Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Lyric was one of the rare club sisters or brothers that actually still lived in the DAMC compound with her parents. After her older brother patched in, Nix moved out of their house and into one of the rooms above Church a few years ago.
The DAMC women were limited on where they could live. If it wasn’t in the compound or his family’s farm or the apartment above the pawn shop, which was currently occupied by Bri, then they were shit out of luck.
Lyric asked, “How’s Piper?”
Rage glanced down at Lyric and his gut twisted when it hit him that she could’ve been lost today.
That made him more determined than ever to get justice for her.
And he damn well would.
“Dunno,” he answered. “Gonna go find out next.”
Again, she squeezed his arm, drawing both his and Crow’s attention. “Will you let me know once you do?”
“Yeah, baby, I will,” he whispered.
“Thank you.”
Anything for you. “You got it.”
He jerked his chin up at Crow and went to go have a word with Piper.
Hopefully, the Angels of Fury’s sergeant at arms knew more about their attackers than the other women.
Because right now, they didn’t have shit beside assumptions.
And the fuck if he liked being left in the dark.
Chapter Two
This goddamn waiting sucked. He could never be a private investigator.
He dug deep for patience because he hoped to fuck it would pay off.
He had found a good parking spot to “hide” the cage he borrowed from Gabi—one of the DAMC club sisters who worked at Heaven’s Angels—since her Hyundai drew a hell of a lot less attention than his loud-as-fuck sled. To avoid being recognized, he also left his cut back in his apartment above the strip club.
The parking lot next to the former Demons clubhouse in Uniontown was a good place to keep an eye out for any of those Twisted Souls.
But for fuck’s sake, he hadn’t seen a damn one go in or come out of the Wolf Den yet. Not one sled was parked out front, either. But, that didn’t mean shit since the Demons used to park behind the old building in a secure, fenced area.
Even so, he hoped to fuck those motherfuckers hadn’t decided to establish the Church for their Pennsylvania chapter elsewhere.
He scrubbed a hand down his beard and gritted his teeth so he wouldn’t bellow in frustration and possibly draw some attention.
The longer he waited, the higher the urge was to kill and gut the next Soul he spotted, no matter who it was.
But he needed info and a dead man told no tales.
Finally, he heard it.
The very familiar sound of a Harley’s exhaust. Thank fuck it only sounded like a single bike and not a group.
He pushed out a breath to gather his thoughts and went over his plan again. What little there was of it.
Basically, he needed to ambush whoever it was without it becoming a huge production. That meant he needed to avoid a knock-down, drag-out fight and do a surprise attack instead. Like the Souls had done with his club sisters.
He had to keep his head, especially since he was alone.
It was one thing to go one-on-one with a Soul. It was another to get caught by the whole damn club. If that happened, he doubted he’d be walking away the winner. He’d be lucky if he was able to walk away at all.
From where he sat in Gabi’s Sonata, he spotted a lone sled pulling out from the rear of the clubhouse and heading south.
Rage quickly started the cage and counted to three before following since he needed to keep a good distance. Far enough he wouldn’t get made, close enough he didn’t lose track of the Soul.
And the biker’s cut confirmed it was a member of the Twisted Souls.
Good.
Time to get some answers for the questions that burned deep within his gut.
At the next crossroad, the fucker took a right.
So did Rage.
He had one shot to do this right. If the Soul knew he was after him and took off, he didn’t think Gabi’s Hyundai would be able to keep up. It could hardly get out of its own way.
She really needed to upgrade her ride.
But that wasn’t his problem. His problem was the biker ahead of him, still upright on two wheels.
Rage considered the direction the Soul was headed and tried to remember what was along that route. He needed to get the motherfucker isolated. Where no fucking eyes, ears, or security cameras were around.
He had no plans on heading back to prison anytime soon.
Or hell, ever.
Twice was more than fucking enough, fuck you very much.
Those two times taught him a hard lesson on being more careful when it came to taking care of business.
Or taking out the fucking trash.
Unfortunately for the Soul riding ahead of him, today was trash day.