The Butcher of the Bay Part II - J. Bree Page 0,43

to plan out exactly how I need Mecedo and his men to die.

I remember everything my girl told me about her time with them.

No one is ever going to treat her like that again, fucking never, and I’ll make them fucking regret ever buying a bride from a junkie dealer from Europe.

I need to plan a trip out to deal with him too.

One death at a time, I have to focus on this one. I need him to die in a very specific way, I need him staring into my eyes and seeing his death there. I need him fucking begging for mercy, the type of mercy I’ll never give him.

The type of mercy he never gave my baby girl.

I finally make it to the location, right on the very last patch of forest, and find the warehouse nestled amongst the trees. I park a fair distance away and take the trail up with a cigarette in between my lips.

Tank had said the operation was new and the manpower wasn’t there yet so I’m not too worried. Besides, they aren’t expecting me to show up here armed to the fucking teeth with blades and fire power. None of them know that Odie is mine and the bride Mecedo threw away is now under my protection.

The security here isn’t great but I spot some cameras. I get close enough that they could get a good look at me but I have a guy for that shit now.

I send a text message to the Coyote about the cameras and the security here, hoping he can tap into them and get me eyes in there. Knowing where everything is will make this a whole lot easier, something I can do by myself and not have to call in any more favors for or splash any more cash out.

The perimeter is clear, no guys walking around out here during the night. That seems pretty lax, not something most cartels would do, but with the remote location and the fact they’ve just moved in from out of state, I’d bet they’re not expecting anyone to know they’re here.

I check my phone but there’s nothing there waiting for me but a blank screen. I light up again, ready to walk the perimeter one last time when I spot the hog.

It’s a fucking nice one, easy to spot even for me and I’m never felt the need for one before. Black on black, everything matte and custom, I know there’s been a pretty penny spent on it. That’s not what has me hesitating.

The Devil’s mark is on the tank.

What are the fucking chances that he’d be here? No one in the Bay would be dumb enough to call him, the survival instinct is born and bred and we all know not to fuck with the likes of him. The cartel wouldn’t invite that sort of danger into their operations, I know it.

Could he be here?

I slip back into the darkness at the side of the warehouse to watch out for him and, sure enough, after ten minutes he walks out of the forest and gets onto his bike.

Well, fuck me dead.

It’s too far away for me to get a decent look but I see that he’s a tall guy, broad and armed to the fucking teeth. Biker boots and a leather jacket but no patches. He doesn’t belong to any club, just himself and his own brand of brutality.

I wait until he’s pulled off onto the road, no helmet but he handles his machine with ease, and then I start off into the forest to see what the fuck he was doing. There’s no blood or trail to follow, his footprints barely visible in the dense underbrush, and soon I have no choice but to head back to the car.

Still there’s no cartel men around, this entire fucking scouting mission like child’s play.

My phone buzzes as I get back and I find a message from the Coyote finally.

I’m in. Their system was built by a fucking child, too easy. I’ve wiped the footage with you in it and I’m building a fully mapped out image of the place for you. You’ll have it the second you pay me.

I scoff but D’Ardo has made him fucking twitchy about green and I’ll pay whatever he’s asking.

I head back to my car and then get back onto the highway, done for the night and going home to my girl but there’s an unease in my gut now that wasn’t there