My knuckles had barely made contact with the door, when he shouted, “Yeah?”
When I opened the door, he was sitting at his computer, feverously typing away. His fingers froze as he watched me walk into the room. “Need you to do something for me.”
“Whatcha got?” he asked, turning his chair from his computer to face me.
“Not much for you to go on. Just an address and two first names. I’d say the woman’s in her late-twenties. She goes by Wren, and she’s got a young boy that’s probably seven or eight named Wyatt.” I told him as I handed him the scrap of paper. “Need everything you can find on them.”
“You need it now?” he asked, rubbing his red eyes.
“Next few days will do.”
I didn’t wait for a response as I turned to leave. I got on my bike, and even though I only had a few hours till I had to meet back up with my brothers, I took the long way home. I needed some time to clear my head. It was one of those times that I needed all my focus to be on my club. But seeing the bruises on that kid’s arms brought back an onslaught of memories that I just couldn’t ignore. I remembered how it felt to be afraid all the time, living in a constant state of dread and the pain. God, I’d never forget the pain. There were times when I wondered what my life would’ve been like if someone had been there to put a stop to it, to end the hell that I was living through, but there was no one. Nobody had ever come to my rescue.
I laid down on my sofa in an attempt to catch a few hours of sleep, but it was utterly useless. Every time I closed my eyes, they were there – my grandfather’s cold, glaring eyes. The kid with the red tennis shoes, arms all bruised up and his mother’s pretty but worried face. And that damn leather strap. The memories all ran together. I couldn’t get away from it, so after a restless few hours of tossing and turning, I gave up and checked the clock. Seeing that it was just before dawn, I pulled myself out of bed and headed to the clubhouse. When I drove through the gate, just like Cotton had ordered, Maverick and Guardrail were waiting for me with two prospects. Guardrail had chosen to take Two Bit and Q’ with us. He’d chosen well. Not only were they were loyal to the club, they were close to being patched in. They could be trusted, and it didn’t hurt that they both could make a clean shot. We’d need them if things got heated, and it would be a good opportunity to see if they really had what it took to become a brother.
Without turning off my bike, I told them, “Let’s get this thing done.”
With a quick nod, they all loaded up, following me one-by-one, out to the docks. After a thirty mile drive to Angeles, we pulled up to a secluded warehouse, located just a few yards off of the main road. The lot was overgrown with weeds and cluttered with litter. The building looked deserted; it was dark and uncomfortably quiet. We dismounted from our bikes and headed towards the rear entrance. As we approached, I couldn’t help but notice that the side door was bolted shut. After using my bolt cutters to remove the lock, I lifted the rolling, overhead door. I was the first one into the building, the others following right on my heels. I quickly searched the area as my brothers got into position. Two Bit stumbled across an old anchor line and slammed his shoulder into the wall, causing a loud crash to echo throughout the warehouse.
“Fuck,” Maverick growled. “Get the hell back, dumbass.” Embarrassment flashed over Two Bit’s face as he stepped behind Guardrail.
“Gotta move,” Guardrail grumbled, aiming the tip of his gun towards the back of the warehouse.