“Out cold,” a man said, sounding vaguely pleased by this news. I looked up to see one of the older brothers—part of the pre-Marsh crew, I guess, because he wasn’t wearing a shiny new cut—kneeling next to us.
“Hey, I’m really sorry about that,” I whined, trying to sound harmless and sincere at the same time. “I don’t know what happened.”
“Prospect tripped you,” he said. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, although my side ached like a motherfucker. If I’d cracked a rib, Gage was gonna owe me. “He gonna be okay?”
Hands chose that moment to groan, blinking slowly.
“What the fuck happened?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. Time to bring it home.
“I tripped over the hose and knocked you down,” I told him, hoping I didn’t sound too pleased with myself. “I’m really fuckin’ sorry about that. Here, let me help you out.”
Slowly I rose to my feet, reaching down to pull him up behind me. He swayed, obviously still a little stunned. Damn, I got him good.
“How’s the head?” the Nighthawk brother asked. “You gonna be okay?”
Hands started to nod, then he winced. I exchanged a look with the older man, eyes flicking to his name patch. Cord. Huh.
“You think he needs the ER?” I asked.
“No ER,” Hands said quickly. “I just gotta sit down for a while.”
“I’m real sorry,” I said again. “No hard feelings?”
Hands stared at me, and I could see he was having trouble tracking. I really needed to buy Sadie some flowers, because this couldn’t have gone better if I’d scripted it. Sometimes the good guys actually win.
“Uh, no prob . . . fuck . . .”
“Let’s get him home,” Cord said. He turned to look around, spotting another prospect. “Get your ass over here!”
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.