Broussard nodded as he came to his feet. “American ingenuity. Remarkable.”
Simon carried the final box of liquor to the SUV and slid it into the passenger seat. He stepped back and smiled. The entire vehicle was packed with every type of alcohol, even those he didn’t much like, and he barely had room to sit in the driver’s seat.
He turned to the liquor store and bowed. “I shall see you again. Just not any time soon.” He practically danced a jig to the driver’s side and slid in behind the wheel. He started the car and put it into reverse.
He winced at the slow grind as the vehicle backed from the front of the liquor store. He immediately assumed that ramming the storefront had broken something, then he noticed the flashing yellow light on the dash indicating that it was still in four wheel drive low.
He cursed at himself, put it into park, and shifted the vehicle back to two wheel drive. When he put it in gear again he heard a series of clunks before the little car lurched forward. He smiled to himself as he made his way back across town with his treasure, his mission to find the traitorous defectors forgotten.
When he approached the intersection where the Ragers had been congregated, he slowed again. He didn’t see any sign of the red-eyed monsters, but there were smears of blood scattered across the sidewalks. He could only guess who the unfortunate soul was that had been caught and munched on.
“Serves you right, Shooter, ya little shit.” He goosed the accelerator again and pointed the SUV toward the house he now considered home.
He pulled into the gated community and slowed the car, hoping he’d see a sign that Sinner and Shooter had returned from foraging. He turned into the cul-de-sac and felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He slowly approached the house and looked for any sign of the pair of miscreants.
Simon pulled the SUV up to the front of the garage and sat behind the wheel, staring into the shadows before him. Slowly, he backed the car out and made a two-point turn to face the house across the street. He put the car into reverse and backed slowly up his driveway. He shut down the engine and stepped out of the car; he hit the button on the keyfob and popped the rear hatch.
He grabbed the first box of liquor and stacked it along the wall of the garage. He turned back for the next box when a voice from behind froze him in his tracks.
“I wouldn’t move if I were you.”
Chapter 17
Hatcher held the pistol at Simon and fought the urge to pull the trigger and call it a day. “Just stop right there.” He watched the biker stiffen then slowly stand, lowering the box of booze back into the rear of the car. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Simon slowly turned and raised a brow at him. “I figured Sinner or even Savage would be the one to do me in. Not some sniveling shit like you.” He slowly lowered his hands and reached behind him.
“I said keep them where I can see them!” Hatcher took a step forward and froze when he watched the biker lift a bottle of booze from the box behind him.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like one last drink before you make me a Rager Lunchable.” He gripped the top and twisted it off, tearing the paper band.
Roger appeared in the opening of the garage and slowed his approach, his shotgun leveled on the biker from over the top of the car. “Looks like you got him.” He glanced to Hatcher with a questioning look. “Do him and let’s go home.”
“I have questions.” He raised the pistol to center on Simon’s face while the man continued to chug the booze. “Like how do you drink that and keep your legs under you?”
Simon lowered the bottle and belched loudly. “It’s a lifestyle, not a hobby.” He sat down heavily on the rear deck of the SUV and held the bottle in his hands. “So let’s get this shit over with.”
Hatcher relaxed slightly and gave Roger a furtive glance, ensuring he still had the shotgun leveled on him through the rear side glass. “Why did you lure the Zulus to our place at the warehouse?”
Simon belched again then looked at him with rummy eyes. “You took what was mine.”
“And?”
“And, nothing. Nobody steals from me.” He lifted the bottle and took another long pull.
“We didn’t ‘steal’ anything. Your people came of their own volition.”
Simon shrugged and held the bottle loosely in his grip. “Whatever, Cager. You stole my people, my guns…my women.” His eyes narrowed at the man. “If I can’t have ‘em, nobody does.”
“You’d rather kill your own people than see them prosper?”
Simon snorted and shook his head. “We were doing just fine ‘til you and yours came along.”
“You tried to jump me and mine on the highway…remember?”
Simon nodded. “I wanted the truck.” He turned an evil eye to Hatcher. “And whatever was in it.”
“It was empty except for us.”
Simon smiled and it didn’t reach his eyes. Hatcher felt a distinct cold chill as he watched the man. “Exactly.”
“We’re not slaves to be taken or—”
Simon hefted the bottle and cut him off with a whoop. “Right, right. Lincoln freed the slaves and all that shit.” He shook his head as he took another long pull. “None of them fuckers would have survived this long without me there.” He jabbed the bottle toward Hatcher, pointing at him with his finger. “They owe their lives to me.”
“And I’m sure they appreciate it.” He glared at the man. “But now they’re safe and they’re free.”
“Free?” Simon came to his feet and wobbled slightly, shaking the whiskey bottle as he steadied himself. “So, you’re telling me they’re all just lounging around sipping mimosas and having orgies and shit, right?” He narrowed
