Chapter 2 - THE BROTHERHOOD WAKES

Ray Whitmore whimpered, his boots dangling an inch off the floor as Iron held him pinned against the cheap wood paneling. The acrid smell of fear permeated the cramped hallway, mixing with the stale beer and rot. Bull stood perfectly still, letting the silence do the work. He knew exactly how to break a man. You didn't need to yell. You just needed to let them look into your eyes and realize there were no boundaries, no cops, and no mercy coming to save them.

"Please," Ray gasped, his eyes darting frantically between Bull, Iron, and Dex. "Look, I got no money, man. I got nothing. If this is about the debt, I swear to God I'm getting it!"

Bull frowned, a deep crease forming between his heavy brows. The debt. This wasn't just a deadbeat drunk losing his temper. There was another layer to this filth.

"Drop him," Bull commanded.

Iron released his grip. Ray crashed to the linoleum, scrambling backward until his spine hit the edge of a stained couch in the living room. He pulled his knees to his chest, coughing violently.

"What debt, Ray?" Bull asked, pulling a wooden chair from a wobbly dining table, turning it backward, and sitting down. He rested his thick arms across the top of the chair. "Talk to me. Explain why a man gets so twisted up that he punches his own little girl and dumps her at a gas station."

"It... it was the guys from the Holler," Ray stammered, wiping spit from his chin. "Mickey's crew. I owe 'em five grand for... for supplies."

"Meth," Dex spat, his face contorting in absolute disgust.

Ray didn't deny it. He just looked at the floor. "They came by this morning. Said my time was up. Said if I didn't have the cash by tonight, they were gonna take Lily. Sell her off to some people down south to clear the ledger. They said it right in front of her."

A cold, heavy darkness settled over the room. Even Iron, a man who had survived two stints in a maximum-security penitentiary, looked visibly sickened.

"So you hit her and dumped her at Rudy's," Bull summarized, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating with a lethal frequency.

"I was trying to save her!" Ray cried, looking up defensively. "If she wasn't here, they couldn't take her! I panicked! She was crying, grabbing my leg, wouldn't let go. I just hit her to get her off me so I could leave her somewhere public! I figured someone would find her."

"You figured someone would find her," Bull repeated softly. He stood up slowly, pushing the chair aside. "You cowardly piece of garbage. You couldn't face the men you owed, so you beat your kid and left her on the highway like a stray dog. And what were you doing? Packing a bag?"

Bull looked toward the bedroom. A duffel bag was half-stuffed with clothes on the mattress. Ray was planning to skip town and leave Lily to the wolves.

"I had to run!" Ray pleaded, crawling toward Bull's boots. "Mickey is crazy! He's got a compound up in the hills. He'll kill me!"

"He's the least of your problems right now," Bull said, stepping back in disgust. He pulled his phone from his leather vest and dialed a number he hadn't called in three years. The phone rang twice before a gruff voice answered.

"Sheriff Miller," the voice said on the other end.

"Miller. It's Hadley," Bull said.

A long pause followed. "Bull. I thought you and your boys stayed out of my county after that mess in '21."

"We were passing through. But we stumbled onto something that belongs to you," Bull said, his eyes never leaving Ray's terrified face. "I'm at the Pine Ridge Trailer Park. Ray Whitmore's place. I've got a child abuser here who was packing to run. And I've got a little girl sitting safe at Rudy's Gas and Go who needs protective services. But before you send your deputies, you need to know about Mickey's crew up in the Holler."

"Mickey Stokes?" The sheriff's voice hardened. "I've been trying to nail that bastard for trafficking for two years, but he's dug in like a tick."

"Well, he just crossed a line," Bull said. "He threatened to traffic a seven-year-old girl over a meth debt. So here's the deal, Miller. You come get this piece of trash off my boots. But Mickey Stokes? That's club business now. My boys and I are going for a ride into the hills."

"Bull, don't do this. I can't have a biker war in my jurisdiction," Miller warned, though the protest sounded half-hearted.

"You won't have a war," Bull said, turning toward the door. "You'll just have a cleanup crew. See you at Rudy's when it's done."

He hung up the phone. He looked at Ray one last time. "Iron. Tie him to the plumbing under the sink. Make sure he can't move until the Sheriff gets here."

"With pleasure," Iron growled, pulling a heavy zip-tie from his pocket.

Bull walked out into the humid afternoon air. The rest of the pack was waiting, engines idling.