Page 368 of Devil’s Disciples

I narrowed my gaze. “What are you, a fucking psychiatrist?”

“I know how to read people. I have to.”

I put my hands in my front pockets.

“Now, you’re disappointed with what you’ve done. Upset that I pegged you for being argumentative.”

She was right. On both accounts. “How the fuck did you know that?”

“I’m good at what I do.”

I was convinced. That she was good at what she did, and that she and I just might get along. “So, you’re not scared about me being an outlaw?”

“Scared? I’m not scared of you, what you do, or how you go about doing it. We’re one in the same. Granted, I haven’t been beat up, tied up, cut up, shaken up, or blown up.” She shrugged dismissively. “Maybe it’s just that I’m better at what I do than you are at what you do.”

I scoffed. “Better? I seriously doubt that.”

She picked up her can of beer. “I suppose time will tell.”

I gave her a look. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” She sipped her beer. “I was just being a smart-ass.”

“Well, stop it,” I snapped. “I’m trying to get along, here.”

“We’re both criminals. Outlaws. Or whatever. Let’s just leave it at that.”

“There’s a lot of shit I do that I can’t tell you about,” I admitted, coming clean, so to speak. “I’m kind of bound to secrecy by the club I run with.”

In the midst of taking a drink, she paused. She seemed to digest what I’d said. She lowered the can. “Your gang or clique or whatever?”

“Motorcycle club.”

“That’s fine with me. I’m sure not going to tell you about all my travels.” She smirked. “What else you got, Goose?”

I shrugged. “I think that’s it.”

She sat down on the bench and glanced over her shoulder. “I’m supposed to run down the steps now? In fear for my life?”

“I don’t know.” I sat down beside her. “I’m new to this.”

“So am I.” She nodded toward the horizon. “How about we watch the sunset, then I’ll suck your pretty cock?”

I liked her outlook on life. I reached for my beer. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

“So, what does all this mean?” she asked, still gazing at the beach. “We’ve admitted that we’re interested in each other?”

“I find you interesting,” I replied. “I’m pursuing my interests. That’s all I can commit to.”

“That’s good enough for me.” She raised her can of beer between us, in toast. “Let me know if anything changes. One way, or the other.”

I doubted it would. I clanked my can against hers, nonetheless. “I will.”

133

Ally

High-income home owners kept their money in the strangest places. Shoe boxes tucked away in the closet was a familiar hiding spot. In a Ziploc bag in the toilet tank was another. In the inside coat pocket of their favorite jacket was a common place to find ten thousand dollars in one hundred-dollar bills.