Mercy (Sin City Outlaws #2)(37)

“You got about two seconds to get your goddamn hands off me.” I glare, my eyes flicking between his palm on my chest and his face.

“It’s okay, let him through,” Bull informs.

Nodding, Kane steps aside.

Holding my side I head down the dark hall toward the common area.

A frantic Bobby suddenly crashes into the club, causing all eyes on him.

“We got about ten minutes before we’re raided.” Everyone is thrown into panic, scurrying around the club to hide contraband, and shit they don’t want anyone who isn’t a known criminal to come across. I’ve been there a time or two. Having the police and sheriff’s department in our pockets though, it has its perks.

“Where is this coming from?” Bull asks, his tone casual. Which is surprising. He must be used to this. How often does this happen here?

“Word down the grapevine, man.” Bobby shrugs. “Said Skeeter and his crew got intel on something and are heading here.”

“You know the drill,” Bull shakes his head, looking around the club.

“Jillian needs to hide,” I state. “We’re wanted, and if they get ahold of us, we’re dead.”

Bull focuses on me. I can tell he wants to ask more but he just nods as he rubs his jaw, looking around the clubhouse for a quick solution.

“If they find them here, we’ll have them pigs digging through everything of ours,” Bull informs Bobby.

“My room has a trap door leading into the attic. All we can do is hope they don’t do a thorough check and go up there.”

“Go.” Bull juts his chin toward the hall. The word sounding like a gun firing at the starting line of a race.

Like a bullet being fired, I run down the hall. The pain in my body be damned. I have to hide Jillian.

Opening the door, Jillian grabs her chest in panic as the door slams against the wall.

“What the hell!?” Her face is scrunched in anger.

“We gotta hide.”

She stalls, her eyes wide. “What? Why?”

“NOW!” I demand, my heart stammering at the thought that cops could bust in the door any second. Grabbing her hand I yank her out of the room, and follow Bobby down the hall.

“Tell me what’s going on, Zeek!” Jillian tries to pull from my hand, causing me to clutch down on her tiny fingers.

“In here.” Bobby opens a door further down the hall and we follow him in. It’s f*cking filthy as hell, and smells like a teenage boy has been camping out for weeks. There are clothes everywhere, beer cans knocked over, and the mattress nearly hanging off the bed. I’d be surprised if this Skeeter dude even attempts to step in here.

Bobby slides his closet door to the side, and points to the ceiling. Sure enough there is a three foot by four foot entry into the attic space, a small particle board covering it. Bobby slides a ripped up chair to the closet, and I step on it putting me closer to the trap door. Pushing the board to the side, dust and dirt falls in my eyes.

“Come here.” I hold my hand out to help Jillian up.

She grabs onto the ridge of each side of the trap door, and pulls herself up. Grabbing her legs I help push her up, my stiches stretching and burning with the force. They’re going to rip apart before the morning is over, I know it.

“I can’t see anything,” Jillian whispers, climbing up.

Looking down, I contemplate helping the Devils’ hide shit before the cops show up. It’s out of habit more than anything.

“Are you coming?” Jillian whispers. I glance up, her face scared.

“Yeah.” Mimicking Jillian’s moves I pull myself up. The stitches snapping in my abdomen painfully.

Falling onto my back, I grab at the wound. Pulling my hand back, blood stains my palm.

“Oh, shit,” Jillian whispers, her eyes wide.

I can hear Bobby move the chair back below, and close the closet door.

“It’s fine, we need to move a little farther in, just in case they get nosey and look up here.” Hunched down, I waddle into the darkness like a f*cking duck, Jillian crawling behind me.

“ON THE FLOOR!” is hollered right under us causing us to freeze. “ON THE FLOOR, ASSHOLE!” Someone else repeats, grabbing both of our attention. We look down and notice there are slits in between the worn wood beneath our feet, giving Jillian and me a small view of what’s going on.

A guy with dark hair points a gun. Men in SWAT gear throw Bull and the rest of the Devils on the floor hard. Then a deputy walks in, swiping glasses off his face in an arrogant manner. Jillian gasps, her hands slamming across her mouth. Glancing up, her face holds not only fear but…recognition. Like she knows the pig.

I narrow my brows in question, and she turns her head quickly. Yeah, she knows who that is.

“It smells like shit in here,” the Deputy says with disgust.

“That’s just Bull.” The main police officer chuckles, slamming his boot into Bull’s side. Bull grunts, grabbing his ribs.

“Something I can help you with, Skeeter?” Bull asks from the floor, eyeing the guy who just kicked him.

“Clear!” Multiple men holler from down the hallway.

“Oh, I don’t know. You see these two dip shits crawl through here?” Skeeter takes two photos from the Deputy and drops them on the floor, but Bull doesn’t even look at them before answering no.