Page 98 of Kings Have No Mercy
He and the others scramble to their feet and try to retreat from the rear entrance.
But there’s no escape.
Cash and the rest of the crew that broke off earlier block them at the exit. Some of the Hellrazors drop to their knees and press their hands together in a plea for mercy. I stride outside into the alleyway to join my guys.
Cash has got a gun trained on a Hellrazor’s head—one of the same fuckers who was at our last confrontation on the side of the road.
“What d’you say?” he asks, raising a brow. “Let ’em go?”
“Kill ’em all,” I answer in an instant. I survey them with cold fury frozen onto my face and watch as Cash and the others assassinate them one by one.
We’re only a handful away from being done when police sirens ring in the air. After the commotion from the truck exploding and then the brawl in the bar, it’s a given they’d descend on the scene.
We have no choice but to get the hell out of there.
Dirty and his last few men are left weeping in their own piss on the muddy ground. We’re already riding off on our bikes before the cops even pull up outside the Hellrazors bar.
For several miles, we speed off into the warm, wet night. The heavy thunderstorm has receded. Only a light drizzle falls.
“I’ve gotta grab Syd!” I shout over the roar of our engines.
The guys riding left and right of me are the only ones who hear. Ozzie and Bush nod their heads and break off to come with me.
“Nah,” I call out. “Go on without me. Bush, you’re lead.”
The crew passes me up as I take a side detour off the main country road that takes you out of town. I circle back through some of the narrower streets, careful not to cause a commotion. A couple streets away from the motel, I brake on the side of the road at the sound of more sirens. They’re racing off in the direction of the Hellrazors bar.
Once the coast is clear, I finish the ride to the Traveler’s Lodge. From the moment I park my bike and look up at the two-story motel, I know something’s up. There’s a strange vibe that hangs in the moist air, like some shit went down in more places than the Hellrazor bar tonight.
Something big happened here too.
Dismounting my bike, I realize what it is. The door to Sydney’s room is wide open. It’s been left ajar as if she was inside and then had no choice in the matter.
The air evaporates from my lungs. I forget about taking off the rest of my gear and break out into a run for the metal staircase.
“SYDNEY!” I yell, skipping steps on the way up. I round the corner on the landing and bolt toward the open door, unholstering my Glock. “SYDNEY!”
I stagger into her motel room with heaving breaths to discover what I’ve feared—it’s completely empty, and she’s nowhere to be found.
28
SYDNEY
“You’re the informant?”I say in a stunned tone. “You?!”
Velma’s eye roll coincides with the puff of smoke she blows out. “I ain’t no fucking informant, girly. You mean to tell me you bought into that tripe? I guess I gave you more credit than you deserve.”
“But I don’t get it. You told Mason that Tom found out about the informant from someone in the prison—”
“Which was alie,” she interjects. “This time around anyway. But Mace and Tom barely talk. I told Tom the opposite—we’d heard rumblings on the outside. I knew their stubborn asses wouldn’t figure it out, and if they did, I’d accuse one of being a liar. They’d believe me ‘cuz I’m their middleman.”
I shake my head as if she’s speaking another language and I can’t understand a word. For as little sense as she’s making, it really might be some other language I’m not understanding.
By the sounds of it, Velma’s been sowing discord between Mason and Tom for a while. She’s done it so much, she’s practically a pro at it—and sees nothing wrong with bragging about how she’s driven them further apart.
“You’re the one pitting them against each other? Why would you do something like that?” I ask.
She sucks on her cigarette for a long moment, then returns my question with one of her own. “Why not pit them against each other? It’s worked in our favor.”