Page 46 of Property of Anchor
The patchwork of unease that had been building in my chest all week threatened to snap wide open.The Kings of Anarchy weren’t strangers to death.Hell, we’d put more than a few men in the ground ourselves, but this… this was something else.
This was becoming routine.
Three bodies in a week.All dumped here, like some sick bastard was sending us a damn message.
We took the same route through the woods as before.The guys moved quickly with the body, already working like muscle memory.That chilled me more than the actual corpse.
“You get Lost to grab Doc?”I asked Skull.
“Yeah.He’s on his way,” Skull said.“At this point, Doc oughta have a fucking guest room in the clubhouse.”
I snorted despite the knot in my gut.“You read my mind.”
The scent of damp leaves and soil followed us into the hidden shed.Skull opened the hidden panel, the wall of crates shifting with practiced ease.I watched Vin glance around warily as if expecting eyes in the shadows.I didn’t blame him.
We made it down into the tunnel.Cold, stale air hugged the walls like a warning.I hated how normal this path was becoming.
Doc was right behind us, his bag slung over his shoulder and his coat flapping around his knees.He looked more irritated than disturbed, which said a hell of a lot about how many corpses he’d looked at lately.
“What’d I miss?”he asked dryly.
I jerked my chin toward the table.“Third one.Same M.O.”
Doc approached and let out a low whistle.“You fuckers are gonna run out of whiskey.”
Post was already down there when we arrived, arms crossed and eyes locked on the three slabs lined up like some morbid gallery.“We gotta do something with the first one,” he muttered.“It’s been down here almost a week.”
Doc pulled on gloves and started checking over the new body.“Only reason it doesn’t smell worse is ‘cause it’s cool down here.That, and your boy Skull brought down a couple industrial fans.”
“We’re not in the corpse storage business,” I growled.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Doc muttered.
I turned to Wannabe and Lost, who had just come stumbling down the tunnel, clearly winded.
“You two,” I said, pointing.“When it gets dark, you’re digging graves.”
Wannabe paled.“What, where?”
“Piney’ll show you.”
“I’ll point,” Piney said from the back corner.“But the prospects are doing the damn work.”
Doc glanced up, tugging the twine gently at the corners of the man’s mouth.“Same technique.Same material.Whoever’s doing this… they’ve done it before.No hesitation.”
“What about the wounds?”I asked.
Doc peeled the man’s shirt back farther.“Same carving as the last two.KOAMC, neat and fresh.Carved after he was dead.”
Doc reached for the crate Bob had brought down earlier and cracked open a bottle.“I haven’t even made it halfway through the last case of whiskey,” he grumbled.
“I’ll get you a case of tequila next time,” I said.
Doc smirked.“Now you’re speaking my language.”
He went back to his work while the rest of us drifted to the far side of the cellar.
Skull crossed his arms.“We can’t keep reacting.We need to figure out who the hell is doing this before another one floats in.”
