Page 31 of Bad Luck, Hard Love (Heaven’s Rejects MC #6)

THOR

“You ever wonder how much bad karma you rack up dumping a body?” I ask, watching Vincent's plastic-wrapped corpse make a disappointing splash in Lake Mead's dark waters. “Like, on a scale of 'cut someone off in traffic' to 'drown a puppy,' where does this fall?”

Ratchet grunts beside me, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Depends. You asking about dumping any body or this particular sack of shit?”

“Fair point.”

We stand in silence, watching the ripples spread across the water’s surface.

The sky burns with the last colors of sunset—deep gold bleeding into bruised purple—casting long shadows that make the whole scene feel like a bad movie.

The kind where the killers always get caught because they do stupid shit like dump bodies in tourist attractions.

“You think fish eat people?” Ratchet asks, lighting a cigarette. “Like, are there catfish down there right now thinking 'oh hell yeah, dinner is served'?”

“Jesus Christ, man.” I shake my head but can't help the laugh that escapes. “That's what you're thinking about right now?”

“I'm just saying, circle of life and all that. Vincent finally contributing something positive to the world by becoming fish food.”

The body bobs once before beginning its final descent, weighted down by the chains we wrapped around it. Not our most professional disposal job, but we were working with limited time and resources.

“Should've brought my fishing pole,” Ratchet says.

“You fish?”

“Hell no. But might be funny to see what bites on a Vincent lure.” Ratchet flicks his cigarette into the water. “Maybe we'd catch something bigger and meaner. Like karma.”

“You believe in that shit?” I ask, watching the last air bubbles rise to the surface where Vincent disappeared.

“Karma? Nah. But I do believe in consequences. And that asshole's swimming with the fishes because of his own choices.”

I snort, turning away from the water, “Poetic.”

“I have my moments.” Ratchet stretches, his back popping loud enough to echo.

The van sits where we left it, half-hidden behind scraggly desert brush.

“We need to burn these clothes,” I mutter, looking down at my blood-stained shirt. “Too much evidence.”

“Way ahead of you. Got a trash bag in the van. We can strip down when we get back, and toss them in a fire.”

“Efficient,” I say, pulling open the van door. My phone buzzes in my pocket, but my hands are too filthy to touch it. “Check that for me.”

Ratchet wipes his hands on his jeans and pulls my phone from my pocket. His face goes slack as he stares at the screen.

“What?” I demand, suddenly alert. “What is it?”

“Multiple missed calls from V. Text message—” He stops, jaw clenching. “Fuck. FUCK!”

He shoves the phone at me. The message glows like a death sentence.

SOS. THEY FOUND US.

My heart stops. The world narrows to a pinpoint of rage and terror so intense it feels like my skull might split. I grab the phone, hitting redial with bloody fingers, but it goes straight to voicemail.

“Drive,” I growl, hurling myself into the passenger seat. “NOW!”

Ratchet doesn't hesitate. The engine roars to life, tires spitting gravel as we tear back toward the highway. Every second feels like an eternity. My mind floods with images—Charlotte, terrified. V, outnumbered.

“How the fuck did they find us?” We’d been careful. Clearly not careful enough. Fuck Terrance and his deep pockets.

I slam my fist against the dashboard, leaving a smear of lake water and blood. “Doesn't matter how. If they've hurt her?—”

“Don't go there,” Ratchet cuts me off. “V's smart. He'd have gotten her somewhere safe.”

But the silence from V's phone tells a different story. My chest feels like it's caving in, crushing everything inside. Three days. I've known her for three fucking days, and the thought of losing her tears me apart like nothing I've ever felt.

The van's engine whines in protest as Ratchet pushes it harder, the needle climbing past ninety.

“Pick up the fucking phone, V,” I growl, dialing again and getting nothing.

It hits me. Marcus. He might have intel on what's happening. If Ace is behind this, our inside man could be our only shot.

The phone rings once, twice. My leg bounces with nervous energy, every muscle in my body coiled tight enough to snap.

“Well, well, well,” a voice drawls through the speaker. Not Marcus. My blood freezes. “If it isn't the little bitch of a road captain of the mother chapter gracing me with a call.”

“Ace.” His name tastes like poison on my tongue.

“In the flesh.” He chuckles, the sound oily and wrong. “Though I can't say the same for your little prospect. Marcus isn't feeling too talkative these days. You should really do the legwork to make sure the person you’re trying to turn him against isn’t fucking his little slut of a girlfriend.”

I press the phone closer to my ear. “What did you do to him?”

“What happens to all rats,” Ace replies casually. “Extermination. Had to make an example, you understand. Club business and all that.”

“You should have stayed out of our business like I told you to. Now your little bitch will pay the price for you.”

I can barely breathe through the fury clogging my throat. “If you touch her, I swear to God?—”

“You'll what?” Ace laughs, the sound echoing through the speaker. “Ride in with your dick in one hand and your gun in the other? Playing hero for a piece of ass? I should have tried unseating Raze sooner. Our mother chapter is filled with pussies. Not men.”

Ratchet glances at me, concern etched across his face as he pushes the van even faster. The entire chassis is shaking like it’s about to come apart underneath our feet.

“But hey, I'm a businessman first,” Ace continues. “And business is booming. You wouldn't believe how much your little bitch just made me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Terrance. Big man with deep pockets. Been working with us for months now, ever since the bitch tried to clean him out in the divorce. We've been padding his accounts, laundering his dirty money. Mutually beneficial arrangement.”

The van swerves as Ratchet takes a corner too fast, but I barely notice. My mind is racing, piecing together the ugly truth.

“The money he gave us to take her? Let's just say I'm retiring early. Very early. And very wealthy.” Ace's laughter crackles through the speaker. “You know, I almost respect you more now. She's a pretty little thing. Shame what he did to her face.”

Red floods my vision. “If he touches her?—”

“Too late for that, brother. Way too late. She’ll be long gone soon enough. Back where she belongs. Collared and heeled.”

“Put him on the phone.”

“Who? Terrance?” Ace laughs. “He's a bit preoccupied with his wife at the moment.”

“When I find you—all of you—there won't be enough left to identify.”

“Big talk from a dead man walking. You're outnumbered, outgunned, and out of time. Your mole is dead. Your tech guy is bleeding out on a kitchen floor. And your little girlfriend? She's screaming for you, Thor. Calling your name while Terrance reminds her who she belongs to.”

The line goes dead.

My hand tightens around the phone until the cheap plastic gives beneath my grip. I hurl it against the dash, watching it explode into shards across the console.

Ratchet doesn’t say a word.

I stare straight ahead, jaw clenched so tight it aches. Every muscle in my body feels like it’s holding me together by sheer force of will.

“I told her I’d protect her. Told her he’d never touch her again.”

Ratchet exhales through his nose, sharp and deliberate. “Then we do what we do best. Find him. And burn the whole fucking thing down.”

“No survivors,” I say. “Not this time.”

Ratchet grins—feral, unrepentant. “Good. I’m tired of playing nice.”

We don’t need a plan. Just blood and a direction.

Somewhere, Charlotte is still alive.

And her name will be the last thing Terrance ever hears.