Havoc wasn’t the only danger on that side of the river. Grimm’s Law was a biker gang we’d been watching for a while. They liked to cross over from time to time. The ever-expanding borders to Taylor’s controlled lands were getting harder to maintain. Guns, drugs, and other valuable commodities, including the human variety, were frequently smuggled in and out. They had chapters in several of the outlying areas, and we would need to skirt their main base to reach Havoc.
And again, to get back out.
Jodi wanted in on the operation.
I didn’t want to take her. She was an unknown, and while I thought I could trust her, I wasn’t a hundred percent. Giving the crazy bitch a weapon was a complication I could do without.
In the end, it was Jodi who convinced me of her inclusion. “You killed him for her,” she said. “That’s more than I could do. I’m not going to fuck up the operation. But I’ve been looking out for her long before you stumbled into the picture, and I’m begging you, don’t force me to sit this one out.”
I nodded and slapped a gun in her hand. “Don’t make me fucking regret this.”
Ditching the Humvee, we loaded up into lighter, faster armored vehicles. Mitch took the driver seat and Jodi in the back. Another dozen men distributed between us in two more armored vehicles, and we rolled out.
Ava
The magnitude of my impending doom manifested with every exhausting step. The trees opened up into a muddy compound where barking dogs loped the length of mesh fencing as searchlights turned our way.
As the lights panned around us, dirty beatdown structures rose out of the glare into view. A large industrial shed with the big roller doors open, a sprawling farmhouse, a couple of smaller sheds, and a dozen or so trailers.
An old diesel generator growled to the left, thick twisted rope cables leading from it to the buildings and trailers on the right.
The mesh runner gate drew open to allow us entry before it closed on us with an ominous rattle.
A few trailer doors opened, and heads poked out. Some residents hustled back inside, but a few shuffled out into the compound or leaned against doorways as I was escorted through.
A creaking, weathered sign over the farmhouse bore the words ‘Welcome to Havoc’ in cheery, red paint.
“Get a message to Mick Grimm,” Bill called to a scruffy teenage kid emerging from the farmhouse. “Tell him I’ve got a trade worth a tank of diesel.”
The kid lifted a hand before darting back in.
“Where you wanna put her, Bill?”
“Basement,” Bill replied. “Make sure the lock’s secure and bring me the key. Don’t want any of the bitches sniffing around her until Grimm looks her over.”
As I was escorted to the farmhouse, I took in the high fencing with coiled barbed wire, the dogs, and the armed men on watch.
I didn’t know who this Mick Grimm was, but I had a bad feeling he might have something to do with the biker gang, Grimm’s Law.
I began to shake. Karl, my jailor, didn’t notice or just didn’t care, directing me up the farmhouse’s rickety wooden steps. Inside, it stank of weed and sweat. Rough faces peered at me from where they lounged on low, threadbare couches before I was taken left into a filth-strewn farmhouse kitchen with enough greasy, burnt dishes and pans in the sink that I thought no one must have bothered washing since the apocalypse came through. Karl shoved me down narrow wooden steps leading off the kitchen opposite the window. At the bottom, he opened a heavy metal door before sending me sprawling inside. Dusty boxes, hemp sacks, and shelving filled with tins were all I saw before the door slammed shut, sealing me into darkness.
Failing a miracle, I wasn’t getting out of here.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Blaine
TAYLOR OWNED THE bridge and a barren stretch of land where it crossed, and that was it. The razed section gave way to a scrubby forest, and a rutted tarmac road meandered south through the trees that hadn’t been serviced since the collapse. Most of the smaller communities that had once thrived here had been looted and turned to ghost towns.
Our convoy blasted through main streets where decaying shops and homes had fallen prey to both weather and encroaching weeds. We slipped from the only main road before reaching the turn for Grimm’s territory, taking a five-mile detour through a warren of dirt tracks.
It remained quiet, and even if anyone spotted us, chances were they wouldn’t know where we were headed or why.
I’d sent a couple of snipers on bikes ahead of us to reconnoiter Havoc, and I’d just gotten a message that Grimm’s Law were on site—a complication we didn’t need.
“Does this change the plan?” Mitch asked.
I tapped my communicator bud. “Do they still have chain link fencing?”
“Chain link fencing around the perimeter. Roller chain link gate,” came the reply.
“Current site status?”
“Five guards are walking the perimeter, all are looking twitchy. Two of Grimm’s men are at the farmhouse door. We’ve counted eight bikes—the rest of his crew must be inside.”
“ETA three minutes,” Mitch said like I didn’t already know.
“We’re coming in hot. Take any and all targets.”
The confirmation came through the communicator.
“We going to pop the gate?” Mitch asked, side-eyeing me as I slipped my helmet on.
“Yep, gun it. What’s the worst that happens?”
Ava
It was hard to judge how much time had passed, but I thought it several hours later when the basement door was flung open. My jailor, Karl, collected me and dragged me up the stairs.
Thirsty and disorientated, my hands were still bound together and my fingers going numb. I stumbled several times before he thrust me into the farmhouse kitchen.
Blinking against the sudden light, I found a dozen rough-looking men crowding the room, evenly split between the rednecks who had captured me and bikers.
Other than Bill and Karl, I recognized no one. All were armed with guns and knives.
My mouth turned to dust, and my ears filled with white noise.
The nearest biker stalked up to me. I backed up into Karl, my breath turning choppy as the man pinched my chin painfully between his fingers when I stopped breathing altogether.
As he swiped the hair back from my brand, his eyes narrowed and he thrust away.
“Are you fucking stupid?” He rounded on Bill. “Fucking hicks. Did you check her fucking brand?” He got right up into Bill’s face.
“Mick, I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Bill said.
Collective feet shuffled, creaking the scuffed floorboards as hands twitched toward weapons.
“You’re too fucking stupid to live,” Mick said. “Should’ve tossed her in the river. That’s Taylor’s branding, elite forces to be precise.” He punched the smaller man with the side of his fist. “What do you think’s going to happen now, hick?” He hit Bill again.
“The fuck, man,” someone muttered.
“I don’t know,” Bill said, eyes darting from me to Mick.
“Did you even scan her for a tracker?”
Bill shook his head.