Hunter (Sons of Rebellion Book 2) (2 page)

SLICK. THE ONE MAN I never wanted to see again. At least not alive anyway.

The road was quiet. The wind whipped past my ears, tugging at my body. It was like even the wind didn't want me to go.

Jase and Brent didn't either. I don't blame them. What kind of guy wants to take on a club's Sergeant at Arms on his own? A guy on a suicide mission. A guy like me.

 
If it wasn't for Jase, Brent would've tackled me. He thought I was crazy. He doesn't know how lucky he was that Jase was there. Beating the shit out of my brother wasn't exactly the way I wanted to start this plan.

As I came closer, the place loomed over the horizon. It looked just like the pictures. If I hadn't known any better, I would have assumed it was an empty warehouse. The rust on the corrugated metal made it look like no one had been there for years. But I knew better.
 

It wasn't empty. It was hiding a rat.

I stopped my bike before I got too close. The noise would have been sure to give me away. I hid her in the bushes and made my way towards the warehouse.

Everything was going smoothly.
Too
smoothly. I looked around for any bikers, and it seemed like the place was abandoned. Was I missing something? Was this a setup?

When I reached the door, I slid my hand over the cool metal of my gun. I waited for a moment, listening. There was nothing. The only thing I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat.

I took a deep breath.

The next moment my shoulder rammed into the door, forcing it open. The weak metal groaned before it bent under the pressure. It swung open, slamming into the wall behind it.

I stepped inside, my gun ready to fire. My eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness. Then there he was.

"Well, hello there, Hunter," he said.

Slick
.

 
His voice was even rougher than I remembered. It stank. Was he still smoking those same cheap ass cigars?

"So you're the-" He started to hack. It sounded like if he coughed anymore, his lungs would fall out of his mouth. "You're the one they sent," he finally finished and wiped away the spit on his lips.

My gun was trained right in between his eyes. Right where the deep wrinkles settled into his forehead. All I had to do was pull the trigger. I didn't have to answer him. I'd shoot, and we'd be done.

"I was hoping you'd come," Slick said.

He smiled.

"Two Sergeants at Arms alone together, that seems like a fitting end."

I wished the old man would just stop talking. As my eyes continued adjusting, I could make out more details of the warehouse. The place was empty. Picked clean. No supplies, no weapons, nothing.

 
Fuck
! I was too late.

"I was expecting you," Slick said, "so I got ready for our little party. Do you like the way I cleaned up?"

I rushed up to Slick. Grabbed him by the collar, and rammed the muzzle of my gun into his cheek.

"Shut the fuck up! I've had enough of your bullshit!" I yelled.

My finger itched to pull the trigger.

"Where are your men?" I asked. "Tell them to come out so that we can finish this mess."

Slick shrugged his shoulders. "I sent them all home so that we could have a little private chat. Wouldn't you like that?"

A sour taste came into my mouth and I shoved him back in the chair. Nasty fuck. Slick smiled in his seat and readjusted his collar.

As much as I wanted to, I couldn't kill an old man with no defenses. Hell, he could barely even breathe. Slick should at least
try
to fight me.

"Get up old man," I said. "Get up and fight!"

He didn't make a move.
 

"I told you, I want to chat," Slick said.

"And what if I don't want to chat? What if I want to shoot you in the head and leave?"

Slick smiled. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a small table next to his rickety metal chair. On top of the table was a wooden box that he opened as leisurely as if he didn't have someone pointing a gun at his head.

What was in there? A gun? A knife?

Slick pulled something out. Two cigars.

"Would you care to join me?" he asked.

I didn't answer, and he shrugged, putting one cigar back into the box. Slick brought out a cigar cutter and slipped it over the end of the cigar. Then he trained those yellow eyes of his on me.

"I'll hurt the girl," he said. He chopped off the end of the cigar and let it fall to the floor.

It took everything I had not to jump on him and end it right there. I kept calm.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I asked.

Slick brought out a lighter and started to heat up the end of his cigar. He turned the thing like he had all the time in the world, not like he had a pissed off murderer pointing a gun at his head.

"You don't have to play those kinds of games with me, Hunter," Slick said. The tip of his cigar burned red and he started to suck on it, puffing until a cloud of smoke formed around him. "Did you forget that I'm also a Sergeant at Arms. My job is to enforce the rules and protect my club. Of course I know about you. I know everything about our little princess. I know what she eats, when she sleeps. I even know that she used to wear frilly pink underwear when she was-"

"Shut your mouth!" I yelled.

Slick smiled and kept puffing on his damn cigar.

"All I have to do is leave my men a message. She deserves it anyway, for being a traitor," Slick said. He exhaled, letting a long trail of smoke out of his mouth. It stank. "But then again, look who I'm talking to."

"You're bluffing!"

I came up to Slick and pressed the tip of my gun against his temple. The old man didn't even flinch.

"Try me," he said.

My finger slid over the trigger. I started to squeeze it. Just a little bit more and this whole thing would be over. Slick would just be a splatter on the wall. But I knew him. He was a bastard. An asshole. The nastiest old man I'd ever met. But there was
one
thing he wasn't: a bitch. If he said he was going to do something, he wasn't lying.

I drew back my gun and punched him right in the face with it. Slick turned his face sharply, but he didn't yell. Blood spilled from his broken lip, and he licked it up. I sat down in the rickety chair.

