Page 37 of Cinder
Speak of the devils.
I pick up my keys and phone from the small table and open the door. The two men who are on Ella-watch don’t greet me with smiles or a good morning. Just cold, nefarious expressions. They’re both young. Probably early thirties. Both are clean shaven, but one has a scar that runs the length of his face, temple to chin. He hands me a bus timetable.
“Mr. Moretti asked me to remind you that you are not to speak to anyone or stop anywhere while you are enroute to the clubhouse.”
Luca and Viktor decided I should catch a bus to the clubhouse. A car means a license plate. And a license plate is easily trackable. I also think Luca assumes the bus ride is another inconvenience for me to bear. Something to further my misery. But he’s wrong. It wouldn’t occur to him that I’m looking forward to climbing on that bus and having it ferry me away from here.
I snatch the timetable off him. “I am well aware of what I am meant to do.”
His lips tremble with irritation and I have no doubt aboutwhat he wishes he could do to me. It’s blaring in his cold, dark eyes.
But I don’t show him an ounce of fear.
Instead, I close the door and make my way across the parking lot to the bus stop where I wait for the 102 bus to St. Boniface.
CHAPTER 18
Lars
The stained-glasswindow over the long oak table bleeds morning light into the church. Beast stands at the head of the table, a seven-foot wall of leather and muscle, and with a temper forged in hellfire.
“Let’s get this shit started,” he growls, glancing down the line of my patched brothers.
We’re packed in around the heavy war table, oak carved by the first Knights who turned these castle ruins into a clubhouse more than a hundred years ago.
Beast doesn’t waste time. A military-grade AR-15 hits the middle of the table with a loud clank.
“Two weeks ago, Axe and Ryder intercepted a shitbox Hyundai up the back road near Cradle Pass. Inside werethree twitchy tweakers and a military-grade AR-15. Not your average street gun. This one’s custom. Ghost serials, modded trigger. Same kind Lars found on that guy in the junkyard last month.”
My jaw tightens at the mention of the piece of shit who I took my time with because he was a raping murderer of young women.
A second gun hits the center of the table. This one an AK-105 rife. Beside it, Beast places a Soviet-style RGD-5 fragmentation grenade and a M84 flashbang.
“Night patrol picked these up when they intercepted a vodka delivery truck on the coastal road last night,” Beast says. “Six crates of each.”
The Knights run night patrol to ensure shit like this doesn’t leak into our town.
“Something about it felt off,” Bear explains. He was on patrol with Stone and Zac last night. “Pulled them over for a friendly chat.”
“Which quickly became not-so-friendly when a couple of assholes started shooting at us,” Zac explains.
Zac and I look like we could be brothers. Same Viking roots. Same shaved hair and blond ponytails. Same zero tolerance for assholes.
“I still don’t know how we didn’t get shot,” Bear says, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head.
“Because I ran him off the road when they started shooting,” Stone reminds him. Stone is our go-to when it comes to ourHarleys. What he doesn’t know about them, or how to fix them, isn’t worth knowing.
“Where did this happen?” Ryder asks.
“The cliffs,” Bear replies.
“Gunfire would’ve alerted some of the nearby houses,” Ryder says.
“I spoke to the sheriff, and he assures me that won’t be a problem,” Beast says.
The Knights have a good relationship with Sheriff Coulter, and each month he gets a nice fat retainer for his troubles.
“What information did you get off the delivery driver?” Axe asks.
