Page 32 of A Season Of Sin

“What?” The dark-haired pain in my ass shrugs again like he didn’t just add hours to my trip.

Rosie, his old lady, who’s even more lethal than her old man, shoves him in the arm as she walks past to see what kinda mess Kade made in the back. Her curse says it all.

A moment later, there’s a feminine grunt and the heavy thump of a body hitting the ground. She drags the corpse over to us and drops the bloodied guy in front of Kade. Shaking her head, Rosie huffs her disapproval and marches back into the barn. She returns a few minutes later with another person they captured and didn’t kill.

“Hey!” Kade calls. “That one was for me.”

“Then don’t kill Wolf’s cargo,” Rosie scolds, pinning him with a glare.

“He mouthed off at me.”

“You carved out his eyeballs,” she points out.

“He deserved it.”

Sighing, the short-haired blonde forces a sedated captive into the back of my van as a replacement. Kade turns to me, grumbling under his breath. I can’t help but chuckle. I’m here because I got a call. Nothing more, nothing less. The Kings of Anarchy, an Illinois chapter, need their cells filled so they can make money killing these sickos on the internet. I don’t care who we lock up and they kill.

“What’s up with these guys?” I ask Kade, thumbing toward the back of my van.

He nods to the old farmhouse up the dirt lane. “Trafficking house. I found two kids chained in the bedroom. We killed a few, but Necro needs bodies.”

“And the woman?” I ask around my candy cane, referring to the brunette in the back of my van.

“Seems she’s a local schoolteacher who lures her students here. This is her place. Fuckin’ bitch. I figured Coffin could have fun with her.”

“Oh. I’m sure he will.” I chuckle. Torturing awful women is his specialty. I dunno why, and I don’t care. I’m the driver. That’s all that matters. The quicker I get this delivery done, the faster I can return to Gracie and Jace.

Kade and I carry on a bit more as the eyeless corpse lies on the ground between us. When we’ve caught up on club shit, which you can’t know about, we back clap and part ways.

The five-hour drive to Kings Cursed, the town the Kings of Anarchy own, is uneventful. To keep the drive less of a shit show with passengers, it’s customary for them to be sedated. Not entirely, but I don’t have the patience to listen to sick fucks talk smack for hours. Even with gags, they’re pricks. Consider me the ferryman taking them to their final resting place. People don’t take too kindly to dying. Add in dying on livestreams, where people pay to watch you get tortured, and they’re even less inclined to not act like a bunch of shitbags. Not that I can blame them. I’d be pissed, too, if that happened to me. Then again, I wouldn’t traffic humans. Well, not like they do, anyhow.

Soft rock pulses through my speakers, and I hum to the tunes as I cross into Kings Cursed and snicker at the red spray paint on the town sign. It’s just past dawn, and I’m running on empty as I navigate the lane to their church on the hill. Yeah, they live in a church. It’s old and creepy, but it suits the club.

Creature’s there when I pull around the side to unload the cargo.

When I open my door, he greets me. “Hey, brother. You made good time.”

“I always do.” We fist bump as I open the back of the van, step in, unfasten the assholes from their shackles, and force them to get the fuck out. They put up a half-assed fight. They always do, even when woozy. The mid-forties female, who’s naked and covered in bruises, snarls around her gag and kicks at me.

Stepping away, I put my hands up.

I don’t fuck with women.

No matter the vile shit they’ve done, that’s not for me. I love women too much to hurt them, even if they deserve it.

Coffin, the blond brother of this chapter, steps up to the open back door and grins. It’s downright evil, curling up from the edges like a villain in a horror movie.

He waves for me to get out. Nodding, I do just that and rest against the side as the van rocks. The woman wails in agony as Coffin subdues her however he pleases. Once he wrestles her out, he drags her by the hair around the church to the underground passage, where they keep the prisoners. Her thin legs give out along the way and bump against rocks and across dead grass as tears stream down her cheeks.

Creature, the scarred face brother I usually deal with, pulls a fat stack of cash outta his cut and slaps it against my chest, pulling my attention from Coffin.

“I don’t need that.” I shove his hand away.

Creature snorts. “Don’t be stupid, brother. Consider it an early Christmas present.”

“For what?”

“Does it matter?” he cocks off. “Prez told me to hand it over. He’d have done it himself, but he doesn’t do sunlight unless it’s for his old lady.”