Page 55

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Jigsaw

I turn into the parking lot of Jerry’s Garage, unsure of what we’re walking into. I roll my bike into a spot on the side of the old brick building, not visible from the road. Wrath stops his bike next to me.

We stare at each other for a minute, then shut off our bikes.

“Murphy’s on his way with the van,” Wrath says.

“You know what’s going on?”

“Guy tried to rob him?” He shrugs and nods toward my saddlebag. “You got your bolt cutters in there?”

“Hell yeah, I do.” I pull out a slightly smaller pair than the ones I keep in my truck. Still sharp enough to lop off a finger or two.

Remy meets us at the corner of the building. I’ve never seen him anything but cocky around the ladies or ruthless in the cage.

Today, he’s…rattled.

Wrath stops and frowns. “What’s going on, Ruthless?”

At Wrath’s grave tone, Remy seems to compose himself. He takes a breath and pulls his shoulders back, slipping into his confident don’t-fuck-with-me attitude. “This guy…some tweaker, I don’t know. He came after Griff and my sister.”

“They all right?” I ask.

He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Yeah. They’re in the garage. They got the guy tied up but…”

“Let’s go meet him.” Wrath sweeps his hand through the air in a move-it-along gesture.

The sharp stink of motor oil and burnt rubber hits me as soon as we step into the garage.

Griff’s standing next to a half-finished classic car, with Molly slightly behind him. Like he’s shielding her from us.

The tension’s thick enough to crack a socket wrench on.

Wrath stops short and crosses his arms over his chest, throwing a disappointed scowl at Griff. “Stonewall, don’t you have a fight you’re supposed to be training for?”

Griff’s eyes widen for a second, then he lets out a sharp laugh. “Trust me, this isn’t how I wanted to spend my afternoon.”

I choke on a laugh.

Wrath nods to the old Chevy. “Nice car. Is it yours?”

I side-eye Wrath. We didn’t rush over here to yap about cars, did we?

“It’s Molly’s.” Griff wraps a protective arm around her shoulders. “We were finishing up some work on it when that greasy little weasel over there showed up and pulled a gun on us.”

I peer around Wrath’s big ass and take a few steps back. Tucked up in front of the car, away from the view of anyone outside, a scrawny man’s zip-tied to within an inch of his life, a filthy rag shoved in his mouth.

He doesn’t move or look at us but seems to be breathing.

“What’d he want?” Wrath asks in his get to the point tone.

Griff drops his gaze, wraps his hand around a fist, and works his jaw from side to side. Then he lifts his head and meets Wrath’s stare head on.

“My mom’s got…issues. She moved down to Jersey to start over a few months ago.

I haven’t been in contact with her since I got home.

She left me some messages looking for money while I was on the show but…

” Griff shrugs, clearly uncomfortable sharing all this personal info.

“I tried helping her out and taking care of her when she was here. And fuck knows she’s drained a lot of money out of me over the years, but this is the first time someone’s ever showed up to collect from me . ”

Remy steps closer to his sister’s side, glances at Griff, and then Wrath. “We don’t know who he works for.”

That’s what I’m here for. I lift the bolt cutters in the air. “He’s got ten chances to give up a name.”

Wrath smirks. “Twenty if you start with his toes.”

“This isn’t my place,” Griff says, holding out his arms in a slow-down gesture.

They go back and forth about where to take the guy while I study the scene in front of me. Molly trembling but trying her hardest to look tough. Griff keeping her close.

The guy on the floor peers up at me, eyes wide. He jerks his shoulder like he’s trying to free himself. His leg’s at a fucked-up angle. Wrists raw and bleeding. Face already bruising.

“You need to go home,” Griff says to Molly, drawing me back to the conversation.

“Not so fast, little girl.” Wrath cocks his head and studies her. “What’d you see today?”

“Leave her out of it,” Remy snaps.

Molly takes a deep breath and flicks an irritated glance at her brother. “I was in it when that guy pointed a gun at me. And even deeper in it when I smashed his leg with the crowbar.”

Molly’s the one who fucked that guy’s leg up? Well, goddamn. “Guess that ruthless streak runs through your blood.” I laugh.

Remy sighs and side-eyes me.

“Griff had him,” Molly continues, clearly wanting to defend her boyfriend’s status as her big, bad protector.

“But I already had the crowbar in my hands, and I was afraid he’d try to run.

” She lifts her gaze and meets Wrath’s stare without flinching “But if anyone outside of the four of you asks, all I saw was the inside of this garage while Griff and I were working on my car.”

I glance at the tweaker again.

As much as I thoroughly enjoy giving Griff shit, I won’t tolerate someone else fucking with him. He’s like another little brother. Someone I enjoy putting in a headlock from time to time. But if anyone else puts their hands on him, they’re not getting them back.

