Page 78 of Law Maker

Turns out it didn’t take much persuasion. Good maggot. Maybe Dreyers went home that night with more advice on how to seduce his quiet wife out of her panties. Whatever happened, the guard came into work the following day, he navigated Lawless into the library and handed over an old Nokia burner phone, telling him he had five minutes.

Behind a shelf of Wuthering Heights, Lawless put a call through to the clubhouse. He first talked to Snake and Rider, doing the obligatory check in, letting his friends know he was fine. But then he talked to Grinder and got the Tracker on the scent of Benz.

He wasn’t saying he didn’t trust the guy.

But he didn’t trust the guy.

And he wanted to know where Benz was currently.

It occurred to him he could call Angela to check on her too. The decision weighed on him until he snarled his stupidity and handed the phone over to Dreyers.

A few days later, Grinder drove through with a report. Benz was in New York, doing shady deals with the Bianchi crime family, as always ruling his depraved stable of humans.

Lawless breathed, letting air into his lungs.

Good, that was good.

He didn’t have beef with Benz but being near again … was like asking for war to start.

They were fire and gasoline.

The prison smell filled Lawless’ nose as he relaxed in the library, with two books on his lap. He’d read them already, but this place was slim pickings. He liked the quiet, no asshole ventured in, too illiterate and allergic to the books.

He was mentally checking off the days in his head.

Hoping he stayed sane for the duration.

Semi praying he didn’t catch a wild hair and go off half-cocked.

The last thing the state of Wyoming needed was a rioting psycho.

Ah, what was a guy to do with so much time on his hands and altogether too much time tothink.

Judge was coming this weekend.

He could wait until then.

Wait to know.

Dying to know.

Loathe to know.

Even nutcases had their quirks and Lawless was collecting them like pebbles from a beach.

Fingers toyed with the torn cover of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, a fucking classic and he’d argue with anyone who said different. His mind was constantly busy.

He was a bastard.

An uncaring, unfeeling, un-everything most of the time. But then there were slithers of light through his cracks and sometimes Lawless did theright thing.

The right thing according to his law and often times that was slightly…crooked.

While he read that afternoon away, knowing he had so much confinement ahead of him, where the insanity of it would chew through his soft tissue and urge to become … unstable, he got lost in his deep, dark deviant thoughts.

The right thing in this case had cost him.

A lot as it happened.

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