Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
“Wait! Fuck. I was gonna call you today, okay? Let the poor kid live. All he’s done is follow orders. Jesus Christ.”
“Did you think I didn’t fucking mean forty-eight hours when I said it? I know we haven’t dealt much with each other before, but I like to think my reputation precedes me here. No one fucks with the Eagles, and there’s a reason for that. I’m doing my humanitarian duty with this courtesy call, so give my cleaning lady a break. She’s getting pretty fucking tired of cleaning brains off my office carpet.” Eagle-eye crosses his arms over his barrel chest and glares at the screen. Standing up like he is, he probably looks fucking ten feet tall.
Rocco gestures at his screen and talks to someone off camera. “Pull it back a little. We can’t fucking see anything. Go bring Joker.”
Joker? Melody’s dad?
What the fuck? Did Rocco find out we’ve been in contact with him? Or has he been double crossing us the whole time?
The view expands as someone moves the camera back. On Rocco’s left is a grizzled biker with stringy black hair under a beat-up Stetson. His eyes are sharp, though, and he’s watching us intently. He’s got a VP patch on the chest under the club logo, and his name patch reads “Clutch.” First time we’ve seen him. It’s good to put a face to the name.
Interesting.
I keep my face neutral as a man is shoved into view with a cloth bag over his head. His hands are cuffed behind his back, and from the way he’s moving, his ankles might be, too. Looks like a fucking terrorist hostage. What the hell is going on? Even trussed up, he’s standing straight.
I can’t keep my mouth shut. “What the fuck is this? Halloween?”
Both Rocco and Clutch glare at me. Eagle-eye shrugs. “You heard the man. What are you trying to pull here? I’m not in the fucking mood for theatrics.”
“Just playing it safe.” Rocco sneers at the hooded figure. “I had some conflicting information and it took a minute to get to the bottom of things. Didn’t want to have a repeat of our last conversation, if you get me.”
Clutch nods next to him. “You better fucking appreciate this, because it’s not easy. Still figuring out who his supporters are, but for now, we’ve got the ringleader.” His voice hints at a lot of packs smoked over the course of his life.
“Maybe I should thank you,” Rocco says, taking over again. “Red was an easy scapegoat, but if we hadn’t kept digging, we wouldn’t have found the snake in the grass. It’s always the dagger kept closest to your heart you gotta watch out for.” He grins without humor and puts a hand on the shoulder of his captive.
“It’s the right thing to do,” Clutch insists.
Rocco sighs. “Guess I’m getting old and he thought it was time to push me off my perch by creating a crisis.”
Riptide glances my way and rolls his eyes. So much fucking theater. Get to the point.
“Take his hood off.” Rocco nods his head at one of the guards.
The face that’s revealed is rugged, with cold eyes glaring out from under thick eyebrows. His hair’s dark, shoulder length and tied back. It looks like he normally shaves but obviously didn’t get the chance this morning. It would be hard to manage around the gag in his mouth, after all.
There’s something familiar about his facial structure.
Oh, fuck.
“Joker, my Sergeant at Arms. Been with us for, fuck, what is it? Damn near thirty years. One of his conspirators confessed to making it look like he was attacking his own daughter to throw us off the trail. Red got in the way, poor kid. Your man got in the way too and Joker decided to use it to his advantage. Your guy’s lucky to still be alive. Wish mine was, too.” He gestures at Joker like he’s a store display. “I owe him a fucking bullet to his brain for everything he’s done, but the living are more important than the soon-to-be dead. You can have him, but I want my boy there and Melody back in exchange. Then we’re even.”
This whole fucking time, Clutch has been standing there with his arms crossed, looking like the picture of loyalty. This whole setup still stinks worse than Killjoy, but Melody trusts this guy. He’s one of the only men her father let around her, so I don’t want to discount that, either.
Rebel shifts closer to me. “Think they’re throwing him under the bus, just like Red? Feels awfully convenient,” he whispers.
I nod. Fuck.
But what if it’s true?
It’s been a possibility this whole time, but his cooperation made it seem unlikely. If he’s our guy, how the fuck do we even tell her that? Would he really put the gun in his own daughter’s backpack? She said he had the opportunity. I don’t want to believe that he’d fuck over his own flesh and blood, but I’ve seen worse in my day. Power will do some fucked up things to people.