Guilty Bastard (Grim Bastards MC) - Shelley Springfield Page 0,31

piece of shit, but now it looks like it needs to be condemned. The grass is grown waist high, nearly blocking the house from view. The once red paint is nearly completely gone, leaving it an ugly ass shade of pink, and half the shutters are hanging on their hinges.

“Looks like she’s gone,” Hack says as he climbs from his bike.

“Fuck,” I mutter, climbing from mine.

I should’ve been here two months ago; it was my plan. Brew and I both wanted to talk to Stone’s old lady, make sure she didn’t know anything about what went on with her old man and his son. Then, Brew’s old lady ran into some trouble, and everything else got put on hold. Now, we’re too fucking late to get the answers we need.

“We still need to check the house,” Brew states as he lights up a cigarette. “Something could have been left behind.”

“Brew, you’re with me. We’ll check the shed,” Boz says as he walks around his bike. “Hack, you head inside with Smoke. Look in every damn nook and cranny. Make sure that asshole didn’t leave anything behind that could hurt the club.”

Not bothering to respond, I head to the porch and try the door. Of course, the fucker is locked. My eyes search the area until they land on a rock the size of a cantaloupe. Picking it up, I toss it through the window and reach my hand inside to unlock the door.

“Why the hell people put windows in their doors, I’ll never fucking understand,” Hack says with a shake of his head.

Opening the door, a smile crosses my lips. “Don’t complain about it, brother. Windows make our job a hell of a lot easier.”

As I step inside, the heat hits me right in the face. “It must be a fucking hundred degrees in this shit hole.”

“At least,” Hack replies, stepping in beside me.

The living room is clean, damn near spotless. It has an old sofa, one that should’ve been thrown out years ago. There’s a veneer covered coffee table that is covered in round watermarks that I can almost guarantee came from beer cans, and one end table that is propped up with a book. Other than that, the room is fucking bare.

“Damn, Stone was a brother for a long fucking time. Looks like he could have lived better than this,” Hack says as he starts tossing the cushions.

I watch as he runs his knife through each one and pulls out the stuffing. Then he goes for the lining, finding nothing but wood and springs. I help him, as we flip it over. Again, not a damn thing. Not even the normal shit that somehow finds its way under the couch.

“You get the kitchen. I’ll keep looking in here,” I order, flipping over the coffee table.

As he walks away, I toss the end table and look underneath it. I even search the book, making sure there’s nothing hidden within its pages. With that done, my eyes search the room, making sure I didn’t miss anything. There’s nothing else, though, not even a picture hanging on the wall.

“Smoke,” Hack shouts from the kitchen. “You need to see this.”

I follow his voice and find him staring into the trash can. “Someone’s been here, and they haven’t been gone long.”

Walking over to him, my eyes lock onto a fork and half-empty can of green beans. Just by looking, I can tell they haven’t been laying around long. Reaching down, I rub my hand over one and feel the dampness is still there.

Hack motions to the counter, where an old-fashioned crank can opener is sitting. I know in an instant, someone tried to clean up in a hurry but they forgot to put it away. My hand goes directly to my mouth, letting my brother know to shut the fuck up, then I pull my piece. Hack follows suit then joins me as we make our way down the hall.

The first door we come to is a bathroom. It only takes a second to search, before we move on to a bedroom. As soon as we step inside, I can smell the scent of an unwashed body and know we have found someone. Who, I don’t know.

I look at Hack and motion toward the bed. He moves to it, takes a quick glance underneath, then shakes his head. Knowing there’s only one place left, I walk to the closet. Stepping toward the side, I throw the door open and point my gun in the empty space.

A whimper brings my eyes down to the floor, and what I see has me dropping to my knees. There’s a woman there, somewhere beneath the dirt and grime. She’s small, fucking tiny. She’s wearing nothing but a bra and panties, both covered in the same filth that is covering her body. Her knees are pulled up to her chest, but her hands are behind her back. Her eyes are trained on me, filled with complete and utter horror.

“Please, don’t hurt him,” She whispers, tears pooling in hers. “I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t hurt him.”

Before I can ask who, I see a small boy peek his head out from behind her. He’s dirty, hair a matted mess. Even in the dim light, I can see the same fear in his eyes as I just saw in hers.

His little voice trembles as he shouts, “Don’t hurt my Mommy.”

“I won’t.” I make him a vow, and know I will die trying to keep it. “No one will ever hurt either one of you again.”