a hundred just to prove himself to some nobody locals, refusing to even take the pink slips when he won, just doing it for the glory.
We'd all been that level of stupid.
The only difference was, we were raised with the morals not to hurt women. These days, though, that shit was rare. Everyone was fair game in this world. Women, kids, beloved grandparents. Whatever it took to get you what you wanted.
"Yo, Huck," McCoy interrupted my racing thoughts.
"Yeah, what?"
"We got some addresses. I don't think he has shit else to give us. But... well, you know Remy," he said, looking a little pale.
Yeah, I knew Remy.
Which meant I needed to rein him in a bit before he got too crazy. So far, he'd never come out of one of his rage stupors and regretted what he did. But I didn't want that happening now, being down a man who was struggling with his own inner demons.
"Alright," I agreed, running down the stairs to find the man tied to a chair, blood sprayed fucking everywhere, a goddamn screwdriver sticking out of his stomach.
"Think he's got a little left," Remy said, reaching for a pipe on the floor, that sick, evil little smile pulling at his lips.
It was hard to reconcile this version of Remy with the one I saw cutting up fruit and vegetables for his tortoise every morning, who sat cradling his dog during thunderstorms because she was scared of them, who made a catwalk all around his bedroom for his cats.
"I don't got shit. I told him everything. I told him everything!" the guy cried, trying to rock his chair.
"That's enough," I decided, raising my gun, and putting a bullet between the guy's brows.
"He had more," Remy snapped, tossing the pipe.
"He was done," I told him. "Wipe down anything you touched and meet us upstairs," I demanded, turning, and making my way up myself, finding McCoy and Che already wiping down anything they'd touched—the phone, doorknobs, the stereo.
"What's the neighbor situation?" I asked, looking out the window, not exactly having been observant enough on the way in to have noticed.
"House to the side is boarded up. The one across the street has grass three-feet high," McCoy said. "If anyone is living there, I doubt they are doing it legally right now. It's a shit area. No one is going to be talking about the bikes. They don't want to be involved."
That was one perk to the bad areas. People minded their own business. They knew how things went. You talked, you caught a bullet too. And while we weren't in the business of killing innocent people, they didn't know that, and their fear worked in our favor.
"Wash your hands," I said to Remy as he stepped out of the basement, looking a little less crazed than he had been a couple minutes before. "You're sure you wiped everything?"
"Yeah," he agreed, always being a little quiet when he was coming back to himself.
"Where to?" McCoy asked, holding the list.
"That one," I said, pointing to the address that matched the text conversation Che and I had looked at.
"Are we just going to pick through this list?" McCoy asked.
"If that is how we can get her back, yes," I said, moving out.
The second house was more of a meeting spot than the first one, meaning we had to fight our way in, two cocky guys taking a bullet before we could even talk to them.
"They drew first," McCoy said, as if I had any objection to the fuckers biting it.
"Don't give a shit," I growled, holding onto my own bastard as he tried to kick and bite the arm I had around his neck. "Help Remy get these bastards downstairs and talking," I said, flinging the guy at him, turning to make my way through the house, calling out Harmon's name.
"Prez," Che said, making my head snap over. "There's a detached garage out back," he told me, making me break into a run, barely able to think of anything but Harmon back there, chained up, or huddled in a corner, scared, alone, praying to be rescued.
I was nobody's white knight, but I wanted to be the one to save her, to tell her she was safe, that she was going to be okay, that I would make the bastards who took her pay.
Finding the door locked, I grabbed a rock, breaking the window in the door on the side, and reaching in to turn the lock, feeling the broken glass cut into