Slick's cigar went out when I slapped it out of his mouth, so he started to light it again. He offered me the other cigar, but I threw it to the ground and crushed it under my boot.

"Hurry up and say whatever you have to say."

"Now, is that anyway to talk to your elder?" Slick asked. "I forgive you this time. After all, the last time I saw you, you were barely breathing. I was merciful enough to let you live. Of course, it
was
my fault that your were injured in the first place."

Slick took another puff.

"I gave you your very first scar, but I see you have many more now. You are all grown up. Though I never understood why you hated me so much."

I clenched my fists. "You killed a little girl," I said.

"Well, I raped her sister. Judging by the amount of blood, she must've been a virgin. And the screams, you should've heard them! They were delicious," Slick said. "Anyway, I did it in front of her, so I had to kill her. You understand."

"I don't understand anything you do," I said. "You're disgusting."

Slick laughed. "Don't you, Sergeant at Arms? Then how did you get all those scars? How did you get your fancy new nickname?"

"Shut up!"

He laughed again. "See? I think you have more of old Uncle Slick in you than you'd like to admit."

He started hacking, his whole body rattling like a sack of bones. Slick doubled over and coughed until it sounded like he didn't even have any air left to breathe.

"Look," Slick said, "I'm sick and I'm old. I don't care what happens to me now."

"Then what the hell was it that you wanted to say?" I asked.

All the smarmy laughter left Slick's face. For the first time, he was serious. He picked up his cigar and ground it into the table, scorching the wood.

"Killing us won't bring 'em back," Slick said. "Once you start this, you can't stop it. It's not a game. The Midnight Stalkers will catch you and your little group, and we'll kill you like the rats you are."

When he was done, Slick fell back into his chair.

"That's all you had to say?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Good."

I pulled out my gun.

FOUR

FUCK. THIS.
SHIT
.

I slammed the door behind me. I was too old for this! It was ridiculous! Couldn't I go out for a day without everyone jumping down my throat?

I flopped on my bed. They treat me like I'm five, a little baby. Even Tyson. Like I was some little kid that needed my big brother to look after me. Whatever. I can take care of myself!

My room was the same as it had been for years. Posters from when I was a little girl still hung on the walls. I jumped up and grabbed my trash bin. It was
all
going to go.

Posters. In the trash. Teddy bears. In the trash. Stickers, toys, those stupid cutesy snow globes.
Everything
in the trash. I grabbed anything I could and threw it away. At first, I thought it would be hard, but it wasn't. It felt
good
!

By the time I was done, the walls were bare. Nothing was left of my childhood self. Good. I sat on the edge of my bed. This was just step one.

I was going to get the hell out of here. I'd get a job. I'd ride with Slayer to a place where no one had ever heard of the Midnight Stalkers, or the Sons of Rebellion. We could have a nice place out there. That would work.
Right
?

I fell backwards onto my bed, with my arms stretched out wide. A sinking feeling came to the pit of my stomach. It had to work, didn't it?

Someone knocked on my door. I turned over in bed and ignored it. Whoever wanted to talk to me could wait.

Then they started to bang. I covered my head with my pillow to block out the noise.

"Nadia! Let me in!"

Oh, it was Mom. I buried my head deeper under the covers. What did
she
want?

"Nadia, if you don't let me in right now I'll – I mean…" She paused. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "Nadia, I just want to talk to you.
Please
."

That got my attention. She sounded almost,
sad
. I unlocked the door and let her in.

When Mom walked in the door, she stopped in her tracks. She looked around, staring at the blank walls. Her mouth started to curl into a snarl, but she stopped herself. Instead, she sat next to me on the covers of my bed.

She pulled me close.

"Come here," she said, "it's been a long time since I've braided your hair."

Yeah, you could say that again. I must've been seven the last time she managed to do that. Before I even had time to argue, her hands were in my hair.

For a while, we sat there in silence. It was nice. She wasn't yelling at me, or telling me what to do. She was just… being my mom.

Her fingers glided through my hair. Even after all these years, it amazed me how easy it was for her. Whenever I tried to braid my own hair, it ended up a tangled mess. But for her, everything divided into three neat little bundles that smoothly laid themselves down my back.

"It must seem like I'm being hard on you," Mom said. "I'm sorry."

I blinked. First, she said please, and now she was sorry? I almost couldn't believe it. Actually, I
didn't
believe it.

"You're really lucky," she said, "and you don't even know it. I didn't grow up like you. I would've done
anything
to have what you have."

Mom grabbed a comb from my nightstand and ran it through my hair.

"I couldn't even dream of living in a nice big house one day, let alone things like going to college." She laughed at her own words. "I would've been
crazy
…"

She picked up a brush and smoothed out my hair. Little by little, I was starting to relax into her arms. Maybe she meant to be good after all.

"You know, I just wanted to have a normal life. Nothing too fancy. I had it all mapped out. The perfect plan. Then I met your father and…" Mom stopped and stared off into the distance. Then she caught herself and got back to braiding my hair. "Maybe he's not perfect, but we worked
hard
."

Her fingers moved quickly, bringing together all of the hair into a big fat plait.

"He made the club what it is today.
You have the whole town at your feet
. You're so lucky! There hasn't been
anything
you've ever lacked.
Nothing
."

She finished the braid and turned me around, so that we were looking at each other face to face. Her expression was deadly serious. Mom's fingers dug into my arms. It hurt.

"We had to give up so many things to get you here," she said. "Now it's
your
turn to give up something."

FIVE