Shade's Fall
Page 98
She slid her robe on, tying the belt. Upset, she started to move away from the window when a movement outside caught her attention. She moved closer to the window. A tender smile came to her lips. Razer was on his knees on the still damp, muddy ground with his head bowed. He had known who to thank after all.
Epilogue 1
Digger sat, finishing his coffee. He was waiting to be moved to the next safe house.
The dumbasses were keeping him safe from the families who wanted revenge for those that had been returned and from those who had learned their women wouldn’t be coming home again.
Digger stood, stretching. The worst part was the fucking boredom. He was used to his business or some bitch to keep him occupied. I’ll get that back again, he promised himself. He would give it six or seven months for their anger to fade and get careless. They would forget all about him, and that’s when he would make his escape and start over.
He would have to start again. He didn’t have a contact left. He had burned them all to save his life; not from the fucking police, they couldn’t wipe their own ass. No, he had to give up everything; the location of his houses, his contacts and the women. That was what had hurt the most; they were his moneymakers.
He had made a mistake going to that little town. If he had stayed out of there, he wouldn’t have met The Last Riders. He sure as shit wasn’t ever going to forget meeting them. They had nearly killed him without leaving a mark on him. He hadn’t even known that was possible.
He had been locked up in that little piss-ant jail after that clusterfuck of a shootout, waiting for his ride back to Queens City, when his cell door had been opened by the biggest motherfucker he had ever seen, taking him into a holding cell.
He had known he would have another interview where he could play like he was going to give his bitches up then, not just to give them shit. He had taken a seat and waited. That’s when they had come in. The meanest motherfuckers he had ever come across. Fuck, they were mean. King was mean, but those men, they had taken it to another level. They had given him one choice and that was to give up his information or he was going to die in that room. He had called their bluff. They couldn’t hurt him; he was in police custody. The law was supposed to protect him.
That had been the second biggest mistake of his life.
They had spread him on a table. One of them had chains with padded cuffs, cuffing them around his hands and feet. Then they had nearly ripped him apart. He wasn’t ashamed to admit he hadn’t lasted long. When they had given him a chair and pencil and paper, he had started writing, making shit up to get him through the night until the Rangers could come and save his ass.
After the first two names, they had taken the paper away and left the room, and he had begun to sweat. Then they came back, throwing him back on the table; this time the one with brass knuckles went at him. He had begged to give them the names when another had come toward him with that long-handled razor.
He had given them names and places. Every so often, they would take the paper away and give him a clean sheet. He wasn’t stupid, this time he knew they were checking and making sure he was still telling them the truth. He had given them most of his businesses, trying to hold onto enough so that he would have something to start fresh with when he got away. He had lied and said he had given them everything. That’s when one had shoved a revolver down his throat.
He gave them the rest.
The next day, when the Rangers came to escort him back to Texas, he had almost broken down and cried. The big sheriff had warned him to keep his mouth closed, take the deal, and they would leave him alone. They had the information they wanted. Digger was no fool; he kept his mouth shut and took the deal the state offered. Now he was sitting sweet, away from The Last Riders and still breathing. He had kind of won.
He didn’t have to see them again, and given time and his ingenuity, he would rise again. Digger laughed at his pun. The world was full of women, his for the taking, and he had one he was going to make sure he got his hands on. He would just be smarter next time.
King’s brat would be his first bitch. He would make sure of that.
“It’s a go. Let’s move,” the police commander gave the order.
They kept him in the middle—two men in front, two in back, three on each side—as they jogged through the hallway into the large elevator. They came out of the elevator into the underground parking garage, jogging in the same position just a few feet to the waiting SUV.
The ones in front slid into the vehicle while the others still kept his body covered with theirs. As he took a step up into the SUV, he didn’t even hear the shot, only felt a millisecond of pain between his eyes, then complete and utter darkness descended.
* * *
“Do you think we have enough steaks?” his wife asked, worried there wasn’t going to be enough for their guests tonight.
