The Biker's Fate Chapter 455

Finch

Savannah didn't have many bad spots, but the place we were currently hauling ass toward certainly qualified as one of them, if not the worst. Alamo, Doom, Badger, and Dash rode tight behind me as we sped our way to the south side's industrial district, a mostly derelict part of town that had been abandoned after the industrial crash of the late seventies. I took Doc's Fatboy directly from the memorial, needing the comfort and speed of a bike, rather than the cage of my rental.

I kept my thoughts focused on the road ahead, rather than allowing myself to think about what that animal could be doing to Remington, or what I'd do to him when I found him. If I found him. Fuck that. I had to find him; the alternative meant losing Remington, and that was not going to happen.

I signaled to the others and we turned right into a small housing development that looked like it had seen better days. We passed through darkening streets lined with dilapidated houses with boarded up windows and overgrown lawns until we arrived at the address Booker had given me. I'd reached out to my VP to track her again, and he'd had trouble, considering her phone was off. But he was able to trace the phone up until the signal died, and this was where it led us.

We killed our engines, parked our bikes around the corner, and made the rest of the way on foot.

"What the hell is this place?" I asked as we reached the only two-story house on a street of otherwise modest single story, ranch style homes.

"This development was built for the employees of Kimble and Graham, back when they used to have a big factory here," Alamo explained. "The plan was to keep the employees close to where they worked to increase productivity. This house belonged to the factory foreman. When the plant closed in the early eighties, the neighborhood became a ghost town. All the families were relocated when the company moved out west, and all of these houses have been empty ever since. About ten years ago the meth heads moved in."

"Remind me to call HGTV when we get back. I've got a show to pitch them," Badger said.

"Well, according to Booker, this is where they've got her," I said as we arrived at the house. My phone buzzed so I pulled it out and glanced at the screen. It was a text from Hatch. "Fuck."

"What?" Alamo asked.

"Vitaly. He's not in Russia. He's here."

"How do you want to play this?" Alamo asked.

"We can't see shit from here," I said. "Let's go."

"Hold on."

"No. Vitaly's got her," I argued.

"We don't have any idea at all what we're walking into here. We don't even know if it is Vitaly or how many people are in that house," Doom said.

"Or if she's even in there. Could just be meth heads like Alamo said," Badger said.

"Booker's intel is always solid, as you well know. If he said she's here, she's here," Alamo said.

Or she was here when someone turned off her phone. I could only hope she hadn't been moved since.

"Then what the fuck are we waiting for? I'm gonna move in closer to get a better look," I said, and started walking toward to the house.

"Finch, goddammit! Get back here!" Alamo whisper shouted, but I ignored him.

I crept through the high grass to the east side of the house and crouched beneath a window that had been replaced with faded plywood. I stayed very still and listened but heard nothing.

Goddammit. I should have followed her into the fucking bathroom.

I'd never been more worried or scared in my entire life, yet I still managed to be angry over the fact that by icing me out, she'd allowed herself to be placed in this situation. Why did she always have to be so damned headstrong; so difficult? Why couldn't she just fucking trust me?

Of course, I knew the answers, but having her push me away still hurt. More so now that I was in danger of losing her. I already knew that I loved her, but now I knew that I truly needed her.

She was difficult. She was stubborn, moody, and dramatic as hell, and I loved her. In truth, she was the most perfect woman in the world, and she was the love of my life, but she was also in grave danger. At that moment, I knew two things for sure. I couldn't stand to lose Remington, and if I didn't find her right now, she was going to die.

"Fuck this," I whispered to myself and stood up. I motioned for the others to spread out and made my way to the front entrance.

Alamo quickened his pace when he saw me going for the door and began waving his arms wildly. I paused and allowed him to catch up.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he whispered.

"I'm not waiting any longer," I said. "If you want to stop me, you're gonna have to shoot me."

Alamo pulled out a .9mm and raised it. My body locked briefly, but then he handed it to me and nodded.

"I'm right behind you," he said, before producing a revolver from his rear waistband.

I quietly tried the front doorknob and found it was unlocked. Slowly pushing the door open to a dark and quiet home, Dash, Doom, and Badger joined us as we made our way inside. Doom headed upstairs, Dash and Badger followed, and Alamo and I split up to do a sweep of the first floor.

The kitchen, dining room, and den all appeared to be as empty as the entryway. In fact, there were little to no signs of recent activity anywhere in the house.

"Didn't you say this neighborhood is filled with squatters and druggies?" I asked Alamo as we continued to sweep the spacious downstairs.

"Yeah, why?"

"Isn't this place a little clean?"

"Looks like a shithole to me," he replied.

"Sure, but if you were a homeless junkie wouldn't you want to crash at the nicest pad on the block?"

"I guess so, sure."

"Then, where the fuck is everyone? Why aren't there scumbags everywhere? This place is too clean and too quiet for a neighborhood like this."

Dash and Badger came downstairs to join us.

"The second floor's all clear," Dash said. "Doom's checkin' the attic."

"I hate to say it, but it looks like no one's here," Alamo said.

My heart raced. Where the hell was Remi? Did they somehow know we were coming and move her? Was she ever even here? My pulse raced, and my head began to throb. A dull echo pounded in my skull as my thoughts went to Remington in the hands of Vitaly. What choice did I have now? All I could do was think. I sure as hell couldn't act on any kind of a plan. I had no idea where she was. I couldn't be more helpless. I couldn't get any lower.

Lower.

"There's a basement."

"What?" Alamo asked.

"There's a lower floor," I said. "This is definitely Vitaly's place."

"What? I don't get it."

"That's why the place is so clean. Vitaly probably pays the junkies to stay clear of the place, and he keeps the house empty, so no one knows what he's up to."

I quickly went back to the hallway and began to look for any kind of basement entrance but found nothing. "It's gotta be here somewhere," I said.

"Look, man, maybe we just have the wrong place," Dash said.

I ignored him and went back to the kitchen and noticed that the walk-in pantry door was wide open.

"Did you open that door?" I asked Alamo, who shook his head.

I raised my gun and made my way to the pantry, the others behind me. Sure enough, on the pantry floor was a trap door with a silver handle and an electronic security keypad.

"Shit," I breathed out.