Guts & Glory: Hunter (In the Shadows Security Book 3)

by Jeanne St. James

  A loud buzz filled the small room Rocky was in and the metal door swung open.

  “Let’s go, Jamison. Time’s up,” a guard yelled into the room.

  Rocky stood and leaned toward the speaker, saying, “You tell Diesel. Yeah?”

  Hunter pushed to his feet, too, relieved at the thought of getting the hell out of there. “Yeah. I’ll tell him.”

  “An’ I wanna know the truth about Diamond.”

  “I’ll tell him that, too.”

  With a last nod, Rocky turned and headed toward the door and the waiting guard. Hunter waited until the heavy door slammed shut behind them before spinning on his heels and heading toward freedom.

  Today was a good reminder that he always needed to be careful and cover his tracks. He did not want to end up like Rocky or his own father.

  It was time to head to Uniontown to do a little hunting.

  Chapter Two

  Hunter discovered a few things when he went to Uniontown. One, he’d never want to live there and was glad Diesel’s granddaddy settled in Shadow Valley instead. Two, a trailer park, when managed properly, could be nice. But the one Slade’s brother had been supposedly born in was far from that. Unless it had seen its better days since Brandon Bussard emerged from his mother’s baby baker over thirty years ago.

  Frankly, Hunter doubted the park had ever been nice.

  And three, while he now had a name for Slade’s possible brother, he didn’t have a body. Nor was anyone in that park very helpful. Most of the residents who lived there for any length of time slammed their trailer doors in his face. Which was quite fucking rude.

  Most, except for one.

  A lady who had to be a hundred years old and not a day younger. But, even though she had lost all her teeth decades ago, she was still as sharp as a tack.

  Thank fuck.

  Because if it wasn’t for this elderly lady, who was desperate for company and needed someone to ramble to, Hunter still would be spinning his dick in the wind.

  His dick that was now tucked safely in his cargo pants and his ass back in Shadow Valley with some interesting info.

  “From what Mabel told me—”

  “Mabel your new bitch?” Steel interrupted with a smirk.

  “Just tell us what you fucking know,” Mercy growled, frowning at Steel.

  They were gathered in “Badass Central,” what their boss’s ol’ lady called the room where they kept their electronics. It even had a crude sign with that name nailed crookedly above the door.

  Hunter had his ass planted in front of one computer with three oversized monitors, while Walker was tapping furiously at the keyboard of another. Steel had propped himself against a wall, working a toothpick around his yapper. Brick was leaning against another, but the former Navy SEAL sniper was busy on his smart phone. Probably on Tinder trying to get laid. Or, hell, maybe Grindr instead. Who knew with Brick.

  Not that there was anything wrong with that.

  Ryder was absent because he was finishing up a case he volunteered for in Chicago to get away from a certain someone who’d been fucking with his sanity. And Mercy filled up the remaining space with his bulk and grumpy expression.

  “Here’s what we...” Hunter lifted a hand, “I know. Gavin Bussard, aka Buzz, shot the load that created Slade, whose last name is Stone, which turns out to be his late mother’s last name. Buzz also shot the load that pegged an egg in a woman who lived in East End Estates, two trailers down from Buzz’s single-wide. While we assume Buzz didn’t know anything about Slade, he did know about his son Brandon since it’s hard to ignore your offspring a couple trailer lots away.”

  “That what your girlfriend told you?” Steel asked.

  Hunter ignored him, running a hand down his whiskers. “As we all know, Buzz was a Shadow Warrior. Little Brandon, though he had a shitty father who didn’t contribute one fucking nickel to his upbringing, looked up to said sperm donor, even though Buzz constantly beat the fuck outta his mother right in front of him. Great role model, right?”

  “Was Mabel’s mouth as good on your cock as it was telling stories?” Steel asked.

  Again, Hunter ignored him. “So what do you do when you think your pop is the shit? You follow in his fucking footsteps. Because nothing says success more than an outlaw biker who’s a total fucking psychopath.”

