I take in the uneven fields. “I don’t want to blow a tire.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Wrath bellows. “Time to put your monster truck to work instead of treating it like a show pony.”
“Fine, all right.”
Impatient to leave, Wrath shoves his rifle into Grinder’s hands and encourages Carter to get on his back for a piggyback ride.
“Uh.” Carter wraps his hands around Wrath’s neck and stares at the ground. “I don’t know about this.”
“You’re fine.” Wrath takes off, sprinting across the field with Carter bouncing and bobbing on his back.
I stop and place my hands on my knees, laughing until I wheeze.
“You all right?” Rock rests his hand on my back. “Is your side worse?”
“No.” I fling my hand out toward Wrath. “It’s the mountain man carrying Carter like he’s King fucking Kong that’s killing me.”
Rock chuckles.
Next to me, Murphy’s silently shaking with his own laughter.
“Good Christ,” Grinder grumbles, stomping ahead of us. “Move your fucking asses.”
“You heard Grandpa.” Z slaps Rock’s shoulder. “Get moving.”
We make it to the grove of trees and our vehicles.
Wrath carefully sets Carter down. “Can you hop your ass into Teller’s big rig?”
Carter side-eyes him like he doesn’t want to risk another ride on Wrath’s back. “I think so.”
Now that we’re all together, Rock stops to check his phone. “I need to let them know we have Carter.” He meets my eyes. “No need to hand over your money, if we don’t have to.”
Jigsaw stares at Carter’s bloody sock. “Damn,” he breathes out, “I hoped they were fucking around and the toe wasn’t yours, or something.”
“Did they really send you my toe?” Carter’s eyebrows crawl up his forehead. “Did you put it on ice, maybe? Charlotte didn’t see it, did she?”
“It’s on ice,” Jiggy confirms, then finishes with the bad news. “Back at Teller’s house.”
Carter’s mouth turns down. “Eh, I guess I don’t need a Frankentoe.”
“Get in the truck.” Rock places his hand firmly between Carter’s shoulders and gently shoves him toward the back door.
“Are we done with this cousin-fucking MC, yet?” Z asks.
Rock pierces June with a stare that nails her in place. “Your father’s the president?”
She bites her lip and nods.
“Trip?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Trip was sent to prison a few months ago. A lot of the brothers were. My…my father challenged him right before that went down. And won,” she adds as if that part matters.
“Who’s your father?” Rock asks.
“Whitey.”
Rock glances at me and I shrug. Name doesn’t ring a bell. “Sticks is your brother, right?” I ask June.