Page 7 of Biker's Property

After scanningthe building for a security system, I find nothing. What I notice outside the clubhouse ends up being plenty to send a chill down my spine. The willow trees aren’t as benign as I thought. When I get closer to them, they smell bad and I notice blood at the foot and nooses hanging from the boughs. Two nooses from each large bough of the tree, each one about six feet apart.

What the fuck? I take my phone out and use the flash to get pictures to send to Wyatt. When the flash goes off, I can see brown splatter on the tree trunks. Blood. It has to be blood. I shove my phone in my pocket and walk back to the clubhouse. My breathing sounds heavier. It could just be the heat, but something about those trees makes my blood run cold.

You geta heightened sense of danger when you’re in prison. I can smell a fight based on the noise levels at breakfast. I could always sense when to keep my shoes close.

I can tellsomething bad happened here. Bad shit happens here on a regular basis. The doors and windows are all latched, but I find a weakness in an unlatched basement window. It would be much easier for Hunter to fit through than me…

I did everything in my power to keep bulky muscle on my body in prison. Without guns, without my family, I needed my body to be my primary source of protection. I left with only three scars from fights. One long scar on the left side of my torso, one on my right leg, and another on the back of my neck.

The scars don’t bother me because they just add another way I’m different from Hunter. We would always fight over who was tougher and usually, Hunter would win. After prison, that has most likely changed. I might even be the quiet one now… at least when I’m not drunk off my ass.

I have to suck my belly in and scrape my shoulder to slide into the Midnight SS clubhouse basement. I land in something sticky and have to stop myself from letting out a very unmanly yelp…

Something ain’t right here.

I almost swear,but I just stabilize myself against the wall instead because… I’m pretty fucking sure I’m hearing something. It’s dark. Too dark for me to see now that I’m blocked from the moonlight outside. I hold my breath. The noise gets louder. It’s not just rats running around the basement, although I hear the familiar sound of their nasty fucking paws…

I hear breathing.

Slow.Human breathing.

I grab my pistol.Adrenaline courses through me so fucking fast, my night vision improves almost instantly. I can at least see movement. Three small figures that must be rats or mice running across the basement floor and then a large lump. The source of the human breathing.

Didyou even load the pistol, you stupid motherfucker?

I can tasteblood on the back of my tongue.

I don’t like this.

“Put your hands up,or I’ll blow your fucking head off,” I growl with false confidence.

I keepmy gun trained on the woman curled up beneath a couple blankets and making some desperate effort to hide herself behind three kegs of beer. She makes a terrified yelping noise and then sits up, drawing her knees to her chest. I can tell that she’s a grown woman, but this little thing is damn petite.

“What are you?” I ask her. “Some type of Nazi whore?”

She makes another yelping sound and sticks her hands up in the air. Immediate surrender. Judging by the way her ass is shaking and looking at my gun, she’s never been in a situation like this before. Even with the moonlight, it’s too dim for me to get a good look at her.

Her skin is dark, but her eyes look all Chinese. I don’t think she’s an Indian. They have a particular way about them that seems completely absent here. This woman is something else entirely, but I don’t know what. Her hair has the same texture as Juliette’s… thick and bushy. But she can’t be black with eyes like that.

She has to be some type of Asian or Indian.

Her whimperingand surrender don’t mean she’s entirely innocent. For all I know, it could all be an act. After all, I found her here hiding in some Nazi compound in the middle of the desert. It would be stupid as hell to let my guard down.

“Stop crying and stand up.”

She cries harder. Christ. I don’t want this woman getting under my skin, but there’s something about watching one of them cry that has always melted me. This place is too fucking creepy for me to chill.

“I said stand up.”

When she stands up, I get a good look at her, not like I get much information from looking at her. Keeping my gun trained on her, I use the flashlight I brought to scan her from head to toe. It’s not just so I can get a better idea of her ethnic origins — although I want to know if she has any relation to Oske, or someone else we have problems with.

A woman this color can’t be welcome out here. But she’s not a cop. She doesn’t have the smell on her.

“What are you doing out here?”

She doesn’t answer.It’s so fucking quiet that I hear a coyote howl. Scares the fucking crap out of me.

“I asked you a question.Don’t make me put you in the ground.”