Page 43 of Scotch: Unraveled

We take up position, and on the count of three, while the fucker drops cheese and butter in his plastic basket, we move and he feels us. His back goes rigid as he slowly turns his whole body. His eyes dart around, frantically landing on each of us pinning him in with the cold door of the cooler to his back.

Being so close to this asshole, it’s hard not to take the lead, especially as I see his fear,smellhis fear; and with each of my brothers closing in to keep him from bolting even as he straightens his spine in a ploy of false bravado—which, not gonna lie, pisses me off because I can’t help but respect him a little—I ball my hands at my sides to temper my emotions.

“The fuck you want?” he asks, though I pick up on the tremble in his voice.

All the brothers shoot me glances to make sure I’ve got myself in check, and as hard as it is to take that first step, I step back to bide my time until I’m allowed to put my fist through this motherfucker’s teeth for having the audacity to breathe the same air as my family. As us. For being a fucking Horde.

“You have something we want back,” Blood says, crowding the man—his cut says Scourge—getting right in his face.

“I don’t got nothin’ of the Lords. You must be mistaken.” He snickers.

Blood lashes out, squeezing Scourge’s throat. His face begins to darken from red to purple. “If you value your life, you’ll tell us what we want to know.”

“Where are they keeping the women and children?” Hero asks. We’re all losing patience. Hero’s breaths come hard through his teeth, baring gritted like a rabid animal, and we can all see he’s about to lose it, but it’s Crass who beats him to the literal punch, pulling a set of brass knuckles from his jeans pockets, shoving them over the knuckles of his right hand, and socking him right in the diaphragm. The asshole’s natural instinct to double over is thwarted by Blood’s hand at his throat, keeping him upright.

“Gonna ask you one more time and this time you better give the answer I want,” Blood says, his spittle flying in the guy’s face.

“Blood, man…” Blue says. “You might wanna let up on his larynx or you’ll crush it and he’ll never tell us what we need to know.”

Blood grinds his teeth but lets up just enough for the Horde bastard to suck in a sharp breath. His face stays pink, though it’s no longer purple. “Talk,” he orders.

“Other side of the county. Dead end off Squirrel Crick Road.”

Crass takes another shot at him, striking him in the shoulder. It’s definitely going to leave a mark. Scourge winces and sort of whimpers as he curses, “Fuck.”

Then I finally step up. “Ya know for a fact they’re there? Why were they brought there?” I press.

“D-Don’t know. Bull brought ’em.”

Bull. We know that name.

I push deep into his space one more time. “Ya sure? Because I get there and they ain’t, I’ll put a bullet in yar brain and let the animals’ snack on yar carcass.”

“No… no. They’re there. Seen ’em myself, I swear—they’re there.”

From behind me we hear Crass. “Need a pickup at the Shopper King.” I glance over my shoulder just in time to see him press theend callbutton on his phone.

15.

Rory

We wait by the dairy aisle for the pickup. Occasionally, shoppers turn the corner, stopping abruptly once they catch a glimpse of our Lords cuts, then they promptly spin around and head back the other way.

The people of Thornbriar don’t get involved. They know if ya piss off the Lords enough to corner in a grocery store, then yar bad. Period. We make the streets safe for their friends and family without the confines of the law binding our hands in red tape like the police have to deal with.

Boss and Chaos show for prisoner extraction. We form a circle around Scourge to march him out of the store. Not one person speaks or puts up a fuss. The manager nods then turns back to check out a customer. That’s the most attention they give. And Scourge, to his credit, marches out stone-faced instead of crying out for help like the pussy I thought he’d be.

More than that, he doesn’t attempt to escape before he’s shoved into the back of our old white van—older than most of the club members, but it runs like a dream thanks to the brothers with mechanic skills.

Something ain’t right here.

I know my brothers expect me to bust in guns blazing, but with my family on the line, I need to keep my head and my head says to proceed with caution.

We make the drive back up the mountain, avoiding the gated front entrance, cutting up a dirt path to the back of the property, where a decrepit pole barn stands, a relic of the old days of the Lords when they were involved in all things that brought death down on the club.

If Scourge was lying about where my family is, it just might mean death for him.

Sneak, Blaze, and Carver meet us, walking out of the pole barn. Sneak and Blaze are tall and lithe, but like snakes—all muscle. Similar blue eyes and brown hair, they look like they should be twins, though Sneaks like six years older and they ain’t blood related. Carver on the other hand, he’s a giant motherfucker—barrel chested, crazy, wild beard hanging down past his pecs that he keeps somewhat tamed by three rubber bands. The hair on his head is equally as wild. But it’s his attitude Scourge should fear. Nicest guy ya’ll ever know to his friends. But if he doesn’t like ya or yar stupid enough to threaten someone he cares about, watch out.

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