“Carter?” I call out.
Nothing.
Murphy creeps to the other end and drops to his knees, shining his light under the bed. “Not even a dust bunny.”
“Must be the president’s palace,” Rock mutters, staring at the side of the container. He steps around the corner and I follow. A crudely painted version of the flaming devil the Sons of Satan MC members wear in their center patch fills up the entire space. Orange, red, and black letters spell out S.O.S.
“At least we’re in the right spot,” I say.
Rock shrugs.
Across the field, I make out three shadowy figures checking out a similar shipping crate. “Doesn’t look like Z’s having better luck.”
“No.” Rock’s gaze searches the field. “Let’s hurry. Who knows how long Merlin can keep them.”
Under the cover of the building, I pull out my phone and check for any texts from Merlin. Nothing.
We check out another old RV. At least this one isn’t being used as the camp’s outhouse.
“You surprised we haven’t run into anyone at all?” Murphy asks.
“Kinda.” I run my hand over my pants, the leather from my gloves rasping over the rough, tactical material.
We clear another structure. Two motorcycles in various states of assembly litter the front. My boot catches on a piece of wire and I stumble. The wire twangs and clinks. Murphy wraps his hand around my arm, righting me before I make even more noise.
“Walk much?” he whispers.
“Thanks.” I’m too tense to respond to the teasing.
Something squeaks ahead. An animal large enough to move the tall grass as it scurries away from us.
“Probably a fucking rat,” Rock mutters.
“Surprised there aren’t more critters around this dump,” Murphy says.
Under my body armor and compression shirt, sweat slides down my back. This is taking too damn long. What if Carter’s not even here?
Still wary this could be an ambush, I peek into the next camper. It’s so small, I have to squeeze through the hole that serves as a door. Nothing inside but piles of blankets. I toe each one with my boot. “Carter?”
Nothing.
I jump out of the camper, landing in the brittle grass with a muted thud. “Clear.”
A breeze picks up, intensifying the foul odor that permeates the place. To my right, something creaks in the wind. A short hill blocks my view. Only what looks like the top of a crude rectangle appears.
“What the fuck is that?” I mutter, marching up the side of the hill.
“Stay low,” Murphy urges, pressing his hand to my back. “Jesus, you’re a walking target up here.”
My body responds to his words and crouches lower, but my mind’s racing as the structure comes into view.
We stop and stare.
Two tall, thick wooden posts have been driven into the ground. A large crossbeam connects the two posts, forming a crude gallows.
“An MC who takes punishment seriously,” Murphy mutters. “Jesus Christ.”
Another creak. My gaze narrows on the middle of the structure. A rope dangles from a metal loop. At the end of the rope, a human figure hangs from the neck, swaying in the breeze.
Bile burns the back of my throat.
Carter’s playful, goofy smile fills my mind.
I can’t tell Charlotte this.
No. Please. No.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Charlotte
“Charlotte?” A hushed woman’s voice whispers in my ear. “Charlotte, it’s okay.”
I pry my eyes open, staring into darkness. Nothing seems familiar. Dark, shadowy shapes. A bedroom?
My head throbs.
Behind me, someone shifts. An arm slung over my waist moves to my back. “It’s okay.”
Heidi. A relieved breath rushes from my lungs. “Where are we?” I croak.
“My bedroom.”
I sit up and wince as pebbles bounce around inside my skull. All the crying left me raw and limp. “Any word?”
“No. But they won’t until…” Heidi sucks in a deep breath. “There’s something to tell us.”
“Are you mad you didn’t go with them, little hammer?” My attempted joke saws through the silence at an awkward angle.
“I’m scared for Carter.”
“Me too,” I admit. “And I really want to kill my uncle.”
“I don’t blame you.” She stares at the closed bedroom door. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they come back without him.”
A phone buzzes against the nightstand.
“That’s yours,” Heidi says. She rolls over and flips on a light, then hands me my phone.
“It’s Bianca. She’s here. Well, she’s at my house.”
“Marcel didn’t want you to leave the property.” Heidi’s worried eyes dart to the door, as if she’s calculating how fast she’ll need to sprint to cut off my escape. “What if she brought the cops?”
“I’m not going.” I hesitate, reading Bianca’s text again. “But she can come up here, right? She’s been to parties on the property before.”
“Yeah. Let’s see if Sparky or Stash will run down and pick her up.”
“Stay here. I’ll be all right.”
She follows me into the hallway, stopping to peek into Alexa’s room.
“What’s up? Did you hear anything?” Lilly rasps from the doorway of one of the bedrooms.
“Bianca’s at our house. I’m going to ask one of the guys if they’ll go pick her up.”
Lilly glances over her shoulder. “Do you want me to go with you?”
“No.” I force a quick smile. “I’ll be fine.”
Downstairs is illuminated by soft night lights. I find my shoes and slip them on.
Outside, I stare up at the dark sky, then check my phone. Still nothing from Marcel. Anxiety twists my stomach into a knot. As quietly as possible, I move down the long row of steps and onto the path away from Murphy and Heidi’s house. I reach a wider path and take a left, following the row of solar lights that will lead me past Trinity and Wrath’s place, Hope and Rock’s home, and eventually to the clubhouse.
The entire downstairs of Hope and Rock’s house is lit up. Maybe Rock sent Hope some information? I jog up their front steps and tap on the door, praying I don’t wake Grace.
It takes a few seconds for the door to open. Trinity flashes a quick, grim smile. “Anything?” she asks.
“No.” I step inside and Trinity closes the door behind me.
Hope joins us, phone clutched tightly in her hand.
“I was heading to the clubhouse to see if one of the guys can go pick Bianca up and saw your lights on,” I explain. “I thought maybe you’d heard…”
“Nothing yet,” Hope says. “Service is bad out there and they won’t want to take chances—”
“I know.”
“You want me to go to the clubhouse with you?” Trinity asks.
“No, it’s okay.”
Outside, an owl hoots and a quick gust of air swirls leaves in a funnel. “That’s not ominous or anything,” I mutter, quickening my steps.