Sons of Mayhem 2 Chaser (Sons of Mayhem Novels, #2) (5 page)

He had insisted we go to my house. He thought maybe I’d dropped the USB drive and we could find it under the chair or something. Bullshit. I would have found it when I was there with the deputy. It had been taken, I was sure of it.

Still, there was a slim possibility that my asshole ex would be there again, and if he was? Well, these bikers were going to be mighty pleased to see him.

I made my way over to my little car and let myself inside. It was ridiculously hot. If I’d had balls I would have been sweating them off. I wound the windows down immediately and set the almost worthless a/c on high.

A few minutes later I was dripping with sweat as I lead a convoy down the quiet highway. Behind and to my right was Bottle, to his left was T-Bone, behind him was Twist and to his right was Gauge.

Usually when I drove with the windows down I couldn’t hear anything except the rush of the wind pouring through my little vehicle, but today the wind’s roar was drowned out by the powerful motorcycle engines which filled the air thick with their growling.

I smiled to myself every time I glanced in the mirror and saw the bikes behind me as I led the procession to my house. It was like leading an army, I thought. A small army, but a tough one. Four cavalry soldiers being led by me in my little
Civic
. I laughed at the thought of it. I just hoped they were tough enough to deal with
him
.

When we got there something looked different. The little house I’d begun to think of as home didn’t look that way anymore. Now it looked strange to me, alien. I looked on it with fresher, colder eyes and saw it for what it was: a rundown shit hole. If it wasn’t for the motorcycle in the drive a passerby would guess it was vacant. No curtains, overgrown weeds sprouting around faded paintwork, and random pieces of trash lying in the driveway. Had I ever truly believed I was living here for good? Or did I know he would find me?

The guys didn’t seem to care. They didn’t comment on the sorry state of affairs I was living in. They were more interested in the motorcycle out front, which they confirmed to be Red’s, and that it wasn’t damaged.

I let them inside and showed Bottle and Gauge the bedroom, while Twist grabbed my computer hoping to retrieve the video file.

“So you think you were filmed in here, right? Where was the camera positioned?”

“I... I don’t know. I guess it must have been over there?” I pointed across from the foot of the bed. From the video it must have been over there, at least I thought so. My memory already seemed to be fading, and I couldn’t be sure if I was indicating the right place.

Gauge and Bottle stared at that part of the room. There was a beat up old dresser that I’d inherited from the previous occupant, and behind it a decent sized window. What few clothes I had were shoved inside the drawers of the ancient dresser. Gauge chewed on a toothpick and shook his head as he approached it.

“Here, see?”

I didn’t see. At least, not at first. Bottle and I approached, peering intently. Had someone hidden a camera inside the dresser? I looked at it closely, and thought I saw a hole.

“There?” I asked, indicating with my finger.

Bottle pulled open the drawer revealing four g-strings and a couple of other pairs of less interesting underwear. I felt my cheeks flush red as the two men stared inside the drawer and let out chuckles.

“Not there,” said Gauge, “behind.”

I looked behind, but the only thing there was the rather unremarkable window. “What?”

“You don’t see anything?”

I looked again, and then I saw it. Or rather, I didn’t see it. What we were looking at was a clean patch of glass, much clearer than the glass above it.

“It’s cleaner,” I said rather pointlessly.

“Yep. From the state of the house I’m guessing it wasn’t you who cleaned the glass, right?”

“Hey!” I protested. It wasn’t that bad in here, was it, I thought? I mean I hadn’t decorated much, but I didn’t think it was that dirty. I guessed the other windows could do with a clean though.

Gauge ignored my protest. “So, if you didn’t clean the glass, then someone else did. And that someone is no doubt the same someone that’s been pointing a camera through your window and filming your ass for who the hell knows how long.”

I nodded glumly. It made perfect sense. He must’ve been peering through that window at night, watching me, filming me and God knows what else. I shuddered at the thought of me unknowingly sleeping at night while that bastard peered through the window without me ever knowing.

