It Ain't Me, Babe (Hades Hangmen #1)(16)

He slapped a hand on my shoulder without saying a word and sat down. “You wanna talk?”

“St-stays between us, r-r-right?”

“Right.”

I paused, gathering my suspicions. “W-w-we have a r-r-rat.”

Ky froze and spoke through gritted teeth. “You certain?”

I threw him a single nod. “Th-that or a c-covert agent maybe?”

“Shit.” Nothing a brother hates more than a rat. “You’re always right over shit like this, just like your old man was, f*ckin’ born intuition. Any guess who?”

“N-n-not yet. S-s-some f-f*cker told the f-f-f*ckin’ m-m-mystery supplier about the C-commi deal, n-n-no two ways ’b-b-bout it.” I took a deep breath, loosening my throat, but the more pissed I became, the tighter that rope pulled. Giving up, I decided to sign. Just have to work out who and why and then send them to the boatman.

“Plan?”

Not yet. Gonna see how it plays out. But I’m watching.

Ky stood, pacing. “Who’d do it? I trust every one of these brothers, every f*ckin’ single one. It’s gotta be a groupie or a nomad. Shit!”

I stared out the small window and shrugged. He could be right. Something just didn’t feel right. Something big was going down.

Ky swiveled his chair away from my desk and sat on it backward, arms resting on the backrest. “You and me never would rat. Tank, Viking, AK and Rider—in for life, no question.”

Rider? You certain? I signed.

Ky shook his head. “Not a chance he’s the rat. He’s got no family but us. Best damn rider we got. Does anything asked, always stitching us up after fights, works next to me in deals, goes on any run given, never questions shit. He doesn’t deserve our doubt just ’cause he’s young or that he’s quiet. You’re only twenty-six, brother, twenty-five when you got Prez. No one questioned your age or the fact that you don’t talk. Brother may only be twenty-four but was recruited just before twenty and been a f*ckin’ golden asset ever since.”

I jerked my chin.

Point made.

Ky kept going. “Smiler—lifer. Bull—loyal as f*ck. That only leaves Flame, who we both know is f*ckin’ psycho. The only thing keeping him from murdering a packed mall on a Saturday is his love for this club. Only leaves Pit or the new hang arounds. They got no intel. Never get word on details. Brothers are good with Pit, wanna patch him in soon.” He shook his head and hit the back of the chair in frustration. “FUCK! Who could it be? Gotta be Feds or some cunt—tapping cells or using hidden surveillance.”

For once, I didn’t give a f*ck about any of it. My mind was back in my room with Jane Doe.

A hand slammed on my desktop. “Styx! Christ, man. Get it the f*ck together!” Ky was scowling right in my face.

My eyes narrowed and he tried to hide his flinch. Don’t. First and only f*ckin’ warning, I signed.

He pushed out his palms and backed the hell off. “Fine. Look, your head’s not straight with the bitch here. Let me do some groundwork, set some feelers out under the radar. Keep it just between us.”

I exhaled. Yeah. Need to know who’s new to running guns in Texas.

Standing up, I walked to the door, turning back to sign, Going back to my place. Beauty should be done by now. Not waiting all f*ckin’ night.

Heading through the lounge, around the back of the compound, I climbed the stairs and knocked at my door. Pushing it open, I saw Beauty was in my bathroom, washing her hands. She looked up as I walked in.

You done? I signed.

“She’s clean. I’ll bring clothes tomorrow after my shift at the store, she’s got on a robe for now.” Walking beside the bed, she looked up at me, shaking her head. “She’s slim, Styx. Too friggin’ slim if you ask me. The girl don’t eat shit by the looks of her.”

I finally let myself check out the bitch on the bed. Damn. She knocked the breath right outta me: smooth complexion, freshly washed and dried black hair free of blood and dirt.

Hell. It had to be her…

Beauty gathered her things. With a small smile, she paused to say, “She looks like Snow White, Styx. Dark hair, pale skin, red lips. She’s f*ckin’ stunning, not a scratch of makeup, but still looks like that. Shit! Not fair! No wonder the club sluts are bitching ’bout you keeping her back here to yourself. They’ve got f*ck all on her.”

I released a pent-up sigh.

Snow. Fuckin’. White.

I could feel Beauty looking at me funny, her hands twisting together as I stared in a damn trance at the bed. Her gaze dropped, nerves pulsing from her awkwardness.

Frowning, I signed, What?

Beauty closed her eyes briefly and opened them on a sigh. “She has a hell of a lotta scars on her body, Styx.”

I stilled, heart pumping, rage building, and asked, Where? But Beauty’s eyes were fixed on the bed. Spinning her around by her arm, I signed, Where?

“Mostly her back. Look like pretty severe lash marks. They go from side to side like someone’s whipped her good. But… who the f*ck would do that? Who gets lashed nowadays?”

I raised a questioning eyebrow as Beauty’s gaze saddened.

“Has some on her inner thighs too. Look like old cuts, blade marks… or… something worse.” She didn’t go further, letting the implication hang in the air.