Page 78 of Devil's Work: Dark

“Meet me. You know the place. Tomorrow. One p.m. and remember, you late that’s it. I ain’t hanging out there forever.”

“You found me, so you must know I don’t live close any longer.”

“Not my problem, man. Want info on those girls, then find a way to get here. This is bad shit, my friend. Bad shit. I’m trying to help but I ain’t going down for some bitches. Got me?”

“I’ll be there. One. Tomorrow.”

Shady disconnects and I’m drawn right back in.

My first instinct would normally be to call Dark, he’s not just my brother, he’s my best friend. He was newly patched when I prospected. He took me under his wing, always having my back, just as he’d been able to count on me having his. When that son of a bitch Rage was still president, before we’d overthrown the bastard, installing Vlad as our new president and Sarge as vice president, we’d needed to have a brother to count on to protect our backs, not stab you in it. But I can’t embroil him in this. Not now. Not with Rae still struggling. She’s the thing he never knew he needed until she needed him. Now he’s got a family. Kids. A home.

Who the fuck am I supposed to call? Vlad’s got Nicola. Sarge has Greer and the baby. I suppose I’ll call Cutter and Roughneck, after Dark and myself, they round out Vlad’s lieutenants. We’re the ones he calls on when shit needs to get done.

I draw my phone from my pocket, pressing Cut’s number.

“Whatcha need?” he asks as greeting.

“Got a call from an informant.”

His voice goes serious. “Talk to me.”

“I need to head down to Charlotte.”

“Charlotte? Didn’t you used to live down there?”

“Yeah, and the call I got, it was from someone from my old life. He heard about the Horde. Knows we’re hunting down Nic’s girls. He’s got information.”

“You trust him?” Cut asks.

“Yeah… he proved useful in the past.”

“Okay,” he says.

“Right. So I just needed someone to know. I’m packing my bag and am heading out within the hour.”

“The fuck?” he barks. “You don’t really think you’re heading down there alone?”

“Planned on it.”

“You fucking planned wrong. Rough and I are at the growhouse today. Give us a half hour to meet you at the compound. We’ll head out together.”

“Listen, man, you don’t—”

“If you aren’t there waiting for us, I will fuck up your world.”

Shit. I didn’t call to drag any of the brothers into this, but they needed to know in case something happens. And when Cut says he’ll fuck up my world, I believe him. He doesn’t make empty threats. Rage—the fucking psychopath, the shit he pulled while leading our club makes me fucking sick to think that we had to be part of any of it—the thick scar that ran from above his eyebrow to his jaw. Cut gave him that. As a prospect. There’s a reason they called the man Cutter.

I spend the scant time I have to pack a bag and leave a note for Vlad that Cut, Rough and I will be out of town for a couple of days. Then I head outside to wait. My brothers find me pacing back and forth, kicking pebbles of gravel with my boots because I’m too antsy to sit still and if I’d gotten on my bike, I’d have taken off. No question. This shit is too important.

They roll up next to me and wait as I mount my ride.

And then there were three.

Cutter doesn’t look like your typical MC brother. Not because of his height or anything. He’s the shortest of Vlad’s lieutenants, but that’s relative because he’s six feet. It’s that he has this sort of clean “everyman” look about him when he’s covered up. Short hair. Not military short like Sarge. No visible tattoos. We can send him in anywhere to get information and no one is going to know he’s there unless he wants them to. Like a ghost on the wind.

Rough, by contrast, is a huge motherfucker. He’s not as tall as me or Sarge. About Dark’s height of 6’3. But unlike Dark, who’s all sculpted muscles, Rough is so thick and sturdy that a hurricane couldn’t blow him over. The man’s not fat just… solid.

Both are good men to have at your back especially when you’re going into an unknown situation.

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