“Where the fuck is he!” I shouted, slamming my hand down on the table before me as my brothers all stayed quiet, waiting for Player or Phantom to respond. I’d been patiently waiting for close to a month now. Well, as patient as I could for that mother fucker to show his face. He was somewhere out there, and as long as he walked this earth, Remi would never heal. I knew it. We all knew it. She was retreating. Falling deeper back into the void of nothing. It was like losing her all over again, and I wasn’t going to let that happen. If I had to wreak havoc on this entire planet to find that son of a bitch, I would.
When neither Player nor Phantom responded, I sat down in my chair and spoke. “Let me be perfectly clear. I want Darrin Reynold’s found within the next twenty-four hours, or I will start culling this clubhouse. If you fuckers can’t find one mother fucking man, then what good are you to me. I don’t care who finds him. Just find him.”
“Reaper,” Massacre said carefully. “We are all looking for him. All of us have people out searching for him. He will fuck up. When he does, we’ve got him.”
“Massacre is right, boss,” Chaos said. “We have his wife and kids under constant surveillance. His office, the FBI building, hell man, we managed to low-jack his car, thanks to Bullseye. When that fucker surfaces, we will know.”
“I have a theory,” Ink began cautiously. “Now, hear me out before any of you say anything. What if he isn’t where we can locate him? I’m talking somewhere underground. Off-grid. Think about it. This is a man who works hand in hand with the lowest criminals in the world. We all know they have places all around the world to hide. That’s why these fuckers get away with what they are doing. What if Reynold’s isn’t the head honcho, as we all believe. Remi said something the other day that caught my attention. We were watching TV, and a commercial came on. She cringed and asked me to change the channel immediately. I didn’t think anything of it, but then she said something odd, ‘Men like him should be in hell.’ I didn’t understand, but after a while, it still bugged me.”
“Ink, this isn’t time for one of your conspiracy theories,” Bayou stated.
“Everything is a conspiracy, now hear me out a minute. The commercial was about that new watch, you know the one that’s supposed to help you live your life better, check your heart rate, steps, how much food you eat, locate you if you’re lost—all kinds of shit. Anyway, the owner of the company was talking about it. What’s his name…”
“Christopher Wheatly!” Axel, Shamrock, and Viper all said at once.
“That’s him!” Ink snapped his fingers and continued. “The man is like some mega-billionaire or something. He created this big tech company and now does all kinds of charity work. Now, you all know I don’t think like everyone else. I look beyond…”
“Like to infinity and beyond,” Savage snickered.
“Hey!Toy Storyis an awesome movie, don’t knock it!” Ink chastised then continued. “What I’m saying is that when Remi saw this dude, she freaked man. She was calm and laughing one minute, and the next, she froze, scared. I’m just saying it wasn’t right.”
“Let me get this straight,” I said, rubbing my face. “You think this Wheatly dude, the owner of one of the biggest tech companies on the planet. The man who donates half his income to charities that help support less fortunate people and third world countries somehow knows Reynolds and is helping him hide?”
“Well,” Ink grinned. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know that.” Ink replied.
“I do.”
I looked at Phantom, who was typing once again on her laptop. I seriously wanted to know if she slept with that damn thing!
“Mr. Christopher Wheatly, owner, CEO, and CFO of Wheatly Enterprises has a mass wealth of over three trillion dollars. Over the years, he has brought the tech industry leaps and bounds into the future. He has even ventured into Hollywood and the pharmaceutical industry. The man has his hands in politics, medicine, land, space, you name it. He’s everywhere. He’s dined with Presidents, Congressmen, Big Businessmen, socialites, you name it. Hell, he even met the Pope.”
“Stop,” Player said, pointing to something on her screen. “Right there. Blow that up.”
Phantom did as Player asked, and both gasped.
Instantly both were typing on their computers. It was annoying. They didn’t talk, just typed. Whatever was going on in their collective mind was seriously pissing me off. “Do either of you have something to add?”
“Hang on,” Player said, typing at warp speed, while Phantom muttered something unintelligible.
“Seriously, if you two geeks don’t speak…”
“Got it!” Player shouted as Phantom groaned, then handed him a dollar bill. I wasn’t going to ask. Nope. Didn’t care.
Looking at my brother, I glared when he gulped, then spoke, “They’re working together.”
“And.”
“Here,” Phantom added, turning on the flat-screen TV she installed in church. I hated it, but it did have its uses. “Here, you see a compound in Mexico, and it’s heavily guarded. Look right here,” she said, using the cursor to lead us to where she wanted us to look.
“It’s an airstrip. And right here is a Cessna plane with the tail numbers TCE-53F. That’s the same plane that Chaos and Bullseye saw take off in Louisiana.”
“What does that have to do with Wheatly?” I asked, getting annoyed.
“The compound is owned by Wheatly.”