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“What’s his name again?”

Big G shrugged.

“Can’t remember. Jimmy, I think? Spike started calling him Crash. I swear the kid could trip over nothing but air. So it stuck.”

When I climbed out of the van, the kid scrambled to his feet.

“Can I talk to you for a minute, Mr. Gibson?” he asked.

“It’s just Kingpin, kid. You should come back another time when I’m in a better mood. Today is not that day.”

“You’ve been saying that for over a month,” Crash replied.

“And yet you don’t seem to be getting the message. We’re full up, kid. Not taking new members right now.”

Crash faltered, rocking back on his heels as he glanced away.

I recognized that look. Desperation. Set adrift with nowhere to go and no one to watch your back. A prickle of sympathy jabbed at me. I knew what that was like. Until my club anchored me, gave me a place to belong and people who cared, I had been alone in the world.

“You’re welcome to hang out though,” I relented. “There’s cold beer, if you’re old enough to drink. It’snotan invitation to join the club,just to be clear.”

He perked up and his gaze flicked to Baby Doll, no doubt thinking about wetting his dick to accompany that beer. I frowned.

“Lay a finger on her, and you’ll be scattered six ways to Sunday through the mountains for wolf dinner. Got it?”

Crash gulped and ducked his head, cowed.

“Yes, sir.”

Baby Doll bit the inside of her cheek, eyes shining with amusement. She could handle this kid herself, no problem, but that wasn’t the point. She was a member of my club, and no one would mess with her on my watch.

Big G coughed to hide a laugh. He opened the front door of the clubhouse, gesturing me inside.

“Why didn’t you run him off?” I whispered.

“Thought I’d let you do the honors. The kid looks like he’s about ready to piss his pants. Admit it, you enjoyed putting the fear of God into him.”

Maybe a little,I thought.

As I entered the club, it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim interior after being in the bright afternoon sunlight of early June. The lobby of the train station served as the main room of the clubhouse, with a vaulted brick ceiling and the original tiled floor still intact.

Along one wall was the fully loaded bar. Behind it was a door that led to the kitchen, mostly used for storing food instead of cooking. A handful of tables were scattered throughout the room, along with a pool table, dart board, jukebox, and a television set that had seen better days.

A corridor led to four back rooms, furnished sparingly if anyone needed a crash pad for the night. On the East side of themain room was the chapel—a meeting room with no decorations or distractions, empty save for the long table surrounded by chairs where we conducted club business.

“Hey, look who’s back from the dead,” Credence called from the pool table.

“I had to spoil your plans before you voted in a new president to replace me,” I replied.

He grinned and crossed the room, clapping me on the back.

“Big G said you were just as ornery as ever, so we figured we’re probably stuck with you for a while longer.”

“Damn straight,” I said.

Blackbeard lifted his hand in acknowledgement, standing behind the bar.

“I bet you’re starving for something besides shitty hospital food. Tex brought in some Kentucky fried steaks yesterday. Last I checked, there were leftovers in the fridge. Vlad didn’t eat everything this time.”