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The way Cyrus said that and looked at Priest and Linc—and then Slade—told Slade the president of the club couldn’t get the notion of a rat off his mind.
Which Slade agreed with. Just the thought of it…
Fucking hell. Right now. Someone possibly at this table. A rat? Someone out in the clubhouse… a fucking rat?
“What do you think,Prez?” Linc asked.
Linc stroked his chin. “Think we need to call up Chutney and figure out the concert schedule and get ourselves a gig. Maybe press that other sister about information. Someone has to know something. We find the person who did this and if it’s not club related, hand his ass over to Chief Dick.”
“Are you serious?” Priest asked. “They could have—”
“It’s for good press,” Linc cut in. “The club helps find someone who murdered an innocent waitress.”
“Exactly,” Cyrus said.
“I’ll make some calls,” Darrow said. “I’m not done digging into this either. But I don’t think this is club related.”
“We still have to deal with ourSS13problem,” Fitz said. “These guys are getting bigger balls by the second.”
“They’re pussies,” Priest said. “Hiring out. We’ll find everyone they hire and gut them.”
“One thing at a time, brothers,” Cyrus said. He smacked the gavel to the table and stood up.
The rest of the guys stood up and worked their way to the clubhouse. Booze and women waited.
Slade couldn’t wait to get his dick sucked by some deecee… and picture Nelle’s perfect lips the entire time…
Chapter Four
The Who-Haw Incident
There was no after-the-funeral party for Thalia. She was lucky she even had a spot in an actual cemetery. Reduced to ashes to be split up, spread around, left as fading dust in a breeze that would carry her memory intowho-knows-what-or-where. It seemed like a fitting end to Thalia’s life, even as sad as it sounded.
Even having the smallest of funerals was a bad idea. A stupid idea. A risky idea. It made Nelle uneasy. Even back at Calista’s small apartment, she caught herself looking out the window constantly.
Calista drank a bottle of wine like it was water. The drinking didn’t surprise Nelle at all. Her two sisters thrived with a little bit of a rebellious streak that was completely understood yet came with a lot of problems.
Calista stumbled out of her attempt of a kitchen—which was merely an extension of the living room with a fridge, stove, sink, and microwave. She dropped the empty wine bottle to the floor, then sat down on the arm of her couch.
Standing at the window—again—Nelle looked back at her sister and did a double take. She sighed.
“Calista, you’re not wearing panties,” Nelle said. “Really?”
Calista looked down. Her dress had been pulled up when she sat down. Way up. Showing off her…
“Oh well,” Calista said.
“No class at all, huh?”
“My sister was fucking murdered!” Calista yelled.
“What does that have to do with yourwho-hawshowing?” Nelle yelled back.
Calista instantly burst into a fit of laughter.
“What?” Nelle asked.
“You called my pussy awho-haw! I haven’t heard that in years!”
