Page 105 of Gunner

“Death Dogs MC.”

“What kind of fucking name is that?” Blade asked.

Nav’s fingers got to work to see what he could find. The rest of us quietly waited while he did his thing.

“Fuck.”

“What is it?” King sat forward, anxious to hear what Nav had discovered.

“Death Dogs MC out of Flagstaff, Arizona. President is Skinner, VP is Vulture, 1% club running drugs, guns, and skin.”

“What kind of fucking skin?” I asked.

“Looks like prostitution. From all accounts, it looks to be voluntary, but you know how that goes. Get ‘em hooked and they’ll consent to anything for a fucking fix.” Nav worked over the keyboard and soon pictures were up on the screen. “Baldfucker is Skinner. The skinny asshole is Vulture. I’ll need a few hours to get names of the entire club.”

“Any problems so far?” King asked, his eyes on the screen. “How long have they been there?”

“Just reports of them being in the area. Haven’t entered Nebraska as of yet, but they’re less than an hour away. Looks like they moved in two weeks ago,” Ghost clarified.

“How many members?” Jingles asked.

With a heavy breath, Nav answered, “Seventy-five, maybe more.”

“Fuck,” Cash whispered.

“We don’t need this shit right now. The whole fucking underworld is on edge. We have enough fucking bikers fighting with each other.” King rubbed his hand over his face. “For now, we keep eyes and ears open. Nav, find out as much as you can. I wanna know why they left Flagstaff and how the fuck they ended up in our backyard.”

“What’s fucking next?”

“We need to talk about Freeway.”

“What the fuck has he done now?” King groaned.

“Nothing, that’s the problem.”

“Why is that a problem?” Colt asked.

“Because it’s fucking Freeway. A quiet Freeway is a scheming fucking Freeway,” I explained.

“Anything more from Steele about why he sent him up here?” Jingles asked.

“No.” King stood up and paced at the front of the room. “Where is he working?”

“With Tank in the wrecker.”

“You need to call Steele and get more information,” Cash urged.

“I don’t want to talk to that fucker,” King grumbled.

I looked at Cash, my brows furrowed in confusion. Cash shrugged. Something was happening in Little Rock. When Steele called to tell us he was sending Freeway, he didn’t give us the option of saying no.

Steele could be an asshole, but he and King had been tight for a long time. King had put him on a pedestal right next to Declan. Looked like they’d both been shoved off.

We knew what secrets King’s brother had been keeping. As for Steele, well, he had always been a shady motherfucker. He didn’t share any shit outside his circle. And that circle was fucking small. King was a part of it when we were in Arkansas. Now it seemed, even King was on the outside.

“Trouble in paradise?” Cash snarked.

King froze in his pacing and turned on Cash. “You got something you wanna fucking say?”

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