A head rolls out onto the porch. A fucking severed head.
“Oh, God. I’m going to be sick,” I say.
I immediately turn and vomit. The head stops near my boot, and I’m forced to run off his porch.
“Is it R
owan?” I ask, shielding my eyes.
“No,” Jeffco says. “It’s his old partner. His right hand, man, Ash.”
11
Rowan
You don’t wage war, unless you’re sure something is going down.
It doesn’t make sense for the Hunters to want to go after us. We fucked up a deal, sure. But that shit happens all of the time.
This is highly illegal activity. You have to brace a little for some interruption by the Feds.
What happens is this: you give them a little insurance policy. If the good ol’ boys in blue pick up the package, you pay the gang back over time, usually through certain favors. That’s the general understanding we’ve set up.
Of course, there aren’t any real rules. It’s not like any of this has been written down and approved by a court of law. We run our own court, near the border.
Jeffco has kept me afloat as best as he can. He’s not a High Priest like my boys, but we’ve always been friendly with his gang, The Pallbearers.
To get me some extra cash, he gave me a job. All I have to do is deliver this package and be on my way. I hand off the delivery, count the money, and head back home.
Easy.
This car isn’t ideal. It’s not my bike. I miss the wind in my hair and the sun against my cheeks. I miss the smell of burnt rubber and the pit stops you’re forced to make when your back starts to ache from riding for so long.
Last night was fucking rough. I won’t deny that. I’ve been accosted plenty of times, but when it comes out of nowhere, after a night of feeling pretty good, you start to feel as if a line has been crossed.
Rule one: never involve the women, unless they’re affiliated.
Caroline is definitely not affiliated. That much should have been obvious. You take one look at her and you can tell she’s a tourist.
They shouldn’t have brought her into this. Now, all I’ve been thinking about is how I’m going to get my revenge on these motherfuckers. These low lives.
Half the drive home I think about it. But my mind likes to switch from violence to sex pretty damn fast. Soon enough, I’m daydreaming about her in that dress she was wearing.
I can picture her, curled up on her bed, dress spreading above her thighs. Just one glimpse of her panty line would send me soaring.
I need this more than I need my gang back. That’s how much I want this woman. I don’t know what it is. She’s not like me, I know. She’s just some normal woman who has experienced some pretty normal problems. She doesn’t know the hard world I know about.
I guess that’s why I want her so bad. I’m the big bad wolf, and I want to corrupt her more than anything, to bring her into my world of sin. I want to show her what it’s really like to play with the bad boys.
She wouldn’t stand a chance with me. She’d shake and beg me to stop.
When I get back home, all my fantasies are ruined. There she is, crying about what happened last night. She’s sitting on her porch, looking at the stars, probably praying or some shit.
“Fuck,” I mutter. Can’t we have some good days around this place?
I pull the car in and see Andy and Jeffco, sitting on the steps with her, smoking and looking grim as ever. That’s when I know something is wrong.
I park the car and nod in their direction. “Why the long faces?” I ask them. I throw Jeffco an envelope, but it just hits the ground.