“Just give me the damn keys, wiseass.”
He finally pulled the keys out of his pocket and handed them over. “I’ll follow you.”
“Have a chat with Keith. Make sure the message sticks this time.”
An evil smile lit up his entire face. “My pleasure.”
“Well?” Marcel asked from the doorway.
He stood there, feet shoulder-width apart, chin lifted, arms loose at his sides. Like if he was going down, he’d at least try to get in a few punches. My admiration for him grew. He was scared shitless, if the sweat on his forehead was any indication, but brave.
“Grab your bike and follow me.”
Wrath took off for his Harley and Marcel followed me without question. At the club’s old Ford truck, I stopped and gestured for Marcel to throw his bike in the back.
“Where are we going?” he asked before lifting the bike.
Smart kid.“I’m gonna take you home and see if your story’s true. Then I’ll decide what to do with you.”
“I’m not lying,” he muttered.
Yeah, I didn’t think he was. Still wanted to keep him on his toes. The last shred of morality I possessed wouldn’t let me beat a twelve-year-old kid bloody. But I had no qualms about scaring the shit out of him for trying to steal from us.
“Get in and shut your mouth,” I said with not much heat behind the order.
He hurried around to the other side and flung the door open.
“This is a sweet truck.” A note of excitement perked up his voice. “It’s a classic. You could fix it up really nice, you know,” he said, running his hand over the dashboard.
I pointed to the clubhouse in front of us. “We’re a motorcycle club, not a pickup truck club.”
He shrugged. “They’re cool too, but motorcycles don’t have four-wheel drive. What ya gonna do in the winter?”
I bit my lip to hold back my laughter. “Put your seat belt on, you little knucklehead.”
He gave me directions to his house. It turned out it wasn’t far from where I’d grown up. “How long you lived here?”
“Long enough. It sucks.”
I snorted. “You do all right in school?”
“When I go, yeah. That’s my house,” he said, pointing to a short, pockmarked driveway.
I followed him inside the house and stopped when we entered the living room.
Even though I figured Marcel wasn’t lying, seeing the two kids zonked out on the couch together tightened my chest.
The boy was as tall as Marcel but rounder and baby-faced. With his red hair and larger frame, they probably weren’t related. It made Marcel’s dedication to his friend even more interesting.
“Shit,” I muttered, backing out the door. Marcel followed me.
“So?” he demanded.
“Get in the truck. I’ll take you to get some food.”
He didn’t move. “I tried to steal from you.”
“I’m aware.”