Wyatt blew out a slow breath. He knew better than to give a member of the Evil Dead any shit. He knew well that they ran things around here. Even if Cole was a good friend, there was a pecking order, and it had to be respected. “Look, I know. Chuck’s given this club more trouble than he’s worth, but—”
“Then let me have him,” Cole ground out.
“I need him for the hit on Fat Tony next week, Cole,” Wyatt reasoned. “He’s the best explosives guy I’ve got.”
Cole took another drag off his cigarette and slowly blew the smoke out, trying to hold his temper. He stared over at Chuck. “What’s the plan on that?”
“Lucky for us, Fat Tony broke his hand about a week ago.”
Cole nodded, understanding. “Can’t work the throttle, can’t ride.”
“Exactly. So he’s been ridin’ in his cage the last week. I figure a car bomb’s a nice way to take him out. Sends a nice message.”
“Retaliation for that shit that went down in Reno?” Cole questioned, glancing over at Wyatt.
“Yeah.”
“Bombs. That’s Homeland Security shit. Brings down all kinds of heat. You sure that’s your best move?”
Wyatt smiled. “I don’t give a shit. They’ll never tie it to us. Make those damned Hyenas think twice about messing with us.”
“Your club. Your decision, Brother,” Cole conceded. He lifted his chin toward Chucky. “I want to talk to him.”
“About what?” Wyatt asked.
Cole looked over at Wyatt. “He owes me money.”
Wyatt stared back at him wondering how much shit was about to hit the fan. “Yeah. Okay. Use the chapel.”
Cole took another draw off his cigarette, again studying Chuck and the girl. “Have him bring the girl.”
Wyatt’s eyes narrowed, understanding now where he was going with this, and he nodded slowly.
Cole threw his cigarette over the porch rail then turned and walked inside, the screen door slamming behind him.
***
He walked into the room the Dead Souls used for club meetings. There wasn’t much décor—beat up wood paneling, some club photos in cheap frames on the wall, an old light that belonged over a pool table hung over the long wooden table that took up most of the room. There were about a dozen mismatched old executive chairs around the table.
Cole strolled around to the far end of the table and sat down in the chair to the left of the head, facing the door.
He didn’t have long to wait.
The door opened and in walked Wyatt. Chuck followed, dragging the girl. She stumbled, and Chuck yanked her to her feet. She tried to pull away, and he backhanded her. She fell to the floor in the corner across from Cole.
Cole’s gaze traveled over her. She was dressed in a short sleeve shirt, which was hanging open revealing a pink bra. She had on cut-off shorts, and Cole’s eyes traveled over her long, slender, tanned legs. He noticed several bruises on the inside of her thighs. She was barefoot. Her long honey-blonde hair hung in her face. She raised her head and tossed her hair back, and Cole found himself staring into the prettiest green eyes he’d ever seen.
He sucked in his breath.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and he noticed her lip was split and bleeding. She glared back at him. Cole thought she looked half terrified, half defiant, and about seventeen.
Shit.
He was not a man who usually got involved in other people’s problems. He stayed clear of what didn’t directly concern him, having learned in this life that he couldn’t afford to let himself be affected by a lot of the shit he saw, but this? Fuck. This he couldn’t stomach. As he looked down at her, something twisted painfully in his chest.
Chuck took a seat opposite Cole, leaving her lying on the floor.
Wyatt looked at Cole. “You want me here or not?”
Cole slowly tore his gaze away from the girl, looked at Wyatt, and nodded once.
Wyatt sat down at the head of the table between the two men.
“Hey, Cole,” Chuck drawled.
Cole’s mouth formed a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Chucky.”
“So how ya been, man?”
Cole just stared at him. “Ya got that two grand you owe me, Chucky?”
Chuck looked from Cole to Wyatt, and the smile faded from his face.
“Don’t look at him, man. He can’t save you,” Cole warned with an evil smile.
“Two grand?”
“Yeah. Two grand,” Cole repeated. “You do remember that little gambling debt don’t you?”
“Yeah, Cole. I know, but I thought we were just joking around, ya know?”
“No, man. We weren’t just ‘joking around’, Chucky. I don’t fuckin’ joke about money.” Cole leveled him with a hard stare, his brows arching. “Do I look like a man who fucking jokes about money?”
“No. I guess not.”
“So you got it?”
“Well, no. Not on me. Not all of it.”
Cole watched Chuck start to sweat. “Well how much you got?”
Chuck took a second to answer. “Ah, hundred. Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Cole stared at him, and then leaned forward putting his elbows on the table.
“Yeah, probably.”
Cole smiled. “Now why do I get the feelin’ you’re holdin’ out on me, huh? Put your wallet on the table.”
Again Chuck looked to Wyatt.
“Why do you keep lookin’ at him?” Cole demanded. “He’s not the one you owe. Now put your Goddamn wallet on the table.”
Chuck huffed out a long breath and pulled his wallet out, tossing it down.
Cole stared at him a long moment, and then reached for the wallet. He pulled all the cash out spreading it on the table. “Well, well. You were holdin’ out on me. Looks like more than a hundred. Or can’t you count?”
Chuck just glared back at him.