Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
As the night drags on, I start to feel a weird mix of tired and wired. I’m exhausted but my mind won’t shut off. And just when I think I might finally doze off, another noise snaps me back to reality.
As morning light starts peeking through the blinds, I wonder what’s going to happen. Is this person outside going to make a move?
If he is, what’s he going to do? Hell, what am I going to do?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tank
There’s a group of five guys near the main stairwell and another three around the west stairwell. Each of them has a tattoo with a scythe. Gotta be the Iron Reapers MC that Ace told me about. I don’t know which one is Riot or if he’s even still inside, but now that I know who they are, I can make my approach.
A gravelly voice sounds beside me. “You’re showing an awful lot of interest in my men,” he says, and I turn my head to take in the man.
He’s shorter than me, but most men are, with short dark hair. Just beneath the overgrown buzzcut is his scythe tattoo, but the handle of the scythe is an ‘I’ with the blade arching over the ‘R’. Iron Reapers. He sizes me up, trying to figure out why I’m scoping out his men.
“We gonna have a problem?” he adds.
“Don’t know. Are we?”
His lips curl into a grin that says he’s one crazy motherfucker, and somehow, I know he’s Riot. “You looking to get high or get stuck?”
I smile at his threat. “I’m looking for Riot.”
“You got ’em. Who’s asking?” His gaze goes from alert to curious in a flash.
“Tank. Reckless Souls MC. My Prez, Ace, says you’re the man to see while I’m in here.”
His eyes round in surprise. “No shit. Ace is your Prez? How is that motherfucker?”
“Good,” I smile. “Runnin’ shit. Just had a kid.”
“No shit? Ace is a father. Holy shit.” Riot laughs and pushes off the wall, extending his hand to me.
I take it, and we give each other a firm shake. “Yep. Just had the baby since I’ve been locked up.” It’s still strange as fuck that we now have babies in the MC, and my baby—boy or girl—is next.
Riot looks at me, questions burning in his eyes. “Who you piss off since you got here?”
“Nobody,” I say with a smile. “Well, Manny Olivera tried to take my food, and a big fucker like me needs to eat. He might be pissed off at me, but I can handle that pussy.”
“That was you?” He shakes his head with what looks like a proud smile. “Shit, I’d have given anything to see that motherfucker get the shit kicked out of him.” He’s laughing as if he can see that shit in his mind. Like I said, crazy motherfucker. “What you in for?”
I sigh, giving myself time to think about what I want to say or rather, how to say it without airing club business. “For doing the best thing for my MC. Got into a fight, and a dude died.”
Riot nods. “I feel ya, brother. I’m halfway through eighteen months doing what’s best for my MC. It’s a motherfucker, ain’t it?”
I nod. “Not my first time inside, but this time I got a target on my back as a man without a home in here.”
I hate to admit that shit. Makes me feel like a weak-ass bitch, but I’m not too proud to admit when I need someone to have my six.
“Say no more, man. I owe Ace my life. He’s come through for me more times than I like to think about, so this is a favor I can happily repay. You think Olivera’s crew is planning to retaliate?” He nods toward a table with a few guys sitting around, and we walk over.
“Scram,” he says in a calm voice that’s just as scary as if he’d issued a threat, and they do.
“I don’t doubt they’re planning something,” I say as we pull out our chairs. “But that’s not even on my radar right now.”
That’s a goddamn lie. It’s on my radar because it has to be. Anytime I go to take a piss, grab my chow, or wash my ass, I could be jumped or shanked or worse.
“Bullshit,” Riot answers with a smile.
“Okay, it’s not my priority right now. When I was up in the hole, I heard some shit.” I sit across from him, both of us already in silent agreement to watch the other’s back, and I tell him what I overheard.
“Don’t know the voices, and they never identified themselves. Nothing but threats.”
He leans over and says quietly, “I can find out who was in solitary when you were to help narrow it down. I’ve got a few of the guards in my pocket.” He shakes his head and nods toward the group of three guys circling a fish—a new inmate. “Latin Mafia. Those motherfuckers love to target fish, and they love it more if he’s a member of a MC. Always their first target followed by gang newbies. All that matters to them is that you’re on your own. It’s how they grow their influence on the inside.”