Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
“You want to bet club funds on a fight?” Rock asks with a raised eyebrow, clearly not sold on the idea.
Teller dials back his enthusiasm. “Let’s see what Wrath finds out. Obviously, I’d ask for a vote. I wouldn’t touch club funds for something like that without approval. And I wouldn’t risk more than we can afford to lose.”
Rock scowls at him. “I know that.”
“I’m in.” I raise my hand like someone’s taking attendance. Margot said she wanted to travel. Maybe our first trip together will be Vegas.
“Let’s get a date and more information first,” Rooster says. “But I’ll probably go too.”
“If Remy’s going, I assume he’ll need someone to watch the bar,” Dex says. “I’ll do that for him.”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing Vegas,” Grinder says with a casual shrug. “And I’d like to support the kid after everything he’s done for me.”
“Good.” Wrath slaps the table. “That’s all I wanted. See if there’s interest and if Teller thinks it’s worth an investment.”
“Wait a minute.” I hold up my finger. “Is this why you greeted me with a choke hold?” I swivel my head between Rock and Z. “Is attacking us his new way of saying hello from now until Vegas?”
“I told you.” Wrath grins, pure evil. “Situational awareness.”
“Oh, it’s on motherfucker,” I promise.
“All right.” Rock slaps the table, signaling the conversation’s over. “This could be interesting.” He nods toward Wrath. “Thanks for bringing it to the table.”
But Wrath’s distracted with his phone lighting up. He scowls at the screen. “Let me take this,” he mutters, already pushing away from the table.
Rock stands and dismisses everyone.
Rooster and I stop in the living room.
“Vegas, huh. It’s been a while.” Rooster slaps my chest. “You remember our first long ride? Boone and his buddies taking us through Nevada? Supposed to be this epic scenic three-day ride—”
“And my balls went numb on day one?”
Rooster barks out a laugh. “Well, yeah. Same. But when we reached that town with—”
“The biblical plague of crickets everywhere!” I shudder with disgust. “I can still hear the crunchy noise they made when we ran over them. Felt like driving on gravel.”
“There had to be millions of them on the road.” Rooster shakes his head. “Remember the woman at the gas station telling us they used snowplows to get them off the road.”
“No, I remember her warning us that bikers wipe out every year because the road gets slick from all the cricket goo.”
“And the guys thought she was full of shit, and we kept going.”
“Jesus, it was like rolling through a massacre.”
Rooster closes his eyes and runs his hand over his face. “Oh, the smell.”
“Rotting fish and zombie brains.” That’s the only way I’ve ever been able to describe it. “That shit stuck to my tires forever. Fucking disgusting.”
Rooster shakes his head. “I know he was a good friend to Boone, but Monkeybutt was the worst road captain. That’s not the only time he made a bad call.”
My mouth turns down at the memory. “Yeah, he fucked around one too many times and found out the hard way.”
After a moment of silence, I ask Rooster, “We’re not riding out if we go out for the fight, right? Wrath can’t take that kind of time from Furious.” And I can’t get Margot on the back of my bike for a ride down the block. She’s definitely not riding cross-country with me.
“Doubt it.” He raises his eyebrows. “Maybe we can borrow Dawson’s private jet.”
“In your dreams,” I scoff.
Behind us, the war room door opens.
“Jiggy, fuck I’m glad you’re still here,” Wrath says, his scowl deeper than usual.
I turn toward him. “What’s wrong?”
“I need you to head out to Margot’s. Now.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Margot
Well, now I understand why my father wanted me to sit in on this consultation.
The woman here to bury her father is about my age but that’s where our similarities stop.
“For fuck’s sake. Can we please bury my dad without all your biker bullshit?” Abby explodes, pounding her palms against the arms of the chair in front of my dad’s desk. “Why are you even here?” she screeches at the burly man in denim and black leather.
“‘Cause the club’s paying for the funeral, darlin’,” the man who’s only ever been introduced to me as Ulfric answers smoothly, ignoring her outburst. “Whisper was clear, he wanted to be buried here.”
“Whisper! Jesus Christ, enough already. Can we please use his real name now?”
Ulfric casts a sideways look at her. The first sign his patience with her outbursts has a limit. “No one will know who we’re talking about, then, Abigail.”
Ouch. Full-naming her. That’s harsh.
“We can, of course, craft his obituary to include any other names Mr. Hall was known by,” I say. “We do it all the time.”
“See? This is why your father wanted Mr. Cedarwood to handle the arrangements.” He nods to my dad.