The kid hesitated, as if wondering whether he should listen to Cord. That confirmed it—there were definitely two factions, and this guy wasn’t on Marsh’s side. Good to know. The big man cracked his knuckles and spoke again. “Get your ass over here. You’re not in the fuckin’ club yet, cocksucker.”

Interesting—how the hell had Marsh come into power with this guy around? Didn’t add up.

“Take this loser home,” Cord said, nodding toward Hands. “You can use the truck.”

The prospect leaned over, grabbing Hands under the arms to drag him out.

“Want some help?” I asked. “Feel kinda responsible.”

The prospect looked to Cord again, silently asking for permission this time. Better. It was already clear that we’d have to clean house at some point, but this particular brother gave me some hope that it wouldn’t be a totally lost cause.

“What’s your name?” Cord asked.

“Levi,” I told him. “Just came by for the party with my cousin, Cooper. Talia—that girl over there—she invited us.”

Cord nodded, looking faintly disgusted.

“I’m sure he could use the help with this piece of shit,” he said. “Thanks.”

And that was that. I helped the prospect carry Hands out to a battered old truck parked on the far side of the building. He was conscious but not particularly alert as we tossed him into the backseat. Perfect.

“Thanks for the help,” the young prospect said, firing up the engine as I took the passenger seat. “He’s small but he’s heavy. I’m Cody, by the way.”

“Good to meet you,” I said. “Sorry about this.”

“Not your fault. I’m pretty new, but stuff like this happens all the time. That girl always pukes, too. No idea why they keep letting her come around—we always have to clean up after her.”

That’s your fuckin’ job, prospect. This guy would last about ten minutes at the Armory.

“Yeah, that’s weird. So how long you been with the club?”

“Only a couple weeks,” he admitted. “They’re looking for new members, though, and it’s always sounded kind of fun. I’m saving up for my bike right now.”

It took a minute for his words to sink in.

“You don’t have a bike?”

“Well, I’ve got a dirt bike, but nothing street legal. Marsh said it was okay, so long as I get one in the next month.”

I had literally no place in my head to put this information. Fucking hell, the club wasn’t just dysfunctional . . . it wasn’t even a real club. No wonder Pipes had issues. He must be losing his mind, hearing about shit like this, powerless to do a damned thing to stop it. We passed through town and turned down a gravel road off the highway, stopping after half a mile at an isolated trailer. I bit back a pleased smile—couldn’t have asked for a better setup. I’d head out here later tonight and take care of this fucker, easy.

Almost too easy. Was it some kind of trap?

“Here we go,” Cody said. “Hands, you got a key?”

“S’unlocked,” the man in the backseat managed to say. “No worries.”

Cody gave me a concerned look.

“You think he’s gonna die here, we leave him?” he asked. I shrugged.

“You got an order to take him home,” I said. “That means we bring him home. He’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

Ten minutes later we had Hands laid out across his couch, and I’d even covered him in an old afghan I’d found tossed across the back of a chair. I’m thoughtful like that.

“Back to the party now?” Cody asked. I nodded.

“Yeah, gotta figure out how to get my date home. She’s kind of fucked up.”

“Who’re you with?” he asked, eyes lighting up. I could’ve laughed, the poor kid looked so desperate.

“Sadie,” I said shortly.

“Sadie the Sprayer?” he asked, wrinkling his nose. Fuck, not even the prospects wanted her.

“Yeah. Sadie the Sprayer,” I admitted.

“Hope you like barf,” the kid said, snorting. “She’s hot, but watch out—that chick is disgusting.”

Christ. No wonder she needed Talia to find her dates.

•   •   •

I wasn’t able to shake Sadie until nearly three in the morning. The good news was I managed to get the Princess of Puke home without her falling along the way. She’d even sobered up a bit, probably because none of the booze managed to stay in her for long.

Fucking hell, but the club owed me for this one in a big way.

I got back to the hotel first, so I settled in to watch some TV and wait for Gage. He showed up around four a.m., looking rough.

“Have fun with Talia?” I taunted softly, sitting up to grab my boots. Still a lot of work ahead of us for the night—Hands was waiting.

“Fuck off.”

“Did you know they call Sadie ‘the Sprayer’?”

Gage shook his head, and he had the grace to look sheepish. “Only met her once before, and she wasn’t that drunk. Sorry about that—I had no idea what you were in for.”

I nodded, accepting his apology.

“What’s the story with Hands?” he asked.

“Took him home with the prospect, so we know where he lives now. We can go over there and talk to him, then bag him up for Rance. Nice to have a witness that I left him safe and sound hours ago. Nothing to connect me when he disappears. You ready to go?”

Gage sighed, reaching for the mini-fridge. He pulled out a Red Bull, offering it to me silently. I shook my head, knowing the adrenaline would wake me up once we got to work on our victim. Hopefully he’d be alert enough to talk. Gage popped the can open and chugged it.

“Talia tire you out, old man?”

He flipped me off, then grabbed a backpack and pulled out a snub-nosed pistol.

“Let’s go.”

•   •   •

Ten minutes later we were driving toward Hands’s trailer in a little SUV Gage produced out of nowhere. I wasn’t sure how he got it and I sure as shit wasn’t going to ask. I also didn’t ask about the tarp, the duct tape, the two metal bats, or the pliers—I trusted he knew what he was doing and that he hadn’t left a trail behind us.

Hopefully there wouldn’t be any complications, but if there were, our cover was that I’d lost my phone and we’d come out to look for it. I’d mentioned it to Sadie, and she’d even helped me hunt for it as we left the party.

“Nice place,” Gage said dryly as we pulled to a stop. No lights on inside, no signs of life at all.

“Fuck, I hope he’s not dead or something,” I said as we walked toward the door.

“Nah, he didn’t hit that hard. You take point, I’ll cover.”

Hands didn’t answer the door when I knocked, but I’d left it unlocked. Opening it slowly, I saw the fucker was still laid out on the couch, sleeping like a baby. A really ugly, Nazi baby.

I’d expected more of a challenge.

“Inside,” I told Gage. He followed me in, keeping his gun close as he did a quick search of the trailer. I wasn’t carrying these days—that’d be a one-way trip back to Cali if they found it. My parole officer might be on the club payroll but he wasn’t a miracle worker.

Gage came back into the living room, then jerked his chin toward our target. You ready?

Yeah, I told him with a nod, taking up a position out of his line of fire, but close enough I could jump the fucker if he tried to pull something stupid.

“Wake up, asshole,” Gage said. Hands didn’t move. Shit, did he have brain damage or something? The fall had knocked him out . . . That’d suck. I mean, it wasn’t like the guy had much of a future ahead of him or anything—not after what he’d done to Bolt—but we needed answers first.

“Hands—we’re talkin’ to you,” I said, kicking the couch. The man stirred, frowning as he opened his eyes. I clocked the instant he saw the gun pointed at him, because his entire body jerked before going very still. Handsy-boy might’ve been sleeping before, but he was sure as shit awake now.

“Oh fuck,” he said, staring at Gage. Guess that solved the question of whether he’d recognize him. “Fuck!”

In an instant, Hands launched himself across the room toward Gage, obviously aware he wouldn’t be talking his way out of this one. I jumped for him, tackling him before he could get close. There was no real question who’d win, of course. I was a big guy, and the little rat didn’t stand a chance. That didn’t stop him from fighting like his life depended on it, which made sense. It did.