Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
“You fucked with the wrong people.” I hold up the bolt cutters, slow and deliberate, until the cold steel hovers inches from his face. “Are you talking, or are we snipping?”
“I…I don’t know. Guy I used to answer to was Rio. But…new guy, just gives orders. Come on, my wrist hurts.”
I cut my eyes to Wrath. Rio’s dead, I mouth.
He nods once, his jaw clenched tight.
“I just needed to collect the money,” the guy whines again. “His mom took off. No one could find her. I was told this kid was good for it. Come on. It’s not my fault.”
His voice grates against my nerves like sandpaper. If I snap his other wrist, would he shut the fuck up?
Finally, Murphy arrives with the club’s van. The low rumble of the engine silences us as he slowly backs into the garage and hops out.
“What’s up?” Murphy asks, going full gangster as he pulls on a black knit hat and slips on a pair of black leather gloves.
“I’ll fill you in,” I promise.
Wrath orders Griff and Remy to get rid of the guy’s truck.
Griff scowls at the guy and then our van, as if the reason we’re here finally dawned on him. “This is my situation. I’ll handle it.”
Aw, isn’t that cute. “So strong and yet so wrong,” I rhyme.
Griff bursts out laughing. “What?”
Wrath’s having none of it. He pokes Griff in the chest. “We need you focused on training for that fight. Not gettin’ distracted with a side quest. Dump the truck. That’s all I need from you.”
Heh. Side quest.
Every day feels like a side quest lately. Maybe that’s all life is—one long chain of fucked-up detours.
Griff exhales hard and nods. “I’ll get it done.”
“Now wouldn’t it be easier if you just did what we asked when we asked?” I tilt my head and widen my eyes to a dickish degree.
“So glad you’re coming to Vegas with us,” he grumbles under his breath.
After the two of them leave, Murphy grabs the chain and rolls the garage doors down with a clatter of metal and finality.
For a few seconds, it’s quiet. The air’s heavy with oil, sweat, and the sound of this guy sniveling.
The passenger side door of the van creaks open.
I frown, shifting to get a better look.
Boots hit the ground.
Finally, Rock steps around the back of the van. Determined presidential expression in place.
“What were you doing, waiting for the bat signal?” Wrath jokes.
“No.” Rock shakes his head, his lips flattening into an irritated line. “Didn’t see the need to get them more wound up than necessary. What’d you learn?”
“Come on, man,” the tweaker whines. “I told you. Rio was calling the shots.”
“Rio’s been dead for at least two years,” Rock snaps. “Try again.”
“If he says SOS, I’m gonna blow something up,” Murphy grumbles, pacing behind the van.
“They’re not local,” the guy blurts. “This crew’s in Jersey.”
Fuck me. I glance at Wrath, then Rock. “Vipers?”
“They do hire the worst and dumbest,” Wrath mutters, pure disdain curling off each word.
Rock crouches next to the guy and grabs him by the shirt, jerking him up with one hand like he weighs nothing. “How long have you been movin’ stuff into New York?”
“I wasn’t! I don’t. Just collectin’ money. I swear!” His gaze latches onto Rock’s chest, locking onto his MC patches like they might be his salvation. “Come on, man. I used to hang out with one of your guys back in the day,” he whines. “I know LOKI! Really. I do.”
Oh, no the fuck he didn’t.
Rock hauls back and drives his fist into the guy’s jaw. The hit lands solid, dulled only slightly by the leather glove. “The fuck name did you use?”
I cough-snicker into my fist. Big mistake, dude.
“You ain’t part of our crew,” Rock growls. “Show some fucking respect.”
The guy’s face crumples in confusion, brows knitting as he fumbles his bound hands up to his swelling cheek.
I kick him in the shin—just hard enough to get my point across. “Lost Kings MC, motherfucker. You haven’t earned the right to call us by any other name.”
“Right, right, right. Lost Kings. Lost Kings. I know.”
Murphy frowns. “Wait, who was the patch holder you used to ‘hang out’ with?”
“Bro, he’s obviously desperate and full of shit,” I say.
Wrath sniffs the air with exaggerated disgust. “Smells like he took a shit, too.”
“Jesus Christ,” Rock groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.
““S…sh—Shade?” the guy stammers. “I think it was Shade. Or maybe Shadow—something like that. Shadow, yeah.”
“So, way back in the day.” I laugh.
“We’re not gettin’ anything useful here.” Rock stands and dusts off his gloves. “Let’s take him to our friend’s house.” He slants a pointed look my way.
Cedarwood’s.
My internal fuck no alarm clangs.
I don’t want to involve Margot in our business more than she already has been. Not to dispose of some low life scumfucker.