Page 64 of Ghost

Ghost

February 15, 2025, Diamond Creek, Nebraska.

King was on edge tonight. We all were. Someone had been drugging and raping women in the surrounding towns for months on end and no one had anything to go on.

Until now.

“Where are we on this prick?” King asked.

“All we have is a sketch and a first name. It’s not much to go on,” Gunner answered.

“It’s been six fucking months! I am at the point I might just have to call Luc and get Indigo out here.”

“Good God, that man is fucking scary as hell.” Jack shivered.

“Yea, well, he gets results,” Cash muttered.

“Dec said there hasn’t been a report in two weeks. Once we sent out that sketch to all the bars in the surrounding towns, there hasn’t been a single woman roofied,” Blade confirmed.

“No report doesn’t mean it’s not happening. Just means no one’s reported that shit,” Colt pointed out.

That was true. We knew as well as anyone that a lot of shit went down under the radar. Just because you never got caught, didn’t mean shit wasn’t being done.

“You’ve got one more month before I call Luc,” King reiterated. “What else?”

“Got some reports of a club moving into our backyard,” I shared.

“Where?”

“Hillsdale, Wyoming,”

“Who are they?” Nav asked.

“Death Dogs MC.”

“What kind of fucking name is that?” Blade asked.

Nav’s fingers got to work to see what he could find. The rest of us quietly waited while he did his thing. Right now, all I had to go on was what Megan at the motel had told me she’d seen. She lived just over the border in Wyoming.

“Fuck.”

“What is it?” King sat forward, anxious to hear what Nav had discovered.

“Death Dogs MC are out of Flagstaff, Arizona. President is Skinner, VP is Vulture, 1% club running drugs, guns, and skin.”

“What kind of fucking skin?” Gunner snarled.

“Looks like prostitution. From all accounts, it looks to be voluntary, but you know how that goes. Get ‘em hooked and they’ll consent to anything for a fucking fix.” Nav worked over the keyboard and soon pictures were up on the screen. “Bald fucker is Skinner. The skinny asshole is Vulture. I’ll need a few hours to get names of the entire club.”

“Any problems so far?” King asked, his eyes on the screen. “How long have they been there?”

“Just reports of them being in the area. Haven’t entered Nebraska as of yet, but they’re less than an hour away. Looks like they moved in two weeks ago,” I clarified.

“How many members?” Jingles asked.

With a heavy breath, Nav answered, “Seventy-five, maybe more.”

“Fuck,” Cash whispered.

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