Page 65 of Outlaws' Dirty Secret

He waits until I shake my head nervously.

“It means I've got nothing to fucking lose.” He digs those gray clay squares out of the crate and starts lining them up on a folding table next to me.

What would I do if this was a mystery book? I told Grace that I didn’t want to write mysteries and that’s true, but it doesn’t mean I never read them. I need to leave a sign that I was here in case they are on my trail.

Easier said than done.

The only thing I have that I can get to with my hands tied is my ring. Would they recognize it? But Tanner might hear it hit the floor. I try to get him talking again.

“What did the club do to you?” I try to make it sound sympathetic. Like I actually care. I'm a better writer than actor, but if I don't try anything, then I'm just giving up.

I start working my ring off my finger. Hanging down, my hands are swollen with blood, but I twist it, not caring that it's digging into my skin if it even has the chance of getting me out of this alive.

“They used to be fun, you know? We did what we wanted, when we wanted. Then General got it in his head to buy that fucking church and ‘get serious’.” Tanner puts it in air quotes. “And you know what, I could've gone along if he didn't have such a fucking stick up his ass about it. So yeah, I made shit hard for him. Figured if people saw we weren’t cut out for the jobs, they’d start agreeing with me that the old way was better.”

He sounds like he’s been holding this in for a long time, and now I’m convenient. I’m getting the whole backstory, but that’s okay. So long as he’s villain-ranting at me, he’s not killing me.

The ring pops past my knuckle, and from there it's easy. I hold it between two fingers, ready to let it drop as soon as I have a good moment.

“And you know what? Sure, if some people were willing to throw me cash to fuck stuff up a little? That just makes me an entrepreneur. Never enough money, you know? Leave a door open here, forget to stand guard for an hour, whatever. But it wasn't my fucking fault that Mercy and Hardtack got taken out. All I did was take a little walk when I was told, and General gotall up in arms about it. And did a single brother stand up for me? Not a fucking one! Not even my own fucking blood. I had to spread a few rumors about him to get him to realize what a bunch of assholes they were.” He trails off into grumbling that I can't make out.

Definitely not stable.

“I had to become a fucking civvie. You have no idea how much it fucking killed me to cut my hair, to park my bike, to fucking wearuniformsto get myself back above water. But I met some people. I was always good at meeting people. And I?—”

The clink of my ring hitting the cement floor is louder than I expected, hitting right between two of his words.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Was what?”

“That sound. What are you trying?” He comes closer, squinting at me. Then kneels to look under me.

He's close. Really close. Can I do anything about that?

Who am I kidding? All trussed up, the best I could hope for is to bump him, and then he could break me in return.

He comes back up holding the ring. “This yours?” He's not really asking.

“It… it must've slipped off my finger. It's a little loose.” This is it. He's going to kill me for trying to drop a hint.

But no. He just grunt and slaps the ring down on the table. “Not gonna need that anymore anyway.”

That doesn't sound good.

Tanner takes out a bundle of wires from the bag he had in the car. He picks up one of the little play dough squares and shoves the tip of a wire into it, then picks up another and repeats the process, until he's got a whole bunch of squares with wires. There's some kind of strappy harness he attaches them to, all the way around. He grumbles to himself the whole time, but I don't think I want him talking anymore. Ideally, I want him to just forget all about me, but that's too much to ask.

“There. Getting close to your big moment. I hope you're ready. On your feet.” When I don't stand immediately, he grabs me under my armpits and yanks me up. I have to balance or go flat on my face. “On your feet, I said. Now, let's see how this fits.”

He holds up the harness with the play dough squares and lowers it over my head. After releasing and reattaching some straps, he's got it attached like a vest, then takes a step back to look.

Oh God, I realize what this is. I've seen enough movies, it just didn't occur to me that something like that existed in real life. Those are explosives. And they're strapped to me.

“Fucking perfect.”

“What are you doing?” I try to keep most of the shrillness out of my voice, but now that I'm turned into basically a walking bomb, there's not much chill left.

“Stand still.” He brings over some kind of electronic device on a belt. “Have to get this on so that you can wear a jacket over it.”

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