Page 205 of Outlaws of Tulsa

“Corsetti?” Dragon demands, following him back into the clubhouse. “Loki’s problem?”

I let out a heavy sigh and go in as well. Koyn doesn’t come out to the clubhouse unless we’re having Church or he has business to talk about. Apparently, Loki, the prez of the Reno, Nevada, RBMC chapter, has dumped his shit into our lap.

“Loki’s problemisour problem,” Koyn barks back, making his way over to the bar and sitting down. “Anthony Corsetti’s son, Max, took off and headed out east.”

Knowing where my duty lies, I stalk over to the bar to grab him a bottle of Jameson and a glass. Once I pour him a couple of fingers’ worth, I set the bottle beside his glass and cross my arms over my chest. Dragon sits back down beside Katana. Nees is perched next to him, an eyebrow raised at me as if to silently ask me if I’m okay.

“Do we have him?” Nees asks. “Is he here?”

“No, but we’re going to intercept him.” Koyn downs his drink before slamming it on the countertop. “BP, how you handling a Glock these days?”

“I can hit a target,” I assure him, my voice a little too squeaky for my liking.

Katana snorts and I have the urge to flip him off. So maybe I’m not that good at hitting the target yet, but I know how to shoot the damn gun.

“I can do whatever needs to be done.” This time, I harness some of the earlier anger and harden my words with it. “I got your back, Prez.”

His dark eyes soften briefly. “I know you do. I know you all do. Now gather up the rest of the guys, BP. We have shit to discuss.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dragon

The seedy bar just outside of Oklahoma City reeks of desperation. Women with dark makeup and trashy clothes cling to whichever man will offer their arm. A few have glanced my way with interest, but quickly looked the other way when they saw my expression.

I’m not here to fuck around.

I’m here to wrangle a Corsetti for Loki. Koyn says it’s our problem, so it’s our fucking problem. Doesn’t mean I have to like it. If it were my choice, we’d be dealing with Night Giant. He’s too quiet for my liking. Too still. Though we have eyes on him, watching his every move, it’s unnerving not knowing what’s going on inside his head.

Soon.

Right now, we have a job.

Grab this Max Corsetti fucker for Loki and extract information through whatever means necessary. I’ve been dying to get my hands dirty. To slice through the flesh of an enemy, bathing in their howls of pain. I’d be looking forward to this whole damn trip if Prez didn’t sendhimalong for the ride.

Baby Prospect.

He sticks out like a sore thumb wherever we go. Where everyone here is rough and their demons are written in faded ink on their arms or the darkness in their eyes, Cove Gale is like a goddamn angel. Glowing. Innocent. Vulnerable. He makes ithard as fuck to keep my promise to Stormy while also obeying Koyn’s orders. If he were like Filter or even Nees, for fuck’s sake, I wouldn’t feel so torn.

But he’s not.

He’s broken and fragile and unpredictable.

Soft.

So fucking soft.

It makes it insanely difficult to keep my focus on the job when I have to make sure his ass isn’t getting hurt or into trouble.

“He’s not here,” Nees says, sidling up beside me. “Just made the rounds. No one’s talking.”

Because these people are smart. You don’t blab your secrets when some newcomer starts asking around. Not to mention, even though Nees is a criminal like the rest of us, he interrogates like his father. It screams Fed or cop. I probably should be doing the questioning myself, but Koyn wanted us to slide in and out. Not bring attention to ourselves. If I’m the one questioning, I’ll get answers one way or another and that shit isn’t always quiet or clean.

“Who’s that guy?” I ask, tipping my head toward Baby Prospect, who’s sitting awfully close to a big, bearded guy, talking lowly between the two of them.

“Not sure. BP’s been talking to him this whole time.” Nees shrugs and sips his beer. “Might be a hookup.”

Anger churns in my gut. This is why Koyn should have made Cove stay home. He’s more interested in getting laid than doing his damn job.

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