Page 143 of Tormented
FORTY
Sawyer
The back roadsthat lead toward my father’s property are quiet this late at night. The only sound to be heard apart from the steady swish of boots in grass is the slow, methodical scratching of a cow grazing nearby.
The new moon does nothing to help guide the way, the night blacker than a coal-miner’s hand. Still, it’s perfect for what we’re here to do.
My devil pops his hips, singing “It’s a marvelous night for a bloodbath” to the tune of “Moondance” as he quicksteps through my mind.
Tuck walks ahead of me, roped in to help the Fallen Aces with the job when his estranged daughter turned out to be involved with the drug syndicate King’s currently trying to crack. Having the president of the Devil’s Breed leading the charge is a scenario I never considered.
“How much farther is it?” Abbey asks, skipping every so often to keep up with my long strides.
“Not much longer.” I’d point out a landmark for reference, but she’s lucky with how dark it is out we can even keep track of Tuck.
To his left are a couple of the younger Aces: a prospect by the name of Nathan who shows all guts and a thirst for glory, and a Latino guy by the name of Alvarez. I narrow my gaze on him, wondering if he’s a plant from my father’s cartel.
“Where you say you’re from again, Alvarez?”
The kid with a buzz cut swings his head my way. God only knows how he’s looking at me. Could be cool and calm, or ready to throw down. Fucking moon.
“Detroit,” he answers.
“Right,” I say suspiciously.
Abbey smacks me in the arm. “Stop it.”
Fuck knows why King included him and Nathan. Compared to the other dozen or so men walking the road with us, they’re babies: inexperienced and dangerous.
I shift the backpack containing ammo to my chest, looping the straps over my arms backwards. I’ve got two extra clips in my pockets, but denim only holds so much, and without proper tactical gear this is the best I can do. No way I was going in with just a couple of spare rounds. This gunfight is bound to be of epic proportions, and I’d like to be prepared.
“Stop at that mailbox up there,” I tell Tuck.
He reaches it first, bringing his men to a halt with a simple hand in the air. A second gesture has the entire group kneeling in the grass, blending into our surroundings.
The road we’re on skirts two-thirds of casa de la Redmond. It’s the most guarded section of the property, but also the least covered in security cameras. The majority are out back since my father’s second wife, Elena, used the rear as her exit to elope with King.
I gesture to two of Tuck’s men, getting them to come my way with the rifles they carry. They squat down before me, making an impromptu meeting circle. Tuck shuffles over to rest behind my right shoulder, listening in.
“If you look down the far end of the fence,” I say, gesturing to the enormous brick wall that encircles the property, “there’s a crow’s nest with a sentry on point. Maybe two now, who’d know?” I shrug. “About a third of the way toward us from there is the first camera.” I point out a small mound on the top of the wall. “See it?”
Both men nod.
“You’ve also got one either side of the gate.” I point them out also. “And one at the speaker.”
“Get the boys lined up to take them all down at once,” Tuck instructs. “Time is of the essence tonight. The faster we crash through his front door, the less time that asshole has to react.”
“How we getting’ past the gate?” the roughest of the two before me asks.
“I’ve got help on the inside.” My own Fingers, in a way.
Frank, the gardener.
Turns out being helpful and offering a hand when I had time to kill, paid off. The old guy appreciates me enough, feels badly enough about the loss of my mother, that he was more than happy to slip me a coded card to open the gates. Didn’t even want payment for it. Simply picked up his hat, gave me a smile and a nod, and left the bar I met him in a few hours ago, wishing me well.
“Everybody listen up.” I catch Abbey’s stern stare. “You too, girl.” A couple of the stragglers crowd in to hear what I’ve got to say. “Once we take his eyes and ears down, it’s all on, exactly like we talked about over and fuckin’ over at the clubhouse.” A few people nod—it’s about all I can make out in this light. “We’ve each got our roles, and we’ve each got a job to do tonight. Nobody said draggin’ this asshole off his throne would be easy, but I can damn well promise you one thing: it’ll be worth it.”
A hushed mumble of agreement ripples through the group as they shuffle around to get in position. The two men I briefed first co-ordinate the rest, while Tuck overseas it all from mid-point. Dull yellow dots of light begin to spread out over the roadside grass as each man reaches his position: our signal system. From a distance, the lights would look as though there were fireflies hopping the seed heads.