  “Slade’s brother was a Warrior?” Mercy asked, his brows furrowed, making the thick scar across his face wrinkle.

  “That I’m not sure of yet. Mabel only knew so much. She only knew he ended up patching in with some MC, but she didn’t know which one. My assumption is the Warriors, but if so—”

  “If so, we would’ve taken the fucker out,” Walker said next to him.

  “Right. Does that mean I’m searching for a man we’ve already dispatched?” Hunter asked.

  “Do we know his road name?” Mercy asked.

  “Mabel couldn’t remember, it could be Spaz, Kaz, Taz, or something like that. It was a name he started using when he rode his stolen Mongoose around the park at like eight years old.”

  “Okay, so Slade does have a brother, whose name we now know, who could be nicknamed Spaz and was raised in Uniontown. What else?” Brick asked.

  “Got your Grindr date all lined up?” Hunter asked him, since the man was now paying attention.

  Brick’s brows knitted together. “I got my hook in a piece of pussy who would make all you fuckers haters.”

  “’Cept Mercy,” Walker reminded him.

  “Does this pussy have a dick?” Steel asked.

  “If she did, you’d still be a hater ‘cause I’d be getting double the action.”

  Steel laughed. “Anytime you want double penetration, Brick, just ask.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” Mercy barked. “I got shit to do, let’s keep on track.”

  “You got Rissa to do,” Brick murmured.

  “Rissa’s in Vegas,” Mercy grumbled.

  “No wonder why you’re so fucking cranky,” Walker exclaimed. “Fist ain’t cutting it, huh?”

  “Maybe I should use yours,” Mercy responded, his eyebrow with the scar running through it raised.

  “Mine’s pretty tight and experienced.”

  “Figured that,” Mercy said, shaking his head.

  Hunter clapped his hands together sharply once to get everyone’s undivided attention. “We need to figure out who he patched in with and what his road name was. His cut could’ve already been hanging on the wall in Mercy’s little shop of horrors.”

  “He got rid of those,” Steel said matter-of-factly.

  “When?” Hunter asked, surprised.

  “Once the Warriors were all gone,” Mercy admitted. “Told Jazz I’d burn them and I did.”

  “But are they all gone?” Walker asked, typing even faster, if that was possible.

  Hunter assumed he meant the Warriors and not their cuts, a biker’s leather vest which displayed their club colors.

  “Sure as fuck hope so. If not, we still got fucking work to do,” Mercy said.

  “We don’t know if he patched in with the Warriors. There are plenty of other MC’s in the surrounding area, if he even stayed local. Or he could’ve ended up a nomad.”

  “If he did, it means we could’ve taken out Slade’s brother. How’s he going to react to that?” Walker asked.

  “Well, now that we have a name, an approximate birthdate and place of birth, we can do some digital digging,” Hunter said, ready to do just that. “He might have a bank account, a driver’s license, a social security card, something I can dig up and begin to hunt him.”

  “If you need my help, I can trail him,” Walker said, his eyes lighting up with a possible challenge.

  “I thought you might be heading to Chicago to take over for Ryder?”

  Walker shrugged. “He’s wrapping that shit up and heading home soon, so I’m available.”

  “I’ll let you know,” Hunter mumbled, staring at the screen. He hacked into two law enforcement programs, J-N
et and CLEAN, and had already begun running the name Brandon Bussard. Luckily, it wasn’t too common of a last name. “Well, looks like ol’ Spazzy boy has a long record and not just in Pennsylvania.”

  “That surprise you?” Mercy asked Hunter.

  “Nope. Guess Slade’s lucky he never met his pop. He clearly wasn’t a good influence.”

  “A-fucking-men,” Steel murmured.

  “Got a couple mug shots here, a list of his tattoos... and surprise, surprise, he’s got club colors inked onto his back.”

  “Does the description say who the rockers belong to?” Mercy asked.

  “Yep. Spaz-Matazz’s road name is actually Taz, short for Tasmanian Devil. And his colors belong to none other than,” Hunter paused for dramatic effect, “the Warriors.”

  Steel whistled. “No shit.”

