quiet when he regains consciousness.

“Who hit him?”

“Peg.” Hound pauses, looking at the front yard which as Mouse had said, has high hedges and a security fence all around. “Fucker went out like a light.”

He would have. Peg might be nearing sixty, but he still works out and has got a lot of power in his right arm, as I’ve found out when I’ve been pitched against him in our ring.

Then it’s all action as Blade backs the crash truck onto the drive in such a way as it looks like he’s chosen this driveway to turn around. It goes smooth and fast. Hound fast has the unconscious man in a fireman’s lift and deposits him in the back of the truck while we pile inside. Then we’re off, the whole thing taking only seconds. Our only problem is if the wife is looking out. I’d glanced back, but hadn’t seen any sign of her.

We reverse our tracks to the parking lot where we left the others and our bikes. Quick as a flash, Blade changes the license plates back to the normal ones, then he’s just driving a plain white truck, no different from a million others on the road.

“Any trouble?”

“Nah, Drum. Went like a dream,” Prez tells him with a wide grin. “In and fuckin’ out fast.”

“The wife was home,” I warn them. “It’s possible she saw us putting him in the truck if she was looking out.”

“We’re not wearing cuts. She could report the make and model of the truck, but even if she clocked the plate, it won’t matter.”

I listen hard but can hear no sirens, which is good. She could give a description of me. But hell, I don’t care. We’ve got the fucker who hurt Amy, mission fuckin’ successful. Even if she’s asked to look at a photo line-up, they’re unlikely to find me.

“I don’t want to hang around,” Prez starts, then turns. “Blade, he’s trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey, gagged to boot. If he comes round, he shouldn’t give you any trouble. If he does, pull over, and we’ll knock him out again.”

Blade nods and grins at Prez’s instructions. “I can manage that myself.” He waves his hands. “Fists are fine, it’s straightening my fingers out that gives me problems.”

“Mount up, Brothers. Let’s go home.”

We ride out, Blade following behind in the crash truck. I grin to myself. Blade looks more cheerful than he has for some time, that arthritis in his hands is a bitch. I hope, when we get Flint back to the compound, Throttle steps back and lets his predecessor have some fun. He deserves it.

Chapter Fifteen

Heart

Instead of following through with our original plan to do what we had to do in a discreet location in Phoenix, it had been Prez’s idea to take him back to the compound where we can take our time. It’s safe to say everyone was on board with the changes Wiz had suggested. One benefit of him insisting on coming along with us.

We ride carefully in formation back to Tucson, Prez and his boys leading the pack, Drummer and Wraith behind, then Peg and Mouse, and finally, myself. When I hear a siren behind us and a squad car comes into sight, I’m tempted to twist my throttle, but Wizard signals that we’re to go into single file and slow down. Blade pulls over to the side, and the cops go whizzing past, with only a cursory glance in our direction. Then we resume our journey, me with a loud thumping in my chest.

I sigh with relief when we reach the compound and offer up thanks that before his death, Viper had the foresight to put pavement down all the way to the storeroom. Just for occasions such as this, though as far as the women knew, it was to bring shit in and out without carrying heavy boxes up from the gate. So Blade carries on driving while we back into our parking slots outside the clubhouse.

I glance in the window, see some of the women looking up expectantly at the door, but as no one enters, they go back to what they’re doing. I grin at the sight of the huge Christmas tree in the corner. What we’re going to do now is incongruous with the spirit of the season. Or is it? Flint’s going to welcome the gift of death in a few hours’ time.

“Coming?”

Try and keep me a-fuckin’-way. Alongside the others, full of anticipation, I walk up the track that leads to the isolated and soundproofed storeroom.

“Fucker’s come round,” Blade informs us as we arrive, but the thumping and banging from the truck render his words unnecessary.

Hound nods at Throttle, and they go to the back doors, open them, and then together they pull the bound man out by his feet, uncaring as his head smashes to the ground. Watching, I feel no sympathy as he’s dragged into the storeroom, my head full of how he’d hurt my little girl. There, expertly as if they’re masters at this, they soon have him strung up, and Throttle’s slicing off his clothes.

I raise my eyebrow at Blade and grin. Seems the new guard is just as competent as we used to be, and still are, given half the chance. Blade’s returning grin back is reminiscent of that you’d see on a Halloween decoration.He’s getting ready to go to work.

Finally, Wizard strips the tape gag off, taking facial hair with it. Again, I don’t wince on his behalf. I don’t give a fuck how much he’s hurting. It will be nothing to how he’ll be feeling soon enough, and less than he deserves.

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