Page 93 of Sinner's Fury

Chapter Thirty-Three

Reaper

Somewhere in Iowa,

“You know, all you have to do is ask for help,” I taunted, sitting on the ground, drinking a coke Slurpee, while I watched fucknuts try to change a flat tire. “I mean, I wouldn’t want you to get your hands dirty or something. You’ve got a rep to uphold.”

“Shut the fuck up,” the fucker growled, throwing the damn crowbar on the ground.

Rolling my eyes, I leaned back, closed my eyes, and soaked up the sun. It was still butt fucking cold, but the sun was shining and I needed my daily dose of vitamin D.

“Called home. Your wife likes the ocean.”

“Uh huh.”

“According to Remi, Tessa’s thinking about buying a beach house. That way, she can spend some fun in the sun in my neck of the woods.”

“Over my dead fucking body. I’m already spending millions on a new fucking house in the country for her, not to mention rebuilding Stone House. Woman can just forget about it.”

I chuckled. “I’ll be sure to tell her you said that.”

Whipping around, Montana glared at me. “Are you purposefully trying to piss me off?”

“Nope.” I grinned. “That’s just a plus.”

“I fucking hate you.”

Groaning, I muttered, waving my hand in the air. “So you’ve said. You want to know what I think?”

“Not particularly.”

“Well, too bad, fucknuts, ’cause I’m gonna tell you, anyway. I think you secretly like me. I think if our clubs weren’t gearing up for war, you and I could be best friends.”

“In your fucking dreams, asshole.”

“Of course, I’d have to remove that stick from your ass. Brother, you are wound too fucking tight. When was the last time you got laid?”

“THAT’S IT!” Montana roared, rushing toward me.

Laughing, I quickly rolled to the side and got to my feet as he tripped and fell face-first into the grass.

“I’m going to kill you,” he seethed, getting to his feet.

“Gotta catch me first.” I grinned, standing my ground. I wasn’t afraid of Montana. The man was a bull in a China shop. Before he could take a swing, we both turned when we heard the annoying sound of a police siren.

“See what you did?” Fucknuts groaned, marching back to the SUV.

“I didn’t do shit!” I griped, following him.

“If we get arrested, I’m leaving you there.”

“Who says I’m getting arrested? You tried to assault me!”

“What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?” an Iowa state trooper asked, keeping his distance.

I would too. Never could be too careful who you’d run into on the interstate. It wasn’t a safe place. However, before I could say anything, fucknuts replied, “Nothing is wrong, Officer. Just a flat tire.”

“You should let your son change it. He looks stronger,” the officer said, and I lost it.

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