Page 44 of Cutter

Blade was going to kill him for this impromptu rescue, but Cutter couldn’t ignore Darcy’s predicament, not after seeing the utter fear slavery had left in her expression. She should be playing with innocent girls her age and dating young boys, not fucking dirtbags.

“She not your style?”

Cutter shivered. The man’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard. Maybe that’s how the guy got his name.

“Now looky here, it’s Nails. What d’you want?” Cutter asked, frowning.

“Me? Nothing. I’m curious.” He shrugged. “You Spawn guys are an interesting bunch. Why would you pass a sweet piece of ass to a friend?” He pointed at Johnny Gun and Darcy getting settled at a nearby table. “Unless the Goth look is more your jam?”

“I’ve got no fucking idea what you’re talking about.” He shook his head. “Don’t care to find out. I was on my way to thank your club president, until you got in the way.” He turned to Barron. “Let’s go.”

Nails smirked. “Sure, sure.”

Ignoring the comment and gesture, Cutter left him behind.

“What was that all about?” Barron asked, moving to his side.

“Fuck if I know, man,” he replied. “Asshole gives me the creeps. The reference to Emily worries me. He remembers her.”

“Sounds like he’s fishing,” Barron said. “Don’t bite. You’re being careful. After a while, he’ll get tired.”

“God, I hope so.” Switching gears, he waved at Diesel’s table. “Guys! Thanks for the invite. Dope party.”

JT was the first to react. “Glad you made it. Join us.”

Out of the entire Chaos gang, JT seemed the most honest and least complicated. Had the situation been different, they might’ve been friends. Then again, JT could be the kind of guy who hid a shrewd and ruthless personality under an easy-going facade. A well-crafted cover that allowed him to con anyone, even his own boss.

As Barron and Cutter reached the Chaos table, chairs were pulled out for them, and Diesel ordered another round of beers. Sipping a clear liquid Cutter supposed were club sodas with lime out of tall glasses, Chema and Rulo watched the conversation in silence. The sober-looking duo sat a smidgeon away from the table. Far enough to make the distinction: they weren’t part of the general MC melee, but invited VIP sponsors with an ulterior motive.

About thirty minutes passed in idle guy chitchat about trucks and bikes. Cutter was forcing down his fourth pint of beer when his patience paid off. Using the racket in the room to mask their exchange, JT and Diesel spoke to each other. Still, Cutter could make out the coded exchange.

“Get the word?” JT asked.

“From Rulo. Delivery. Next week,” Diesel replied.

Despite his stomach jumping, Cutter didn’t react. This was it, the info he’d waited for. Time to play the fool. Slouching in his chair, he leaned a bit closer to JT.

“That it? Can’t he be more specific? How many?” JT continued.

“Two a.m., Thursday,” Diesel answered. “Ten guys. Marked container at the big warehouse on Main Street.”

To anyone else, this would be nonsensical chatter. Not to Cutter. A chill of warning crept around the back of his neck. These two idiots hadn’t noticed he was sitting within earshot. Anything went wrong with this deal, and it would, because Cutter intended to inform Emily ASAP, suspicious eyes would turn his way. He was the outsider, the least known element at the table, who hadn’t sworn loyalty to the Chaos.

Move!his brain commanded.Do anything to throw suspicion off yourself.Cutter hated to embarrass himself or act stupid. However, stupidity and embarrassment were preferable to death.

He slid off the chair to the floor.

The guy next to him startled. “What the…?”

“Ow. Shit,” he complained, rubbing his head, even though he hadn’t hurt himself at all.

Diesel and JT stopped their conversation.

“Hey, man. You, okay?” Diesel asked.

Beast, who’d spoken very little throughout the night, decided to put his two cents in. “This fucking guy’s so trashed, he fell off the chair.”

Perfect. Exactly the comment Cutter needed.

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