Ray pushed the buggy to his car. Opening the trunk, he started putting the groceries in the back of his BMW, not worried about jarring the secret compartment hiding his equipment. He didn’t make mistakes; well, except when he had paid someone to do a job he should have done himself.
When he had missed his target with the car and hadn’t been given another opportunity to make it look like an accident, he had tried to get in her house. He had been planning to play with the woman before slitting her throat, but he had heard the bike of that scary fucker who was always watching her. He’d had to lay low after that. The one tracking him had almost caught him twice.
His mistake had been not to have hired someone smarter to start the fire. She hadn’t even started a decent fight. She had been the one to come running out of that church.
Never mind. The next time he was out on a job, he would swing by and check on her. He couldn’t let her live now; he had already spent his fee. Once paid, he made sure he completed a job.
When he rose up from putting the last bag in the trunk, Ray noticed his wife’s horror-stricken face. It was the last thing he saw before darkness descended.
* * *
Georgia sat down at the picnic table at the minimum-security prison. Taking the cigarette out of her pocket, she lit it, taking a deep breath before releasing it.
She looked around the yard. Her eyes lit on the brunette sitting across the yard with a frightened look on her face. Fresh meat.
Georgia had seen them bring her in that morning. Georgia was going to have to introduce herself at lunch and make sure that, when that new bitch opened her commissary account, she picked up a few things for her. She would, too. She would be too scared not to. She reminded her of that mousey little Willa. Well, she would handle her just like she’d handled Willa—with an iron fist.
She took another deep draw of her last cigarette, inhaling the smoke as darkness descended.
* * *
When Rider’s truck pulled to a stop on The Last Riders’ parking lot, Shade opened the passenger side door, getting out. The other doors opened as Rider and Cash hopped out. Shade opened the back door, reaching inside and pulling out his canvas bag, looping it over his shoulder before slamming the truck door closed. He then moved around to the bed of the truck, reaching inside to help Cash pull out the big ice cooler.
“You go ahead; we got this.” Rider grinned, coming around the back of the truck.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Have fun.” He smiled mockingly, reaching inside the truck bed for the fishing poles.
Epilogue 1
Digger sat, finishing his coffee. He was waiting to be moved to the next safe house.
The dumbasses were keeping him safe from the families who wanted revenge for those that had been returned and from those who had learned their women wouldn’t be coming home again.
Digger stood, stretching. The worst part was the fucking boredom. He was used to his business or some bitch to keep him occupied. I’ll get that back again, he promised himself. He would give it six or seven months for their anger to fade and get careless. They would forget all about him, and that’s when he would make his escape and start over.
He would have to start again. He didn’t have a contact left. He had burned them all to save his life; not from the fucking police, they couldn’t wipe their own ass. No, he had to give up everything; the location of his houses, his contacts and the women. That was what had hurt the most; they were his moneymakers.
He had made a mistake going to that little town. If he had stayed out of there, he wouldn’t have met The Last Riders. He sure as shit wasn’t ever going to forget meeting them. They had nearly killed him without leaving a mark on him. He hadn’t even known that was possible.
He had been locked up in that little piss-ant jail after that clusterfuck of a shootout, waiting for his ride back to Queens City, when his cell door had been opened by the biggest motherfucker he had ever seen, taking him into a holding cell.
He had known he would have another interview where he could play like he was going to give his bitches up then, not just to give them shit. He had taken a seat and waited. That’s when they had come in. The meanest motherfuckers he had ever come across. Fuck, they were mean. King was mean, but those men, they had taken it to another level. They had given him one choice and that was to give up his information or he was going to die in that room. He had called their bluff. They couldn’t hurt him; he was in police custody. The law was supposed to protect him.
That had been the second biggest mistake of his life.
They had spread him on a table. One of them had chains with padded cuffs, cuffing them around his hands and feet. Then they had nearly ripped him apart. He wasn’t ashamed to admit he hadn’t lasted long. When they had given him a chair and pencil and paper, he had started writing, making shit up to get him through the night until the Rangers could come and save his ass.
