Page 153 of Scatter the Bones

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?”

“Theydohire 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,whowas the patch holder you used to ‘hang out’ with?”

“Bro, he’s obviously desperate and full of shit,” I say.

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