“What’s the end game here, brother? Am I gonna have to send a recruit to watch you drink yourself stupid day in and day out until Sundance is sick of your shit and decides to intervene?” Rocky tapped the table with his fingertips. “You know he’s giving you time, but there are only so many grains of sand in every hourglass.”
“Hey,” I said, barely listening to Rocky. “Did you spot any unfamiliar cars in the parking lot when you came in? Like something that guy in the suit would have been driving?”
“There was a silver Mercedes, with local plates.” Rocky said. “Why? Who the fuck is he?”
“No clue,” I said.
“What’d he want?”
“He wants me to kill someone.”
“What the fuck?”
I nodded.
“Who?” Rocky asked.
I shrugged. “All the information’s on a flash drive in my pocket.”
“But you don’t own a computer.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
Rocky rolled his eyes. “You can use mine. Let’s get back to the cabin and find out what this shithead wants.”
I dropped a fifty on the table and followed Rocky out to his truck, noticing with a sneer that my bike was already gone from its parking space.
“Who?” I hissed.
“Moses,” he said.
“Fuck.”
Moses was my sergeant, so everyone knew if he was the one pickin’ up my bike and ridin’ it back to the compound, I’d have no reason to object, considerin’ he was the only one I’d ever trust to ride it besides me and they all fuckin’ knew it. He was the only person who had the spare set of keys, after all. Still, the fact that Sundance didn’t trust me to ride wasn’t good.
I pulled myself up into the cab and said nothing as Rocky drove us back to the compound. Unfortunately, my buzz was wearing off faster than I would like as we pulled through the gates, which gave my rage the inconvenient opportunity to rear its ugly head.
“Where the fuck’s my bike?” I growled, pushing open the truck door. Because I’d just been promoted to Road Captain, I had a designated parking spot, and my bike wasn’t in it.
“Take it down a notch,” Rocky warned.
“Or, I can take it up with Moses because it’s none of your goddamn business.” I walked toward the cabin, my anger on ten, and found Moses in the kitchen about to open a beer.
“Hey, brother,” he said with a smile.
“Where the fuck’s my bike?” I snarled.
He twisted the top off his beer and took a swig. “It’s slippin’ between third and fourth gear—”
“Not when I ride it, so I’m gonna ask again, where the fuck’s my bike?”
“Well, if you’d wait one goddamn second, instead of goin’ all apeshit on me—”
“You haven’t even seen me apeshit, but you just might if I have to ask a third time—”
Moses scowled. “Jesus Christ, man, don’t you ever give it a rest?”
“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” I demanded.