After the first two names, they had taken the paper away and left the room, and he had begun to sweat. Then they came back, throwing him back on the table; this time the one with brass knuckles went at him. He had begged to give them the names when another had come toward him with that long-handled razor.
He had given them names and places. Every so often, they would take the paper away and give him a clean sheet. He wasn’t stupid, this time he knew they were checking and making sure he was still telling them the truth. He had given them most of his businesses, trying to hold onto enough so that he would have something to start fresh with when he got away. He had lied and said he had given them everything. That’s when one had shoved a revolver down his throat.
He gave them the rest.
The next day, when the Rangers came to escort him back to Texas, he had almost broken down and cried. The big sheriff had warned him to keep his mouth closed, take the deal, and they would leave him alone. They had the information they wanted. Digger was no fool; he kept his mouth shut and took the deal the state offered. Now he was sitting sweet, away from The Last Riders and still breathing. He had kind of won.
He didn’t have to see them again, and given time and his ingenuity, he would rise again. Digger laughed at his pun. The world was full of women, his for the taking, and he had one he was going to make sure he got his hands on. He would just be smarter next time.
King’s brat would be his first bitch. He would make sure of that.
“It’s a go. Let’s move,” the police commander gave the order.
They kept him in the middle—two men in front, two in back, three on each side—as they jogged through the hallway into the large elevator. They came out of the elevator into the underground parking garage, jogging in the same position just a few feet to the waiting SUV.
The ones in front slid into the vehicle while the others still kept his body covered with theirs. As he took a step up into the SUV, he didn’t even hear the shot, only felt a millisecond of pain between his eyes, then complete and utter darkness descended.
* * *
“Do you think we have enough steaks?” his wife asked, worried there wasn’t going to be enough for their guests tonight.
Ray pushed the buggy to his car. Opening the trunk, he started putting the groceries in the back of his BMW, not worried about jarring the secret compartment hiding his equipment. He didn’t make mistakes; well, except when he had paid someone to do a job he should have done himself.
When he had missed his target with the car and hadn’t been given another opportunity to make it look like an accident, he had tried to get in her house. He had been planning to play with the woman before slitting her throat, but he had heard the bike of that scary fucker who was always watching her. He’d had to lay low after that. The one tracking him had almost caught him twice.
His mistake had been not to have hired someone smarter to start the fire. She hadn’t even started a decent fight. She had been the one to come running out of that church.
Never mind. The next time he was out on a job, he would swing by and check on her. He couldn’t let her live now; he had already spent his fee. Once paid, he made sure he completed a job.
When he rose up from putting the last bag in the trunk, Ray noticed his wife’s horror-stricken face. It was the last thing he saw before darkness descended.
* * *
Georgia sat down at the picnic table at the minimum-security prison. Taking the cigarette out of her pocket, she lit it, taking a deep breath before releasing it.
She looked around the yard. Her eyes lit on the brunette sitting across the yard with a frightened look on her face. Fresh meat.
Georgia had seen them bring her in that morning. Georgia was going to have to introduce herself at lunch and make sure that, when that new bitch opened her commissary account, she picked up a few things for her. She would, too. She would be too scared not to. She reminded her of that mousey little Willa. Well, she would handle her just like she’d handled Willa—with an iron fist.
She took another deep draw of her last cigarette, inhaling the smoke as darkness descended.
* * *
When Rider’s truck pulled to a stop on The Last Riders’ parking lot, Shade opened the passenger side door, getting out. The other doors opened as Rider and Cash hopped out. Shade opened the back door, reaching inside and pulling out his canvas bag, looping it over his shoulder before slamming the truck door closed. He then moved around to the bed of the truck, reaching inside to help Cash pull out the big ice cooler.
“You go ahead; we got this.” Rider grinned, coming around the back of the truck.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Have fun.” He smiled mockingly, reaching inside the truck bed for the fishing poles.