  Hunter stared between the slight gap of two monitors at Mercy. “You remember any of those cuts with the name Taz?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t remember a Warrior named Taz, either,” Brick mentioned, his head tipped down and he was back to typing on his phone.

  “You sexting this chick with a dick?” Hunter asked.

  Brick didn’t bother to look up when he grumbled, “The only dick she’s gonna have is mine.”

  Steel snorted.

  “Any-fucking-way, he’s done short stints for domestic violence, agg assault, burglary, armed robbery, distribution of multiple classes of narcotics, DUI, and on and on, ad nauseam, starting at the ripe ol’ age of fourteen. Sounds like a productive member of society.”

  “Weren’t they all?” Walker asked dryly.

  “The million-dollar question is, if he’s still breathing, why didn’t we find him?” Mercy asked.

  Mercy was in no way sloppy. None of them were, so how this asshole slipped through their fingers... Hunter shrugged and sat back in the chair, scratching at his beard, which always helped him think.

  “’Cause he went underground,” Walker murmured. “Had to have. Otherwise, we would’ve sniffed him out. Especially a dirty fucker like that.”

  Mercy stepped closer to where Walker and Hunter were sitting, jerking his chin up. “Who was the victim of his domestic assault?”

  “I’ll have to dig up the court dockets and check, but there’s not just one charge, there’s multiple,” Hunter said. “Even so, that’s a good starting point. Maybe go through each of his charges, even summaries and traffic citations, see when and where they occurred and track that fucker’s ass from age fourteen until now.” But curiously, the charges abruptly stopped about three years ago. The man could very well be incarcerated or dead.

  “You ever think now we have that info, Slade won’t give a fuck about finding his brother?” Steel asked.

  “Even if he decides he now doesn’t, it still means we failed by leaving one breathing. And we have to fix that fuck up,” Mercy said, his silver eyes turning to ice.

  “I’m up for a little target practice. Last melon I exploded was that douchebag who had snagged Rissa.”

  “We need to get a twenty on him first,” Hunter said, reminding Brick they needed a location before they could do anything.

  “And that’s your specialty,” Brick responded, lifting his head to look at Hunter. “Once you do that, I don’t mind introducing a little metal to brain matter. Just say the word.”

  Walker slammed his hand on the table that held the computer he was working on. “For fuck’s sake, I can imagine this conversation with one of our veteran brothers, ‘Hey, Slade, found your long-lost brother, you want to have a touching reunion before we dispatch his ass?’”

  Steel shrugged. “Or we don’t tell him at all. Say it was a dead end and Rocky was talking out of his ass. Slade might believe that. He has no love for his ol’ lady’s pop.”

  “We can decide that once I locate him,” Hunter said. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” was the resounding answer around the room.

  “Or maybe let D decide, once we do,” Brick suggested. “That takes the pressure off our backs.”

  “Not sure he needs something else on his shoulders with baby number three on the way,” Hunter murmured. Hard to believe the man who never wanted children was cranking them out faster than anyone. But then, he and Jewel were always fucking. And that was usually required to make babies. Unfortunately, the Shadows had learned to listen carefully before entering any room that had a closed door, otherwise they got a view of their boss none of them wanted.

  “The boss man’s got the biggest fucking shoulders I’ve ever seen, I’m sure he can handle it,” Walker said.

  Hunter turned to him. “Wanna help me map all of this fucker’s crimes and follow the path he’s taken? Maybe we can get an approximate twenty on him. It’ll be better than what I got now.”

  “You got it, brother. You know I eat that shit up.”

  Thank fuck for that. Brandon Bussard aka Taz had a conviction list longer than his arm and he wasn’t looking forward to piecing it all together on his own.

  He just knew by the time they were done, there wasn’t going to be a happy reunion between two brothers.

  Good thing the biker had Diamond and his son, because Slade deserved some happy in his life.

  They all did.

  It was just a matter of finding it.

  Chapter Three

  Hunter edged his blacked-out Range Rover to the curb and shut the engine down as he stared at the unassuming house.

