Page 116 of Golden Atonement

“From whom?”

“I would like to know that myself,” I replied when she came to stand beside me. “Just out of curiosity, how many friends do you have?”

“A lot, why?”

“And how many are boys?”

“About half.”

“Are you Emma?” The cute delivery driver smiled as my daughter just silently nodded. “I’m Carrie, and that is Haven. We own and operate Destined Buddies. We’re a non-profit organization that helps re-home animals, and you’ve been chosen to be Snickers’ new buddy.”

“Uh,” Massacre gulped, raising his hand. “What is a Snickers?”

“I’m guessing it’s not a candy bar.” Ink chuckled.

Haven, the tattooed woman standing near the van, slid the door open and out jumped a massive silver Pitbull dog with a pink bow around its neck.

“OH MY GOD!” Emma squealed, jumping for joy as she ran over to the animal whose tail was wagging a mile a minute.

Well shit.

There was no fucking way in hell I could tell her no now. Guess the damn dog was staying. I just prayed that Remi didn’t mind animals. In the meantime, I headed back inside, needing to rethink this plan. Heading for my office, my cell phone started ringing. Not bothering to look at the caller ID, I connected the call and growled,

“What?”

“Problems in paradise?” Laughter on the other end had me double checking who the fuck I was gonna kill next.

Seeing King’s number, I grumbled, “You have no idea.”

“Well, misery loves company. I need your help.”

“Got my own problems, speaking of which, you have any idea who could be sending my wife flowers?”

“What?”

“Never mind. What do you want?” I groaned.

“Wanna tell me why Cameron was at the Tennessee Compound yesterday?” King asked.

“Carnage?” I frowned. “How the hell should I know? Call Savage and ask him.”

The biker world was small, and it didn’t take long for word to spread about a seven-year-old hell on wheels wreaking havoc within the Sons of Hell MC. There wasn’t a biker club on this planet that hadn’t heard the many tales of Carnage.

The kid was a legend.

“You know damn well that fucker won’t tell me shit; that’s why I’m calling you. That brat has my brothers scared of their own damn shadows. They all sleep with one eye open, and now I’ve learned that Savage hosted the brat for an hour at the Tennessee clubhouse. An hour, Reaper! What the fuck was Cameron doing there that takes an hour, and with Savage no less!”

Rolling my eyes, I plopped my ass into my chair, leaned back, placing my feet on my desk. “Fuck, brother, I don’t know. Playing checkers? Savage is simpleminded. It’s anyone’s guess.”

“Yeah, well, I need to get to the bottom of it fast, because if Cameron’s sister finds out he left the fucking state, she’s gonna have my ass. Help a brother out.”

Groaning, I muttered, “Fine. What do you want me to do?”

“Pick up your damn phone when I call back in a few.”

“Fine,” I groaned, hanging up.

There was no love lost between King and Savage. Those two fuckers had a hate/hate relationship. Bad enough there was bad blood between our two clubs from shit neither of us had a part in, but King hated Savage for marrying his niece and my sister Jessica, while Savage hated King because he killed Savage’s dad, Shane Keller. All because of one woman—Cassandra Montclair. An innocent who found herself in the crosshairs of a war not of her making. In the end, both men would never see eye to eye on anything, and the only reason they tolerated each other was because neither one wanted to piss off Jess.

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