Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
“Uh… what?” I ask, not in the mood for politeness of any kind.
“Don’t know what you’ve done to Rooster, but that boy was running from your house as if there was a fox after him.”
I roll my eyes. “He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Because why hide that truth? The other secrets I have already weigh too much.
“I heard he’s been drooling to get a patch once he turns eighteen, maybe that will mean room for a new prospect?” He raises his eyebrows.
Isaac’s been with us for a few years, but this must be the first time I hear him expressing interest in joining the motorcycle club. It’s reasonable that he took his time observing us all instead of trying to jump in as soon as he started living here. I trust the guy with Smokey, and there is no higher recommendation than that.
“Might be,” I tell him, then dive my hand into the packet of roasted nuts lying at his side. He doesn’t stop me, and I continue my walk toward the middle of our settlement with the crunchy treat spreading savory saltiness over my tongue. At least the toast settled my stomach enough that I no longer feel sick.
On my way, people greet me with waves and nods, but I ignore any attempts at longer conversations, even when Sad Billy offers me an unexpected smile. God knows what he might want.
I eventually enter the ravine, and while the shouts I’m hearing must be coming from inside the cave, they’re loud enough for me to hear them at a distance. Annoyance throbs in my temples, because I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to deal with any shit, even though this is important club business. At least the coke is already kicking in, and its electric charges make my steps springier.
“What the fuck is that noise?” I shout, entering into the shadow of the rocks and then past the entrance, into the very first chamber. Stalactites and stalagmites—or dragon teeth, as I used to call them before I got to spend way more time in caves than I ever thought I would—grow out of the rock on both sides of the passage, leading me into the twilight.
“Road! Come on over here!” Yeti yells from afar, and it’s followed by the sounds of a scuffle.
I have to slide through a narrow tunnel, but then I emerge in the large cave where some of our production takes place. The workers are picking up broken glass and clearing equipment, while Yeti is holding a guy whose name I don’t remember. I recognize his face though, as he’s caused trouble before.
Yeti, like his nickname suggests, is a massive, hairy guy with a bushy unibrow. “About time!” he yells at me as the man in his hold struggles to pull away.
“I didn’t do anything!”
But Creep is here to corroborate what Yeti has already told me on the phone. “I saw him stealing,” he says plainly. He’s sitting on one of the tables, eyes glued to the man who dared break our rules. His legs are crossed, wiry body leaning forward like a gargoyle on the facade of one of those medieval cathedrals.
“He said he just wanted to take a photo of it,” one of the workers says, stretching in her gray overalls. Olivia might be better at reading than I am, but she overslept when nature was handing out brain cells.
“Really? He wanted to take a photo of it? Are you fucking kidding me, woman?” Yeti asks, picking up a large bag of fresh leaves, which can send a person’s mind to the other end of the universe when consumed.
“She’s his girlfriend,” Creep fills in.
Her cheeks flush. “I’m not—”
Creep’s dark eyes turn to her menacingly. “I saw you with him yesterday, beyond the hot springs. And it wasn’t the first time.”
I have to admit I’m impressed by how he seems to know everything about everyone. I just hope he never followed me to any of my meetups with Clyde. The thought is… uncomfortable at best, and my death sentence at worst. He mustn’t know, or Prophet would have confronted me, since everyone knows Creep spies either for the club or for Brigid.
“I literally took it out of his pocket, Road,” Yeti shouts, agitating my pulsing head further.
“It was a mistake,” the guy—Rog, that was his name—whimpers, staring at me from behind a curtain of sweaty bangs.
“Definitely. I saw him take it,” Creep tells me, which is the fucker’s sentence. The people working here are paid handsomely, as well as allowed to live on our land, under our protection. If they choose to betray the trust put in them for a quick buck, I have no sympathy.
The gun cools my sweaty palm as I grab it, but not enough to calm the buzz of annoyance.