  He could be in Anywhere, Any State, USA and see the same house. Lower middle class—barely—fixer-upper that needed a good paint job or vinyl siding to cover the peeling paint.

  Who the fuck still had wood siding beside a house with cedar shakes in New England?

  Why the fuck did he even care?

  He didn’t.

  But he wasn’t in Anywhere, USA. His vehicle—which was out of place in this neighborhood—and he were smack-fucking-dab in the center of a small town named Manning Grove, PA, about an hour north of Williamsport.

  This town wasn’t occupied by the Shadow Warriors but used to be by the Blood Fury MC, a now defunct motorcycle club that had died a tragic death. Because of that, he doubted that Taz aka Brandon Bussard was now wearing BFMC colors.

  Manning Grove was a sleepy little town burrowed in a valley surrounded by mountains occupied by, from what he found, some white supremacist “militia” that cooked meth to make ends meet and finance their plot against the government. They probably had as many teeth as the occupants of East End Estates.

  Hunter sighed, the sound filling the silent cabin of his Rover.

  He had visited every victim of Taz’s domestic violence cases, trying to uncover the missing Warrior’s ass.

  Without luck.

  And the long list of women he talked to weren’t cooperative, either.

  Taz had left his mark on a lot of fucking women in his thirty-five years. And none of them appreciated it. Which was to be expected.

  Because of that, none of them were harboring his ass. Which meant Hunter had come up empty-handed.

  There were two women left on his list he hadn’t visited yet. And he would skip the one who was buried under a headstone in Ohio. That meant, in reality, he had one living, breathing victim left of Mr. Bussard who he hadn’t talked to.

  A Ms. Sucely Hernandez. A thirty-two-year-old single woman, from what little he could dig up.

  She had been last on his list, because, unfortunately, Ms. Hernandez made herself difficult to find. Almost as tough as good ol’ Taz. He and Walker had to spend way too much time digging around to find her.

  Curiously, it was almost as if she didn’t want to be found.

  Which he couldn’t blame her since she might have wanted to shrug off a loser named Taz. Especially since he did time in the joint after knocking her around and breaking a few of her bones. Not just any bones. Her right cheekbone, her left wrist and a few ribs. And that was only one ER admittance. He didn’t bother to check if there had been more. That one had been mo
re than enough for him.

  After reading the medical records of that episode, he spent two hours at Shadow Valley Fitness with a heavy bag, while having Steel hurl insults at him so he’d hit harder.

  He did.

  And almost broke some bones in his own hand.

  He stared out of his dark-tinted driver’s side window. The small house across the street had a covered porch, also in need of a good painting, and a single car detached garage with no vehicle in the short driveway, which in itself needed a fresh coat of sealer. He had no idea if anyone was home.

  He would shortly.

  And by shortly, it turned out to be right then and there when the garage door lifted, and a woman rolled out a push mower.

  The mower had seen better days and was old and ugly. The woman was not.

  Fuck no.

  She wore white denim shorts with the bottom hems frayed. A pair of pull-on white sneakers and a turquoise blue bikini top. That was it.

  He pursed his lips and forgot to breathe when the woman, with long, very dark brown hair in some kind of messy knot at the top of her head, leaned over and gave Hunter a view he took a mental picture of and would use later.

  This woman had hips and an ass that wouldn’t quit. Her waist was tucked, though she was not what he would call skinny, but instead, curvy in all the right places. Hips, ass, tits. Something a man could hold onto. Her thighs were also thick enough to cushion a man’s hips when he was pumping hard and fast into her.

  He watched in total fascination as she grabbed the pull cord and yanked.

  How her tits remained in that top while she did so, only the good Lord knew.

  And, thank fuck, it didn’t start the first time.

  Or the second.

  Or the third.

  Hunter should be ashamed of himself for hoping the fucking mower never started. But if that happened, she might go back inside, and he wasn’t done observing yet.

  He may never be done observing.

  On the fourth pull, the old mower sputtered, and the engine finally caught.

  She straightened up and then looked directly at him.

  Fuck.