We stood in silence for a moment, peering through the clean glass of the window at the unhealthy looking bushes, straggly grass and sandy dirt outside. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I could see scratchings in the dirt where someone could have been standing or squatting for considerable periods of time. Our quiet scanning out the window was interrupted when the younger biker returned.

Twist walked in and a broad grin appeared on his face as he looked at the contents of the drawer that still lay open in front of us, before his gaze flashed to me. If looks could kill he would have been one pretty damn sickly boy after the one I gave him.

Bottle smacked Twist on the arm to get his attention. “Anything?”

Twist gave him a blank look.

“The computer, dipshit.”

Sudden comprehension flashed across his face. “Oh yeah!”

“What?”

His comprehending look faltered as apparently he realized Bottle thought he had found something. “Nothing. Zip.”

Gauge just shook his head in disbelief at the young man, before cocking his head.

“You smell that?” he asked

“What?” asked Bottle.

I shook my head, but inhaled as I did so. Actually I did smell something. Something burning in fact.

Twist’s eyebrows shot up his head. “Oh shit! Fire!”

Gauge stalked out the room his military boots thumping across the wooden floor, quickly followed by Twist. I was still staring at my distressed underwear drawer, not entirely sure what to do. Bottle grabbed me by the arm, his fingers again too tight against my flesh. It felt good.

“Let’s get out of here.”

He half-pulled and half-guided me out of the room into the narrow hallway. I could see acrid smoke coming from the kitchen. We paused a moment, to the left was the front door, to the right the source of the fire. Something fell in the kitchen followed by a yelled, “For fucks sake.” A moment later Gauge and Twist emerged, coughing into the hallway. “No extinguisher?” growled the ex-military man.

I shook my head. Who the hell buys a fire extinguisher when they get a new place? Not me at any rate. Where the hell do you buy them anyway, I wondered.

“Shit. Let’s get the hell out. Your kitchen is fucked.”

I nodded and a moment later we piled out the front door, a trail of dark smoke trailing out after us. We stood in the driveway watching my house as the amount of smoke pouring out increased.

“What happened?” asked Twist, gesturing with his arm back to the house. 

“Someone’s fucking with us,” growled Bottle.

Twist looked like he was about to speak again, but then there was a whooshing noise and in a flurry of confusion Gauge was herding us all backward with two outstretched arms. We span and ran as one, then fell to the floor together as Gauge gave us a mighty shove.

As we landed on the ground there was a loud bang from inside and the tinkling of glass as every last window in the house burst outward. A moment later there was a loud thunk and crack.

I twisted onto my back and my eyes went wide as I saw what was left of my home. Flames now poured out of the building, and the front door was completely gone. I looked around, puzzled. Where’d it go? I let out a sigh when I finally located it. The cracked wooden piece of wood that was formerly my door was now incongruously embedded in what was left of the windshield of my car, the glass around it spider webbing out crazily and making the entire window look frosted and completely impossible to see through.

“Well, fuck me.” Bottle was sitting up with his knees pulled up in front of him, arms resting atop them, as he shook his head and surveyed the scene.

“I guess I won’t be getting my deposit back, huh?” I found myself giggling at the absurdity of the thought.

“You weren’t joking about your ex being a psycho.”

I pulled myself up to my knees. “Yeah, I know.” I surveyed the wreckage of the first place that was mine and mine alone, the place I’d only had for a couple of weeks. It could never be described as a dream house except by someone like me; for me it had been perfect.

D
ewey

As he paced up and down the old floorboards of the deserted ranch house let out squeaks and moans of protest after years of never having to bear more strain than passing insects and the occasional curious animal that sneaked inside.

It was all his fault, he realized. If he’d only gone to her
sooner
. Why did he have to bide his time? Why didn’t he just chase her down and sweep her up in his arms straight away? Instead he’d tried to be romantic, tried to find out how she’d changed, and tried to come up with the ‘perfect’ way to approach her all these years.

“Idiot!” Dewey kicked a skirting board which let out a thud. It did not break. It was still strong after years of abandonment.

