Page 56 of Spyder
“What’s goin’ on here, Spyder?”
I shrug. “Just deliverin’ a message. Reiterating it, actually.”
Pete groans and struggles to get to his knees. He casts a baleful look at me, his face a bloody ruin.
“I want to press charges,” he slurs. “He assaulted me.”
“Cry me a river,” Singer replies smoothly then turns to me. “Mind tellin’ me what this is about?”
I fish a cigarette out of my pocket and light up. My eyes never leaving Singer’s, I take a drag and blow it out, the wind carrying it away.
“He punched me first. It was self-defense,” I say.
“That’s bullshit. He’s lyin’ through his fuckin’ teeth right now.” Pete sneers as he gets to his feet.
Singer turns to Pete. “I’ve known Spyder to be a lot of things. A liar ain’t ever been one of them.”
“He’s lyin’,” he repeats.
Singer turns to me. “What started the scuffle?”
“He’s dealin’. Meth mostly,” I say. “We suggested he find another town to live in. He apparently declined, so I gave him another chance. He thought punching me in the jaw would change my mind.”
Singer chuckles. “I’m guessin’ by the condition of his face, it didn’t.”
“I don’t deal nothin’,” Pete whines. “They broke into my house and planted drugs. Said they were mine.”
I take another drag of my smoke, laughing softly as I shake my head. Singer rolls his eyes then turns to Pete.
“Right. Okay, here’s how it’s gonna work. We’re all gonna forget this ever happened,” Singer says.
“Bullshit. I want to press charges. He assaulted me—”
“Sheriff, I don’t think we destroyed the gym bag filled with his product yet. I’ll turn it over to you. I’m sure the plastic bags inside will have plenty of his fingerprints on them. There’s enough in there to put him away for at least twenty years,” I say.
It’s bullshit, of course. We destroyed his product the day we delivered our original message. But he doesn’t know that. And when I look over at him, his eyes widen, and an expression of fear crosses his face. Singer looks at him.
“We good?” he asks Pete.
Pete manages to get himself under control and glances at me, an expression of pure hatred on his face.
“This ain’t over, asshole,” he sneers. “You should really be more careful who you fuck with, man. It could have consequences for other people. People you care about might get hurt because you’re an asshole.”
I take a step toward him, ready to beat the shit out of him again, but Singer gets in my way and puts his hands on my chest to stop me. I point at Pete, my expression one of absolute malice.
“You come for any of the guys in my MC, it’s gonna be the biggest mistake of your life. We are not people you want to fuck with.”
He gives me a malevolent grin. “Who said anything about your club?”
I struggle to break Singer’s grip on me, but Pete turns and runs off, hurling insults at me over his shoulder as he goes. When he disappears around a corner, Singer lets go of me.
“Easy, kid,” he says. “He’s gone. Just leave it alone.”
Anger is coursing through every vein in my body. What did he mean if he wasn’t talking about coming after the MC? I’ve got no family and he couldn’t possibly know about Bellamy… so who was he talking about?
“You all right, son?”
I turn to Singer, doing my best to calm down. It’s not him I’m pissed at, and I don’t want to lash out at him. The last thing I need is to end up in the can for a night because I couldn’t keep my cool and popped Singer.
