Skirt (Ruthless Kings MC #5) - K.L. Savage Page 0,87

it on my jeans. Fucking hate humid weather like this.

“She’s about a mile away. I didn’t wanna get too close ’cause the bikes are so loud,” Seer says.

“Lead the way,” Reaper says, holding his gun in the air. “Weapons out. Be ready. I have a feeling this is going to be a shit show.”

As a large group, we stay in the shadows of the trees so we aren’t seen.

Is there ever a normal person anywhere in an MC? I’m starting to highly doubt it.

I’m not sure how long we walk. It feels like an eternity. My arse is sweating, my eyes sting from the salt, and the swap smells like dead bodies.

Seer stops and signals us to stay down, then points up ahead. There’s a houseboat floating on the water, old and ready to sink to the bottom of the swamp. There’s a few men pacing on the porch, wearing a Hounds’ cut. I’m going to kill every single one of these arseholes.

Then I see him.

Cohen.

He’s leaning against a beat-up Toyota truck, as if he’s on top of the world as he fans money in his face.

Money because he brought Dawn here.

“Don’t.” Reaper’s palm splays against my chest, stopping me from launching through the bushes to kill the man. “We have the upper hand. They have no idea we are here. You do that, we might be fucked.”

My eyes never leave Cohen. I watch as he pushes off the old tire and makes his way back onto the houseboat.

“We can take out the first two,” Seer says, and Pocus nods in agreement.

Right as the words leave Seer’s mouth, a low, silent hum rips through the air, and the men pacing on the porch collapse.

Dead.

“Well, damn,” Reaper says.

Tongue is with the Demons Fury. The man who calls himself One throws the rifle over his shoulder and comes out of the woods on the other side.

We step out from the tree line, and Tongue hurries to the porch. He tilts the dead men’s heads back, reaches into their mouths, and cuts their tongues free. “Finally,” he moans, his cock hard and visible through his jeans.

The man is nuts.

He lays down on the porch and holds the tongue in the air over calling for the gators like they are kittens.

“You called. We came,” Whistler says. “And that guy is fucking nuts.”

“Pretty gator.” Tongue pets the top of the gator’s head.

“Yeah, we keep him around because of that. Thanks for coming, Whistler.”

“Anytime, but we still have work to do.” We stare at the houseboat, and it bounces along the small waves of water.

I can’t wait any longer. I climb up the steps and knock on the door.

“Password?” the sicko asks.

“Let me the fuck in,” I growl. My brass knuckle-covered fist punches through the flimsy wood and hits the man in the face.

“What the fuck?” He stumbles back and touches his broken nose to see that it’s bleeding. I kick the door open. Fuck order, fuck listening—I’m done.

Dawn is here.

Aidan is here.

My family needs me.

I don’t answer the guy. I crush with a quick jab to the throat. He can’t breathe. There’s no going back as I watch the life slip out of his eyes. the black pupils dilating to onyx drops.

“Holy fucking shit,” Whistler whistles behind me as he peers around the room, seeing cage after cage of children locked inside.

A gunshot reverberates the air and slams against Whistler’s shoulder. He tumbles back and hits a cage and the kid screams, fat tears rolling down her face like a hurricane slinging rain. The back of the houseboat fills with Hounds, a row of black and ugly fuckers who have no right to call themselves bikers.

Reaper and One lift their weapons and fire, careful to make sure they don’t hit a kid. Bullet shells falling onto the floor is the only sound in the houseboat. Tongue runs through the crowd, somehow not getting shot, and plunges his knife into someone’s head. He then slices the throat, digs his hand inside the man’s neck, and yanks his tongue out.

It’s fucking sick.

Blood is everywhere, dripping through the cracks of the wood, and the snapping of gators can be heard below. They smell food. We will give it to them too.

While my club brothers fight the Hounds, I search the cages for Dawn. I try to open the gate to each cage, but they are locked. I need a key. “Hey, I’m going to get ye out of here, okay? Sit tight. Yer going to be fine,” I