Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“We are The Three.
“Here to clean up the unholiness of man.
“Blood will be spilled for every sin.
“From start to finish.
“And we will re-begin.”
“Re-begin?” Shooter questions.
“Shitty English,” Paw says. “Tells us something, at least.”
“That they’re not very good poets?” Shooter raises an eyebrow.
“FBI linguistics should be able to pinpoint where they’re from.”
“No, there’s just the one letter, and it’s too short to tell us much,” Pinkwater replies.
“Who are the men in the third photo?” I ask him.
“The Fallon brothers. Not the smartest tools in the barn, but they did manage to set up a lucrative heroin trade over in Copperville.”
Heroin dealers.
I hate heroin.
I hate what it does to people.
And I hate the people who peddle it.
But these vigilantes are taking their disapproval to extremes.
A bullet to the back of the skull would have sufficed.
“We don’t know who the men behind the mask are. The FBI is having trouble coming up with their identities. Truth be told, there’s not a lot of resources to throw at this.” He sighs. “To be more honest than I should, when three bad guys take out a sex worker, a con man, and three drug dealers, ain’t no one from the top running to stop them. That’s why the FBI reached out to local law enforcement and why I am reaching out to you. My gut tells me these assholes are just getting started, and if I’m right, then it’s only a matter of time before the shitville train rolls through Appalachia and brings these psychopaths with it.” He gives each of us a grave look. “They’ve got a taste for making people pay for their so-called sins, and they ain’t gonna have any trouble finding a lot of so-called sinners around these parts.”
“You think they’re coming to Flintlock?” Jack asks.
“I can almost guarantee it.” He pulls a folded map from his pocket and spreads it across the table. Using a red Sharpie, he marks a cross at the location of each murder. It shows a clear line heading toward Flintlock. “When the FBI reached out to the County Sheriff’s Office, they said the Kings might be their next target because you’re the biggest organized crime syndicate in the area.”
“Actually, we’re a club,” Shooter starts but stops when Jack shakes his head at him. There’s no point using that old chestnut on the sheriff. Pinkwater knows exactly who we are and what we do. He receives enough perks for turning a blind eye when it comes to our cannabis and moonshine trade.
My gaze drifts to the photographs on the table.
Kandy Kurtman’s lifeless eyes stare up at me.
Twenty-two and already gone.
Poor fucking kid.
“We’ll be ready for them if they do,” I say.
I’m already killing them in a hundred different ways in my head.
I know people might see a comparison between me killing for hire and these freakshows killing in the name of the seven deadly sins. Because at the end day, we’re all breaking the biggest commandment of all.
But I killed bad men who did bad shit.
And I mean, really bad shit.
Human traffickers. Rapists. Pimps who think it’s okay to slap a woman around and get her hooked on drugs.
But these guys, they’re just arrogant assholes who kill for fun.
Not only was Kandy Kurtman not in the same league as the assholes I killed, but she wasn’t even in the same goddamn realm.
And carving a word into flesh postmortem? That smacks of evil bullshit to me.
God’s work, my fucking ass.
My gut tells me these guys don’t have a religious bone in their body. They merely need something polemic to justify their bloodlust.
“Just the three crime scenes so far?” Jack asks, standing over the photographs as he studies them, and Pinkwater nods. “So there’s the potential for four more.”
“Or countless, if you consider their re-begin threat,” Paw adds.
Pinkwater looks serious. More serious than I’ve ever seen him. “Three crime scenes, three ties to organized crime. Twice is a coincidence. Three times is a pattern.” He leans forward. “I can’t stress enough that it’s my belief these clowns are going to come looking for you or someone related to the club.”
When Pinkwater leaves, Jack calls Church and tells the rest of the club about The Three.
“Psycho fucks,” mutters Dakota Joe. “Let them come for us, and I’ll show them what wrath looks like. Any fuck who does that to a woman has got it coming.”
“We don’t wait for them to come looking,” Jack says. “Paw and Shooter are already combing through the evidence Pinkwater gave us. Until then, it’s business as usual. The crop harvest starts tomorrow, and we can’t afford to get distracted by something that may or may not happen. Got it?”
In a lot of situations like this, organizations would retreat or lock down to protect their own. But we have a million-dollar crop to harvest. Besides, we’re a motorcycle club, we’re always ready for the unexpected.