We pulled up across the street, watching him drive through the small lot and park in front of one of the dismal two-story buildings.
It wasn’t a great neighborhood, but it wasn’t terrible. The surrounding streets were lined with modest family homes, while this one was lined with commercial buildings, a few apartments. It also claimed a few oddly-placed motels, relics from back in the days when this was a terrible neighborhood.
I didn’t exactly drive this route every day, but it was maybe five minutes from the offices of Sentinel Security Group.
Had Sanchuk been here this whole time, right under our noses?
Why the fuck would he bother pulling the disappearing act, then staying so close to home? He had to know eventually we’d find him.
But then again… maybe the lure of whatever kept him here was strong enough.
I was just hoping that lure wasn’t Summer, but I was getting a bad fucking feeling about all of this. The hairs at the back of my neck were standing on end as I watched him get out of the SUV, still wearing his hooded cloak, and glance around into the dark.
This guy was a full-on creepshow, and it needed to end.
Now.
He didn’t look our way, not even close. Then he headed up the stairs to the motel’s upper level, where he let himself into one of the rooms with a key. The room looked dark when he opened the door—which hopefully meant uninhabited by an angry rabble of Bloody Bastards.
The door shut and the light went on, just visible through the closed curtain over the single window.
“Now what?” Maddox said. And I really wished I had a solid answer for him.
“Any chance you’re carrying tonight?” I asked him instead.
“You told me not to,” he said dryly.
“You’re off-duty. How the fuck do I know what you do in your off hours?”
“Sorry to disappoint.” He glanced over at me. “How ’bout you?”
“Nope.”
Fuck, though. If there was any time in my life I’d wished I was carrying a lethal weapon in pursuit of someone, it was right the fuck now.
I had no idea what I’d be facing if I forced my way into that motel room.
“Got a knife,” Maddox offered, and reached over to dig in the glove box. From under the random tools and papers, he produced a giant ball of keys on a keychain with a Swiss Army knife on it.
I’d take it.
I unhooked the knife and palmed it. “I’m gonna check it out. Park out of sight and follow me up.”
“You want more backup?”
“I’ve got backup.” I threw him a look. He was still wearing his white greaser costume T-shirt with no jacket, just the way he’d left the bar. “You have your Kings cut with you?”
“Nope. Got a hoodie in back, I think.”
“You want to put it on, that’d be swell,” I told him, and slid out of the van.
I headed over to the motel as Maddox drove around the block. As I slipped alongside the building, keeping to the shadows, I scoped out the parking lot. There were no motorcycles in it, not many cars at all.
I headed up the same stairs Sanchuk took and approached his door. The rooms on this side of the building backed onto the rooms on the other side, so at least there was no chance of a back exit or a window he could crawl his ass out of.
I heard nothing through his door, though I’d heard TVs and voices from other rooms as I walked up. I pressed in closer, listening.
Considering my options.
Kicking the door right in, while effective, might take a couple kicks and would be loud. Definite last resort.
Last thing I needed was the police showing up before I wanted them to.
I wanted answers, and the only person who could give them to me was the man inside this motel room. Which meant I needed to get him to open the door. Preferably quietly and willingly… which was where Maddox came in, I hoped.
I waited until Maddox appeared in the lot below. He was wearing a black hoodie with the hood thrown up. He climbed the stairs in silence and slipped up the walkway toward me, his arm down at his side, and in the shadows I could see he was carrying something.
“Is that…?” I crept toward him, my whisper fading out as he held it up a bit. The light caught the brand name and the long, shiny drill bit.
It was a fucking power drill.
“Creative,” I muttered.
He shrugged. “Work with what you’ve got.”
I motioned for him to hand it over, and he gave me a disappointed look as I held out the knife. We swapped, and I nodded for him to stand in front of the door. I flattened myself against the wall, where Sanchuk wouldn’t see me through the peephole. Maddox palmed the knife.
When Sanchuk looked through that peephole, or out the window, all he’d see was Maddox in his hoodie with the Kings spade on the chest. Just your friendly neighborhood Open-the-fucking-door-before-I-call-my-entire-club-down-here visit.
I knocked on the door, quietly.
“I can’t believe you’d use me like this,” Maddox muttered, feigning hurt feelings as he stood there like the bait he was.
I rolled my eyes.
A moment later, the deadbolt on the door turned.
Stupid motherfucker was opening the door.
By now, though, he knew he had little choice. Obviously Maddox had followed him here from the club, and he was fucked either way.
The door opened a few inches, Sanchuk’s face looking out through the crack. The security chain was still engaged.
But Maddox’s boot took care of that. One quick kick and the old wood of the door frame splintered.
So, fuck it.
Maddox plowed through the door, and I went after him. It wasn’t elegant, but it got the job done.
I shut the door behind us.
Sanchuk had been knocked back, and I barely saw the
