Page 59 of 23 Hours

“You already are.”

CHAPTERNINETEEN

GUNZ

This damn well better be it.

It’s been too many days since we rescued the kid in the basement. Each stop, each raid, has begun to blur into an endless blood-filled river of torment, of bodies and nameless faces, of violence and sleepless nights. They are out there somewhere, waiting on us to get our fucking shit together and save them. If that’s even possible at this point. If they’re still alive.

Fuck!

Seated on a rickety chair in our hotel room, elbows on my knees, I rub my temples, and suck angrily on a Dum Dum. My eyes are closed and my chest hurts. The bastard won’t stop hurting. Each breath is more painful than the last.

“You need to eat.” Blimp drops a tied gas station bag at my feet.

I don’t need food. I need to kill. Ineedto find them. All of them… whole. Body parts intact. Blood still in their bodies. Breath in their lungs.

“He can’t,” comes from Kade, sitting on top of a dresser next to an old black-and-white television, playing with knives like a child would toys.

Loyal to his core, Blimp doesn’t yield. “The fuck he can’t. He hasn’t eaten in two days.”

Truth, from ‘em both.

“He’ll just throw it up,” Kade remarks.

Truth again.

Ignoring our Texas brother, Blimp nudges the toe of my boot. “Gunz, come on, brother, you gotta power up. If you don’t, you won’t be strong enough for this. The specs on this place are scary, even to me.”

Kade chuckles darkly, liking the data far more than the rest of our crew.

Blimp’s right. The warehouse is bigger than we’ve taken on before. Our numbers are solid. Our weapons are on point. The information we’ve amassed is extensive. I made sure of it this time. No more guesses. No more houses and small-time shit. This is it. It has to be.

Knowing this won’t end without a fight, I heed Blimp and dig into the sack. Your standard fare of sandwich and chips rests on my lap as I remove my empty sucker stick from my mouth before taking a bite. Everything tastes like nothingness. It has for days. Just like Kade said, I’ll puke it up later, when I don’t have a roomful of family eyeing me like I’m two seconds away from ending up in the looney bin.

Walking into the room, White Boy sprawls out on a bed and tucks both hands behind his head. “When do we leave?” His words are slow, laced with exhaustion.

The entire room falls silent, awaiting my response to his question. They’ve been doin’ that a lot lately. Somehow, I’ve become their anchor. As much as I get it, I don’t like it. I’m in no place to lead. Not for this. Not in my condition. Not with this rage. Not with… this…ugh.I fuckin’ hate war.

Not keen on speakin’ at this juncture, I ignore them all and continue to consume Blimp’s offering.

Joinin’ our party from the stoop outside, Runner props himself against the open-doorframe. “What’d Big say?” He chews on a piece of gum as a breeze from outside ruffles his hair.

“Tonight,” Blimp answers between long drags from his joint, not giving a damn we’re in a nonsmoking room, in some rinky-dink hotel on the outskirt of whatever this town is. “He thinks it’s best under nightfall. The rest of the brothers Big called are already camped out, ready to rock ’n’ roll whenever we give word.”

After this is through, when I’ve got my lady and the rest of my family safe and secure, I’m calling in reinforcements to chop Remy up into tiny, little, microscopic pieces. I don’t give a flying dogshit fuck if it takes me years to clean house. He’s done. Finito. You can run your dirty operation under the radar. You can be a world-class sicko. Hell, I know my fair share of sickos. One thing you can’t do is lay an unwelcomed finger on any person I care about and expect me, the usually reasonable one, to let it go. This old, baldheaded biker doesn’t roll that way.

There will be blood.

Buckets of it.

Ripping a chunk of bread from the corner of my sandwich with my teeth, I lean back in the chair, my legs spread wide. “We ride at dusk.”

“Shit yeah, we do.” Eyes wild, Kade twirls his blade with far too much delight. “Dead fucks at dusk,” he sings loud and proud.

Blimp snorts. “Dead fucks at dusk.”

On a yawn, White Boy parrots their sentiment.