Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 47615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Tiny and Rancor returned to the truck, Tiny sliding behind the wheel while Rancor passed a plastic bag over the seat to me.
“Got you some water, a sandwich, chips,” he said. “Wasn’t sure what you’d want.”
I took the bag, not meeting his eyes. The scent of barbecue sauce wafted from the bag as I opened it. “Thanks.” The word came out rusty, unused.
I opened the water first, taking a quick pull before unwrapping the sandwich and taking a bite, nearly closing my eyes in bliss as rich barbecued pork exploded across my tongue. “Christ,” I muttered.
Rancor chuckled softly. “Yeah, man. I think I had basically the same reaction to my first good meal on the outside.”
“Ain’t sure that qualifies as a good meal,” Tiny muttered.
“A ham sandwich would be better than what we got in that place.” Rancor waved off Tiny’s words. I agreed with him.
“Still fuckin’ good.” I took another bite, fumbling with the napkin when I realized I probably looked like some kind of primitive who didn’t know how to eat in civilized company. One more thing to add to the list of things to get used to again.
Another hour and we entered the outskirts of Nashville. Tiny made a call and the sound came through the car radio.
“We got a room ready for him.” I’d recognize Knuckles’ voice anywhere. The man had literally saved my sanity the short time we’d been cellies. “He’s gonna want some time to himself to transition, but I don’t want him isolated.”
“You just assume he came with us,” Rancor said, shooting Tiny an amused grin. “Maybe he said fuck off.”
Knuckles barked out a laugh. “Oh, I’m sure he told you to fuck off. Just maybe not out loud. But yeah. I’m sure he came. I know my people, Rancor.”
“I came.” Not sure why I thought I had to speak up, but Knuckles only grunted.
“Of course you did. This is your home. Rat Man did you dirty.”
“Almost there, Prez,” Tiny said. “Ten minutes.”
“Good. I’ll meet you at the main warehouse.” There was a pause. “Hannah made sure you’d have everything you need,” he continued. “She talked to every fucking guy in the place, so she and the other women could give you as comfortable a place as they could. I know you’re not a man who’d want a fuss made or anything, but expect the old ladies to make sure you have plenty of home-cooked food in your fridge for when you’re hungry.”
“I -- what?”
“You heard me.”
“Yeah, and I guess I’m not sure which surprises me more.”
Knuckles grunted again. “The fact that you have your own fridge, or the fact the girls bothered to stock it?”
“Both, I guess.”
“See you soon.” The call disconnected.
“Expect them to drop by often because our women can be mother hens.” Rancor continued the conversation as we turned onto a narrow, paved but crumbling road that cut between abandoned warehouses. “They won’t let you suffer in silence, no matter how often you tell them to leave. They don’t get their feelings hurt with big, surly bikers, but oddly, they usually know when to back off before they get irritating. It’s the weirdest fucking thing.”
That got a laugh from Tiny. “My two hellions haven’t figured out when to back off. Don’t expect they will either.”
“Oh, your girls know where the line is. They simply refuse to let a little thing like an imaginary line in the sand stop them.” Rancor’s grin said he enjoyed the show on more than one occasion.
I thought I might see irritation in Tiny’s expression, but instead I saw fondness and pride. Tiny loved whoever he was talking about. Likely loved the fact they didn’t stop when they should. The revelation settled something else inside me and my respect for the men grew a little more.
“Why?” I asked softly. “I feel like I’m bein’ set up or some shit. Most of you guys don’t know me, and the few who do know I ain’t a kind man.”
“Club takes care of its own,” Rancor said quietly. “Whether our own want it or not.”
Something twisted in my chest -- not pain exactly, but its close cousin. Why would anyone prepare for me? I was nobody to these people. The club had changed since I’d been a member. I doubted anyone knew me from anywhere but Terre Haute. Maybe not even then. The idea that someone had thought about what I might need, had taken time to prepare for my arrival didn’t compute with the world as I understood it.
“Don’t need special treatment,” I managed, voice rough.
Tiny chuckled, a deep, low rumble. “Ain’t special, brother. It’s baseline. You’ll see.”
The Kiss of Death compound emerged from the industrial wasteland like a fortress. Which was exactly what it was. Camo netting stretched between warehouses arranged in a defensive square, breaking up sight lines and confusing surveillance. I counted four visible cameras covering the entrance alone, probably a dozen more I couldn’t see. Smart setup. Defensible. And it was designed to keep people out. Not to hold them inside.