Page 218 of Outlaws of Tulsa

“I’m gonna take a piss,” I tell Katana, sliding off the stool. “If I’m not back in five, come looking for me.”

I don’t need to tell him I’m really going to see if I can’t find out where the rat is hiding or the fact I want him to keep an eye on Cove. Katana is like my brother. He knows. He just knows.

As I make my way toward the back of the bar, I try not to think about my real brothers—Chase’sbrothers. Kai is twenty-five now, a junior advertising exec at a firm in downtown Memphis. Benjamin just turned twenty-one and his social media is nothing but party pictures. I’m sure Mom and Dad love that. It’s the baby of our family that has my chest squeezing. He turns eighteen this year and is playing varsity basketball at his school, the same school I went to. Seeing pictures of Mitch, a spitting image of myself, is too hard sometimes. He’s everything I was and never was able to be.

Because of Night Giant and his sick fucking operation.

My blood is boiling by the time I reach the hallway to the bathrooms. I bypass them and head for one of the back rooms a bartender is stepping out of. He’s looking down at his phone, so he doesn’t see me coming before it’s too late. Grabbing the front of his shirt, I slam him up against the wall and put my face inches from his.

“Where’s Corsetti?”

His eyes are wide and he sputters. “Who?”

“Don’t fuck with me,” I growl, yanking out my knife and pressing it against his ribs. “I will gut you and not think twice.”

“Dude,” he chokes out, “I don’t know a Corsetti. What’s he look like?”

“Tall. Lanky as fuck Italian asshole.”

“Max?”

“That’s him. Where the hell is he?”

“I don’t know, man. I saw him earlier, but he left with Gutter Trash.”

“Gutter Trash a biker?”

“Prez of the Route 44 Falcons.”

“Where’s their clubhouse?”

“Up the road about a mile or two but—”

“You’re gonna show me. Let’s go.” I dig the knife into his side and drag him toward the door at the end of the hallway.

“They won’t let us in,” he argues. “They’re crazy as shit and super fucking paranoid.”

“Figure out a way.” I push through the door and give him a shove. “Either that or you’ll be my bait.”

He takes off running, the little pussy, and puts his phone to his ear. I hear him call out Gutter Trash’s name and then tattle that a guy with a dragon on his neck is looking for Max. With a heavy, annoyed sigh, I throw my knife. It spins through the air and makes impact in my target’s back. He lets out a surprised howl and his phone clutters to the asphalt. Slowly, I make my way over to him.

I stomp on his phone, crushing it. He tries to crawl away, but when I press my boot into the butt of the knife, he screams out in pain.

“You fucked up,” I growl. “Was Max Corsetti worth it?”

He moans in agony, shuddering when I press my boot down, making the blade push in deeper. “I’m j-just a lackey. They p-pay the bills, man. I’m n-not loyal to them.”

“What’s he doing here?” I demand. “You’re in the business of human trafficking?”

His head shakes profusely. “No, f-fuck, no. He’s j-just lying low for a c-couple of weeks before he meets up with his b-business associate out east.”

“Who?”

“Fuck if I know. Some guy named Victor.”

“Victor who?”

“I don’t know, man.”

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