Page 44 of Rage's Solace
Irun my hands through my hair, exasperated as fuck. We’re watching Whitmore’s ski lodge, and it seems just as empty as his mini mansion. This fucker must have money coming out his ears, because his cabin is huge and sits on a much larger piece of land than the surrounding cabins. It’s clear that Malcolm fucking Whitmore is compensating for something because all his houses have to be bigger and better than the others in his neighborhood.
Rigs speaks up, “I see something.”
All our binoculars go to our eyes at the same time.
Siege mutters, “Someone must be home because it looks like they have a visitor.”
“I hope it’s Conrad’s creepy brother,” I say. “I’ve been wanting to get my hands on him for a while now. Did Zen still not dig up any dirt on him?”
“Nope,” Rigs says. “Seems like the asshole was off grid for ten years.”
Rider lowers his binoculars and his head swivels around to look at me. “One fucker at a time, Rage. We’ll be lucky to get the old man, much less the brother.”
Siege speaks without lowering his binoculars. “I’ll take a two for one deal any damn time. It keeps us from having to run them down individually.”
Our club president ain’t wrong about that, I think to myself. We watch a well-dressed gentleman with a box that looks like it might contain a gift or desserts, get out of a fancy SUV and go into the cabin. It’s not Whitmore or his son, but with any luck he knows something.
I get up from my stooping position and announce, “That’s good enough for me. I say we get our asses in there and shake some fuckers up.”
Rider jumps to his feet as well. “I’m all for getting this the fuck over with. It’s not that I’m not looking forward to beating some information out of this sick fucker. It’s just that I want to get home to Frannie because this is a child free day for us, and I don’t like wasting it on ignorant assholes who like to harass innocent women.”
“Yeah,” I respond enthusiastically. “I agree with that statement one hundred percent.”
“I say we give it a couple more hours and see who else shows up. Knowledge is power,” Rigs says.
Siege walks over to Rigs. “I agree about studying these assholes. Only my thought is that it would easier to study them up close from the inside and if we’re diligent, we might find evidence of what they’re up to in there as well.”
Rigs frowns. “Yeah, I guess we could slip in and make it look like no one’s there, since that seems to be the way they roll around here.”
Siege slaps him on the back, and we huddle to make a plan to get inside. My club brothers end up covering me as I jump thesmall stone surrounding wall and race to the back porch. They follow suit without drawing attention to themselves. And when all six of us are at the back door, I pry open the digital lock and short it out. It makes the porch light go out as well. Good thing it’s daylight outside because I think I may have thrown a break in the back part of the house. I jimmy the door open, and we all pour into what looks like a mud room.
This is the point we all spread out and begin searching the house. Finally we run into the man we saw enter the building. He’s standing beside a woman with the box open between them. Turns out it was just donuts.
The man doesn’t even panic. “Mr. Whitmore said we might get a visit from a bunch of thugs. Said you might be bikers actually.”
The man eyes us with interest, as if trying to figure out if we are in fact bikers. Since we ditched our cuts, it’s not obvious by looking at us.
“We’re just regular folks, looking to figure out why your employer is harassing a friend of ours.”
“Mr. Whitmore said you’d probably say something like that. He also said to tell you that he’s filing charges against you for breaking into his other properties.”
Siege responds roughly, “Have a fucking seat and don’t speak unless spoken to.”
The man and woman obediently walk over and sit down at the kitchen table. The man addresses us, “Whatever man. Knock yourself out. Rob the place. Whatever. My employer doesn’t keep anything of value here anyway.”
I walk over to him and casually slap the donut out of his hand. “You’re no good at following directions and you’re a mouthy fucker as well. Has it occurred to you that we might be here for information rather than valuables? If that’s the case, you’re making yourself an attractive target to beat information out of.”
The man freezes in place for a second, clearly panicking on the inside. He clears his throat. “No beating necessary. I’ll be happy to tell you whatever you want to know.”
Rigs walks over to stand beside me as the other brothers scatter to see if Whitmore or anyone else is in the cabin.
Rigs grumbles, “That was too easy.”
I reply irritably, “It’s because this fucker likely doesn’t know anything about Whitmore, and his lady friend probably knows even less.” Turning to the man, I ask, “Who the fuck are you, the caretaker?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Yes, I am actually. My name is Harold Edwins. Been working here for coming up on five years.”
Rigs asks, “Where’s Whitmore right now?”