Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 114819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
“As fucked up as this sounds, I liked being there with you,” Cash murmured back with a grin.
Dev smiled back. “Fuck’s my word.”
“Then come get it,” Cash teased. “I’m going back to work. Stay the course. You got this.”
“Butterin’ me up again…” Dev smiled.
Cash grinned again and lifted a hand goodbye. His heart had needed this recentering moment every bit as much as Dev.
Dev gave him a peace sign. It was the smile he held on to.
Chapter 18
The Book of Havoc. Otherwise known as the holy grail of the inner workings of the Disciples of Havoc motorcycle club. It could even be called the club’s bible. The legendary manual of how the club handled themselves felt like it should be thicker than a 1990s porn magazine—the kind of magazine Dev remembered seeing lying around the club as a kid.
The size-mattered thought took root and made Dev sit back on his heels, moving the contents around in the small safe inside the bike shop’s office to see if maybe the bylaws came in different sections. Since there was nothing more than the paperwork for the club businesses and a few dozen titles and deeds for vehicles and property owned, he guessed this thin manilla envelope was all there was. Based on how brittle the paper of the envelope was, it didn’t look like anyone had taken a look inside for a while.
It didn’t make sense, but he also didn’t have a lot of time before either his mother, or his old man, showed up. Dev closed the safe and spun the dial as he pushed up to his feet. It took all that he had to resist the urge to look inside as he bent to pick it up off the floor.
In all the years he’d heard about the Book of Havoc, been taught an almost word-for-word memorization of the writings inside, Dev wasn’t sure he had ever remembered seeing it before. He surely didn’t remember it being so small or underwhelming. Holding the club’s sacred document in his hands didn’t initiate any sort of reverence.
He’d have to do some soul searching later to figure out why he cared so little about a dogma that he’d sworn his life to uphold. Or not. Whatever.
Dev tapped the security camera wall mount, initiating the unit to turn back on. He had a thirty-second delay before it restarted the cameras positioned in both the inside and outside of the office, capturing the whole of the bike shop. He flipped off the overhead light before opening the door about an inch. He eyed the part of the bike shop’s lower level that he could see from that vantage point, and didn’t see anyone, including Trace who had waited at the base of the staircase.
He was back to liking Trace, but a little less than he had yesterday. Cash had been a pain in the ass with as close as he watched Dev, but his pretty boy had nothing on how serious Trace took his job. Dev barely got to use the bathroom without Trace trying to hold his dick for him. Trace had actually entered the single-occupant bathroom with Dev, worried about the small window in the room. Dev had soundly kicked him out, not entirely sure how well his free spirit was going to do with Trace being assigned to watch his back.
Trace had also wanted to come upstairs with him to retrieve the book. Some fast talking had kept the guy from following, but that had only happened by suggesting Trace stay at the base of the steps and watch out for his old man. Since Trace was no longer there, that had to mean Dev’s idea to have a lookout wasn’t just bullshit. He pushed open the door a little farther. Still no one was around.
Some machinery droned in the near distance. His old man’s service technicians worked in the service bays behind the office. Dev opened the door fully, stepped out, and quietly closed it back in place. A break in the searing noise allowed him to hear voices below.
Since Trace was talking to someone, that had to mean his old man had shown up.
Of course he had. Dev quickly lifted his T-shirt, tucking the manilla envelope into the back waistband of his jeans as he started quietly down the steps. His old man could sniff out the law about ninety percent of the time. He’d have said a hundred percent of the time, but Cash had managed to remain undetected.
If Trace gave the slightest hint he was anything more than a tattoo artist in training, his old man would home in on him like a predator during a hunt.
Yet he had to give this one to Trace. His old man was a giant bag of crazy ready to burst open at any second. By distracting his father, it gave Dev the second to gather himself.