Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 122097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
He must know who I am because he smiles when I approach, greeting me by name. “Come to take your spot, Collin?”
He’s definitely local. I can hear the accent. But he’s not a townie, I don’t think. He doesn’t look familiar. Granted, I’ve been gone for twelve years, but still, I just don’t think he is. “Thank you.” I say it plainly. “I appreciate you fillin’ in. I had some matters to attend to.”
He stretches out his hand. “Siah. Nice to meet you.”
I shake his hand. “Siah, as in Josiah?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “That’s right.”
“Are you from Disciple?” He’s got a disciple name, that’s why I ask.
“Nah. My granddaddy was, though. I’m workin’ for you guys now. Amon gave me a job.”
“Nice. I’m… glad to have you.”
“OK.” He’s not nervous, exactly, but he’s definitely a little jittery. “I’ll… uh, I’ll see ya around.”
Then he takes off, walking straight out of the Revival grounds like he’s got somewhere to be.
I make a mental note to ask Amon if we’re doin’ drug tests on these guys. But as soon as I have that thought I feel like an asshole. Still, you can’t ever be too careful.
West Virginia isn’t any worse in this respect than most places. Every town has got a drug problem these days. But I find that I am judging the men around here and it’s not fair. It’s not their fault there’s no work. It’s just… when a man can’t work a job and make a decent living, it’s typically the beginning of the end.
We’ve hired at least hundred people from the area and even though it’s not my department, I find I am suddenly interested in what they were all up to before Edge showed up.
I make another mental note. Background checks for everyone.
Just as I have that thought a rumble roars up and a few seconds later, there are bikers everywhere. Revving their engines, yellin’ and hollerin’. Doing donuts in the grassy park on the other side of the narrow street, tearin’ shit up.
“What the fuck?” Mercy barks once and I look down at her. “Right? Now what the hell is going on?”
She looks up at me, and if she were a human, I swear she’d be shruggin’ her shoulders.
I let out a long sigh. I know who they are. They’re all wearing cuts—cut-off vests in denim or leather—and they’re all wearing colors for Deceivers too.
The MC club in Revenant. Archenemies of Disciple.
Not really. The feud’s fake. Just like everything else around here.
Didn’t take long to get this party started, I guess.
They keep circling, hootin’ up a storm. But then one breaks away and comes towards the gate like he’s gonna ride right through it.
I’m currently standing right smack in the middle of the entrance, but I do not move. I shoot him a look like I’m bored.
He’s a big guy. Blond beard that covers his neck. Long hair, little bit lighter than the beard, all tied back. All decked out in leather and too many patches on that shit to count.
Now, we might all be in costume—and in Disciple this costume is supposed to be kinda upscale Great Depression, if that was ever a thing. But Revenant and Bishop all have their own costumes. So he’s all Keanu Reeves—if he were a Viking—and I’m all Pretty Boy Floyd.
In my opinion, this is a clash of sorts. Two different worlds meetin’ in the middle. And it should not be happening.
But this guy is coming towards me like he’s on a mission, so I figure… it’s gotta be part of the script.
He stops an inch away. His front tire is practically between my legs.
Neither Mercy nor I make any attempt to avoid him.
He grins, wearin’ shades. But he lifts them up and I find his eyes to be… I mean… mesmerizing really is the right word.
They are hazel, kinda like mine, actually. With a whole lot of teal blue and golden brown mixed with green. And this is when it hits me—
“Hey, cuz.” He bellows out a laugh. “Long time no see, Collin Creed.”
I squint my eyes at him. “Lucas? Is that you?”
He guffaws again, nodding.
“Last time I saw you, you were ten.”
He points at me. And then squints those eyes and sets his jaw. Puttin’ on a show, I realize. Everybody’s watching. He growls, real low so no one but me and Mercy can hear him, “No time to catch up though, friend. I’m on the clock. Come by the bar when you get a chance. We got a good band goin’. Drinks are on the house.”
The he revs his bike, whoops out a battle cry, backs up and spins around—spittin’ gravel out from under his tires—tears up the grass one more time, then leaves with his club the same way he came.
I just stand there, not sure what to do.