Page 7 of Viper

Razor shot him a glare from pale-blue eyes that stood out against his dark skin. “I can when you’re talking about buying a fucking Deadpool suit.”

“I like the style.”

Viper exchanged an amused look with Dice. What Ghostlikedwas to fuck with his opponents to better his chance of winning. They all knew it. But Razor, being an ornery son of a bitch, was easy to rile.

“We’re supposed to beblending,” Razor reminded Ghost. “Blending means acting like regular people.” He stretched his bulky frame across the table as he smoothly positioned the cue between his thumb and forefinger. “Regular adults don’t go round wearing superhero costumes as everyday clothes.” The ball he hit smacked into another and sent it shuttling into a corner pocket.

“I’d make a hot superhero,” said Ghost, wiping chalk dust from his fingers on his faded black jeans.

“I’d make a good cult leader,” Darko piped up from his stool.

Beside him, Dice snorted. “You sure have the Messiah look going on,” he noted, gesturing at their brother’s shoulder-length chestnut hair, mustache, and light beard.

“It’s why I make such a good Chaplain for the club,” said Darko, snatching a nacho from a small tray he’d set on his thigh.

Viper frowned. “You’re not the Chaplain. We don’tneeda Chaplain.” It was something they’d already covered.

“We also don’t needyouriding around in a Deadpool suit,” Razor told Ghost.

Dice sighed at the Road Captain. “He’s just yanking your chain to throw you off your game. Stop letting him.”

Ghost idly rasped a hand over his dusting of stubble that was the same dark brown as his short hair. “Out of curiosity, are you gonna bitch at me if I get cowboy boots as well?”

It was Dice who pinned him with a hard stare this time. “You get cowboy boots and I’ll shred them.”

“Why?” asked Ghost, his brow creasing. “Some bikers wear cowboy boots.”

“But we both know you’d get them in fucking bright orange or something,” said Dice.

Ghost raised his shoulders, all innocence. “And what would be wrong with that?”

Razor snickered at Dice. “Nowwho’s letting him yank their chain?” He potted another ball.

Viper exhaled heavily. “Ghost, give the boys a break, yeah?”

The shit-stirrer grinned but quieted.

Right then, Jester’s mind touched his.We got him, V, he telepathed, no doubt referring to the mystery male who’d been earlier hovering around their compound and had then followed them here. Viper had instructed two of his brothers to nab the guy.

Want us to bring him inside?Jester asked.

Yeah, take him to my office.Setting his beer on the table, Viper spoke to the others. “Jester and Omen have our watcher.”

“Want me to question him?” asked Razor, who had a knack for making people talk.

Viper gave his head a slight shake. “I got it covered.” It would give him the distraction he needed.

Dice rose from his stool. “I’ll come with you.”

Together, Viper and his VP headed through a door labeled ‘STAFF’ and strode down a hallway. A tall, bronze-skinned male was casually leaning against the wall near the office door, wearing his usual stony mug. Jester was asocial, tactless, and lacked a sense of humor. Yeah, the club was being sarcastic when they branded him Jester.

Viper flicked a look at the door. “I take it Omen is inside there with him?”

The Sergeant at Arms nodded, his deep-brown eyes as sober as always. “Caught our friend walking the perimeter of the building, peeking through windows. Not sure what he expected to find.”

Dice lifted a brow. “Did you ask?”

Pulling a face, Jester skimmed a hand over his dark buzzcut. “Nah, I didn’t see any point. He’ll just lie. I don’t have time to listen to bullshit,” he added, as if he had a thousand things eating up his time and attention. Which couldn’t be further from the truth.

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