And threatening Molly—pulling a gun on a teenage girl? Absolutely the fuck not. He signed his death warrant the second he threatened her. How hard he gets to die, though, that’s up to him.

When Wrath seems satisfied Molly won’t breathe a word of any of this—with Remy and Griff knowing damn well they’ll pay the consequences if she does—we send her on her way.

She peels out of the parking lot in Griff’s car, tires squealing, dust billowing behind her, taillights flashing red as they disappear down the road.

I crouch next to our new friend, leveling my eyes with his.

His sweat-slicked face twitches as Wrath leans over and yanks the gag free with a sharp snap.

The guy still won’t look me in the eye, but he starts whining right away, voice cracked and high-pitched.

“Untie me, man. I think he broke my wrist. And my ankle—she shattered it. I’m in pain, man.”

“You fucked with the wrong people.” I hold up the bolt cutters, slow and deliberate, until the cold steel hovers inches from his face. “Are you talking, or are we snipping?”

“I…I don’t know. Guy I used to answer to was Rio. But…new guy, just gives orders. Come on, my wrist hurts.”

I cut my eyes to Wrath. Rio’s dead , I mouth.

He nods once, his jaw clenched tight.

“I just needed to collect the money,” the guy whines again. “His mom took off. No one could find her. I was told this kid was good for it. Come on. It’s not my fault.”

His voice grates against my nerves like sandpaper. If I snap his other wrist, would he shut the fuck up?

Finally, Murphy arrives with the club’s van. The low rumble of the engine silences us as he slowly backs into the garage and hops out.

“What’s up?” Murphy asks, going full gangster as he pulls on a black knit hat and slips on a pair of black leather gloves.

“I’ll fill you in,” I promise.

Wrath orders Griff and Remy to get rid of the guy’s truck.

Griff scowls at the guy and then our van, as if the reason we’re here finally dawned on him. “This is my situation. I’ll handle it.”

Aw, isn’t that cute. “So strong and yet so wrong,” I rhyme.

Griff bursts out laughing. “What?”

Wrath’s having none of it. He pokes Griff in the chest. “We need you focused on training for that fight. Not gettin’ distracted with a side quest. Dump the truck. That’s all I need from you.”

Heh. Side quest.

Every day feels like a side quest lately. Maybe that’s all life is—one long chain of fucked-up detours.

Griff exhales hard and nods. “I’ll get it done.”

“Now wouldn’t it be easier if you just did what we asked when we asked?” I tilt my head and widen my eyes to a dickish degree.

“So glad you’re coming to Vegas with us,” he grumbles under his breath.

After the two of them leave, Murphy grabs the chain and rolls the garage doors down with a clatter of metal and finality.

For a few seconds, it’s quiet. The air’s heavy with oil, sweat, and the sound of this guy sniveling.

The passenger side door of the van creaks open.

I frown, shifting to get a better look.

Boots hit the ground.

Finally, Rock steps around the back of the van. Determined presidential expression in place.

“What were you doing, waiting for the bat signal?” Wrath jokes.

“No.” Rock shakes his head, his lips flattening into an irritated line. “Didn’t see the need to get them more wound up than necessary. What’d you learn?”

“Come on, man,” the tweaker whines. “I told you. Rio was calling the shots.”

“Rio’s been dead for at least two years,” Rock snaps. “Try again.”

“If he says SOS, I’m gonna blow something up,” Murphy grumbles, pacing behind the van.

“They’re not local,” the guy blurts. “This crew’s in Jersey.”

Fuck me. I glance at Wrath, then Rock. “Vipers?”

“They do hire the worst and dumbest,” Wrath mutters, pure disdain curling off each word.

Rock crouches next to the guy and grabs him by the shirt, jerking him up with one hand like he weighs nothing. “How long have you been movin’ stuff into New York?”

“I wasn’t! I don’t. Just collectin’ money. I swear!” His gaze latches onto Rock’s chest, locking onto his MC patches like they might be his salvation. “Come on, man. I used to hang out with one of your guys back in the day,” he whines. “I know LOKI! Really. I do.”

Oh, no the fuck he didn’t.

Rock hauls back and drives his fist into the guy’s jaw. The hit lands solid, dulled only slightly by the leather glove. “The fuck name did you use?”

I cough-snicker into my fist. Big mistake, dude.

“You ain’t part of our crew,” Rock growls. “Show some fucking respect.”

The guy’s face crumples in confusion, brows knitting as he fumbles his bound hands up to his swelling cheek.

I kick him in the shin—just hard enough to get my point across. “Lost Kings MC, motherfucker. You haven’t earned the right to call us by any other name.”

“Right, right, right. Lost Kings. Lost Kings. I know.”