Page 100 of Marcus: Sins of the Father

“Got that right,” Shane agrees.

“Red Dog and I’ll take the wee prospects and the War Dogs to the gas station. The rest of you stay put. We’ll send one of the War Dogs to hide out near the entrance, so at least if he gets spotted, he won’t have an Evil Dead or Dead Soul’s top rocker on his cut.”

“Good idea,” Shane replies.

“Of course, it is. We all know I’m the brains of this crew.” Green flashes his white teeth.

Jake chuckles. “Just ‘cause you got two heads doesn’t mean you got two brains.”

“All right, asshole. Keeping my intelligence hidden is part of my secret. See, everybody calls me Green, because they think I’m lucky, but it’s really these smarts.” He taps his finger on his temple.

“Oh, geez. I’m pretty sure you got that name for some dumbass shit you pulled and were lucky enough to live through,” Shane pipes in.

“Says the two guys who haven’t been cool enough to get their own nicknames.” Green twists the throttle on his bike. “But don’t worry, I’ll come up with a short list for you two shitheads. I’m sure you’ll love them.”

Jake shakes his head. “Great, what’d we get ourselves into?”

Billy and I fire up our bikes and follow Green and Red Dog out. The War Dogs follow suit and roll out behind us.

It’s thirty more minutes before we hear the faint rumble of motorcycles approaching. The sound increases and then fades away.

A few moments later, Green gets a text. He types a response and then turns to Red Dog to give Cole a heads up, then his whistle pierces the cool night air, telling everyone to circle up. He dials Shane and puts the phone on speaker.

“How many are here?” Shane questions when he picks up. They, too, must have heard the bikes roar past.

“Six. Red Dog already messaged Cole. They’re rolling in hot.”

“All right. How do you want to play this?” Shane asks.

Green squints into the horizon. “I think we need to roll in quiet. I don’t want to give them any more warning than necessary. Last thing we need is to turn this into a bike chase.”

“Agreed.”

“We get close and coast the rest of the way in. The War Dogs can hang back, blocking the exit. You take the Dead Souls up the left side and Red Dog and I’ll take the babies to the right.”

Billy and I share an annoyed glance. Damn it, we’re here putting our lives on the line, same as the patches, and they call us babies. Once again, we’ll have to prove we can hang with the big boys. Man, am I ready to be patched in, and I know Billy is, too, since he’s been doing this longer than any of us.

Shane’s laughter carries through the phone. “All right, don’t go so slow you lay your bike over, old man.”

Green’s brows lift. “Yeah, all right. And I got a nickname option for you, Shane.”

“Really? Don’t be coy. Let’s hear it.”

“Tuna torpedo.”

Shane falls silent, but Jake’s laughter rings from the phone’s speakers, and Red Dog’s hearty laugh bellows out.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Shane bites out.

“Man, he just called you a dick in the most hilarious way,” Jake answers.

“Ha ha. You’re a real riot. Let’s get moving, you asshat.”

We start up our bikes and roll out, then lay off the throttle and coast the rest of the way to the entrance. I spot the other brothers approaching down the interstate. Their headlamps are little dots of lights marching along like ants. As they race closer, we can actually make out who each one is. Green holds his hand up in the air to stop us. We all wait for the final signal.

“Now,” Green yells, and twists his throttle a second before the whole group of us roar to life. I can only imagine how we sound—like the God of Thunder ready to rain all kinds of pain down on the Death Heads.

We rumble toward the gate and split into two lines of bikes as we fork at the entrance. I glance back. Five War Dogs sit on their idle bikes across the front.

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