CHAPTER NINE
*Baylor “Bay” - Secretary*
Hell for Leather goosed the slabs. For nearly six hours straight, barring a few pit stops, we drove at a speed worthy of the name stitched on our patches. After dropping off our various saddlebags and backpacks at the condo, we all ride to the usual location, slip through the unlocked gate, and head toward the degraded attraction designed to look like a devil.
The brisk North Georgia air seemed to chase us here, piercing through our thick, protective clothing while we rode. Now that the rush of wind only kicks up from the gulf rather than speed and the sun is beating against my leather, my body warms. Chaz seems to be of a like mind. He stretches, unzips the top part of his suit, and pulls the black gaiter down to rest around his neck, letting his hair loose to breathe a bit. Everyone else is content with just removing their helmets for now — gaiters and jackets offering extra protection from more than just possible road rash.
The decrepit amusement park where we pick up our assignments is hair-raising enough as it is, but walking into the gaping maw of a devil’s mouth really heightens that creepiness factor.
The irony where Zane is concerned is also pretty damn hilarious.
“Benvenuto! Welcome to Hell, Chaplain.” Vincent claps him on the back, eyes sparkling dangerously as our black boots hit the devil’s tongue. The flaked, red paint is slick from the rain that passed through early this morning and gives off a sinister imitation of saliva.
Brodi adds to the experience, laughing so maniacally that the over-dramatic sound amplifies and echoes through the eerie vestibule.
One by one, each member falls silent as soon as they step inside the belly. Like always, a small table sits in the very center. Just enough light streams through the entrance and reveals the glass surface, leaving the rest of the inner chamber in shadow. The job folder holding all the information for this week’s assignments lies on top.
We have been served.
Aside from the very first contract given to us by our employer, I have organized every single job — from scheduling when we pick up the folder to completion of the assignments. Every single one. Until now. This time, I was completely bypassed; our employer called Kal directly.
I spent the entire trip here trying to figure out how that makes me feel. My opinion flip-flopped with every mile marker.
The verdict is still out.
Of course, Kal passed on the information to Coty, Kio, Chaz, and me shortly after the call. Something more is brewing in that phlegmatic mind of his, though, and I cannot seem to solve the riddle. My trust for Kal and our employer runs deep, but I have been working with both of them long enough to know something is shifting. This early rendezvous is only the start. I just hope one or the other fesses before their secrets catch up and things get too sticky.
On those grounds, this early meet-up makes me incredibly uneasy. But our employer has fed us for so long, and Kal has proved his loyalty to HFL for even longer. Who am I to question an agreement between leaders?
Not wanting to step on any toes, I steal a quick glance at Kal. Big adjustments are always ultimately up to him. Not me. As if he can sense my unspoken question, his gaze flicks to mine, and he gives me a small nod, letting me know I can continue forward as our representative, in accordance with the usual formalities.
The club members preceding me step aside, letting me approach. I flip open the classification folder and pull the stapled papers out of the first pocket divider. A man. Late twenties. Strawberry-blond hair. A little on the stocky side according to his height and weight ratio. He could nearly be my twin according to these stats. No name or picture, though, as per the safety protocol — just dates, times, locations, instructions, and an incredibly detailed physical description.
The problem lies with the date, time, and location. That ever-constant unease as of late grips my spine. I slam the folder shut and peer into the darkness where our employer waits. A reflective glint of his spectacles is the only thing that gives him away.
“What the fuck is this?” I snap, my voice bouncing through the cavernous space.
Hell for Leather, black-clad and imposing, closes in behind me, taking my side and having my back despite being in the dark — both literally and figuratively. Their abrupt movement stirs up motes of dust and the musty scent of mildew and damp concrete.
With his voice unnaturally deepened to further obscure his true identity, our employer responds, unperturbed, from the shadows. “Special order.”
Kal steps to my side and opens the folder. His face remains passive as he reads all the details.
Unlike me, however, he flips to the last page. The financials.
I slam my hand over the numbers before he can read them, hissing under my breath, “No dollar amount is worth the risk.”
Did he not see that half our data is missing? The assignments have two parts: Part one, cause — we act as witness; Part two, effect — we carry out the verdict. This time, the verdict is “guilty” regardless of if we have seen it for ourselves or not. Witnessing the misdeed is our one and only stipulation prior to executing our responsibilities.
What’s worse, the missing details aren’t nearly as bad as the when and where.
Kal flattens his eyebrows and glares at my gloved hand. Shame on it for getting in his way and all. I yank it off the document and watch for his reaction, uncaring what the damn ink says.
How he always keeps calm no matter the situation is a weapon in and of itself. Earning the trust of your peers takes longer when you constantly front nonchalance. That credence is acquired through bold, resulting actions. Kal never fails to deliver. Eventually. Patience truly is a virtue when working with him.
Admittedly, that coolness today is only setting me on edge even more.
He lifts a hand, snaps his fingers, and the remaining three executive officers join us around the table. Vincent, Brodi, and Zane hang back to guard the exit.