Now he’d given himself a real mess to clean up.
She
had to share some of the blame, too, of course. What was she thinking, cavorting around with those long haired (at least one of them had long hair), greasy, tattooed, possibly criminal bikers?

The only good thing about these
Sons
— if you could call anything about them
good
— was that they obviously had no interest in going to the cops. Or the sheriff. Or whatever the hell they had around here in Middle-of-shit-nowhere.

No, these
Sons of Idiots
wanted to solve everything on their own. Of course they didn’t know
he
knew that. Of course they didn’t. They were idiots.

He’d sent them a bit of a signal with the fire, he thought. It could go either way. Maybe they’d be scared off and kick Karen to the curb — then he could step in like the white knight he truly was and rescue her from homelessness. He smiled at the thought.

But no, that wouldn’t happen. He had Red, didn’t he? They wouldn’t want to let him ‘get away’ with his little act of kidnapping, would they? They’d want a piece of him now wouldn’t they? Punish him for his actions.

That would be fine too. He’d get Karen back, but he’d get to show these biker assholes what was what too. The idea of
them
actually being able to catch him was laughable. Ridiculous. Impossible. Bunch of dumb red necks. They’d fuckin’ regret it if they went after him. Oh yes.

Dewey looked at the various electrical apparatus he had on the table in front of him. Without them he’d be lost, flailing around blindly, unable to get his fiancé back from the greasy paws of the filthy scum who’d tricked her away from him.

First, was a car battery to provide electricity because this run down old ranch house didn’t have any.

Second, was a beat up old CD player that he’d had since high school. Or maybe it was Karen’s. It didn’t really matter —
what’s mine is hers and what’s hers is mine.
He reached a hand over and lovingly pressed the play button. The machine spun up the disc inside and the opening notes of track 1 started to play. He reached a finger over and pressed the
repeat
button, ensuring that only this track would play, over and over again. He didn’t want to hear any others.

As the eighties music began to fill the room he eyed the third item. This was more interesting. This was actually just a simple speaker, but it wasn’t used for playing music. No, this was connected to a listening device — a device he’d used to listen to the dumbfucks (and his darling, Karen) earlier.

Some people might wonder why he had a bug
.
But the answer was simple: He was a true romantic. The thing about being romantic though, is you have to do it
right
.

To really impress a girl (a woman, now, he supposed), you need to make a gesture that shows you
understand
her, but also
surprises
her at the same time. In the old days that kind of thing was hard, you had to be psychic or some bullshit.

But now, with the help of technology, you could avoid a lot of that crap. If you could listen to your love when you weren’t physically present you could find out what she really wanted, what she really
needed
, and surprise her.

This works a hell of a lot better if your love has dear friends she confides in, but even if she doesn’t you can still learn a lot by listening to how she interacts with other people. Or what she says to herself. Dewey had been pleased to learn that his love had taken up talking to herself quite extensively. She must have been lonely without him, he supposed.

Dewey grinned to himself, his white teeth flashing to no one in the dusty abandoned house. He was a genius, wasn’t he?

Three nights earlier he’d snuck into Karen’s house while she was sleeping, and slipped outside with her cell phone. He was delighted to find it was an old Nokia model, which was perfect for the small modification he had to make to turn it into his own secret window to Karen’s world.

Now he could listen to her whenever he wanted. Assuming he was in range of course. Which he wasn’t right now.

Next to that speaker were a couple of other toys he’d ordered from
Stringtown
, a company that specialized in products for hunters, preppers and secret-agent-wannabes. They sold everything from camouflage face-paints to audio bugs to rifle scopes to flares to bear traps to metal detectors to night vision binoculars. And ten thousand other fun items in-between.

Dewey paused his pacing and ran a hand through his neatly combed and parted blond hair. He had things to do.

He stopped the CD player which had just finished its fourth run-through of the song, grabbed the speaker which connected to the bug, and headed to the front door. After closing it behind him he went around the corner of the house to an old padlocked shed that sat nearby and let himself in.