The Heretics’ ownership of the Rawlins Rampage Arcade allows us to launder money. I’m not a numbers guy, but my club president, Oz, put me in charge of dropping off and picking up the cash. I figured that meant he trusted me the most. Or he didn’t think the other guys were smart enough to count.

Today, the club meets at the hot dog shop next to the arcade. Oz’s kids attend the school a block over, and he plans to pick them up, along with Cayenne’s daughter, after we’re done here.

“I know Blackjack will be late because he always is,” Oz says while scratching at the tabletop with his knife. “Devo is visiting his dying aunt out of town. I don’t know where the fuck Vile is, but his kid is getting out of school soon, so I figured his ass would be here first.”

“What about Camo?” I ask about our youngest club member.

“Dicking some chick or playing nice with a dealer. Who the fuck knows?”

“Shouldn’t you know?” When Oz’s dark eyes narrow, I feel a punch coming. Rather than worry, I only smile. “Well?”

“I don’t chase the kid or play stalker.”

“The money he wastes playing nice with those dealers is your money, though.”

“I’ve got it handled.”

Smiling again, I see Oz’s temper flaring. He’s a big softie with me. Sure, he’s kicked my ass a few times and threatened to cut off my shoulder-length brown hair on multiple occasions. I only smile when he pulls that shit. Even when my lips are swollen and bloody, I give him a big grin. I’m a nice guy like that.

Blackjack and Camo show up together. The roars of their Harleys sound really fucking loud in the quiet day. Parking next to each other, they don’t hurry over to the outdoor table where we sit. Instead, they’re Chatty Cathys until Oz whistles at them.

“What’s the hurry?” Blackjack asks, stalking toward us. “I don’t see the old men here.”

“Devo’s out of town for his aunt’s deathbed goodbye.”

“Yeah, that’s right. He said something about her being a real nice old broad.”

“Vile ain’t coming,” Camo announces as he sits at a nearby table and reties his boot. “Something about hemorrhoid pain.”

“Him or his woman?” Oz mutters.

“Both maybe.”

“You’re a shit fuck when it comes to remembering messages, Camo. I’ve known corpses with more brain activity.”

“Sticks and stones,” Camo says and smiles. “Admit it, boss, you didn’t want Vile here anyway, so who the fuck cares why he didn’t show up?”

Vile and Devo are from the Heretics’ old guard. They came up with our former president, Cell, and neither man seems too comfortable with Oz in charge. Now that Oz hooked up with the leader of the Everything Nice Crew, the two old-timers are even less impressed. Ginger has no use for them—or most people really—and she treats Rawlins as her bitch. Oz digs the woman’s power. Vile and Devo wish she could stick to sucking off the boss rather than offering her opinion on drugs and whores.

“I care because the assholes act like sneaky bitches lately. I hear them whispering at the bar. I even caught them giving everyone those looks women get when they’re up to something. So, yeah, I want to know where they are and what they’re doing.”

“How do we know Devo is really with a dying aunt?” I ask, deciding to throw a little kerosene on the fire. “If he wanted to get out of town for a meetup with someone, he’d probably use the dying relative lie.”

Oz grumbles under his breath. “I know he has a dying aunt because I listened to him talk about the bitch for the last two years. Don’t you people ever listen to anyone besides yourself talk?”

“No,” Camo says. “So are we having a meeting or not?”

“You have somewhere to be, princess?” Oz growls.

“Always.”

“Then let’s get to it,” Oz says and returns to carving “GJ” into the table. “With more legit businesses moving into Rawlins, we need to make sure our junkie clients don’t do their junkie bullshit in the public parts of town.”

Blackjack nods before leaning back to take a swipe at Camo who ducks. “So we keep the parks prim and proper for the civilians.”

“Is that it?”

“Yeah, basically,” Oz lies.

“Why couldn’t you text us that message?”

“What if your phones were bugged?”

“Text in code,” Camo says, again dodging Blackjack’s slaps.

“Will you two knock it the fuck off?” Oz growls.

A scowling Blackjack looks pained. “You were the one who told me to beat him into submission.”

“Well do it on your own time.”

Blackjack glances at Camo, and the men share a disgruntled frown. Oz is acting like a lying bitch, but what can I do? He won’t talk until he wants to talk. Besides, I don’t need to be a genius to know he doesn’t trust us like he does Ginger. Whatever he wants to air out, he’ll do with her. Until he stops treating the club like five guys he barely tolerates, our downward slide is bound to continue.