“My mom said Smoke’s at his end and you went over there,” Dev said, taking the seat on the other side of the picnic table. Keyes followed suit, but the table didn’t fit their big frames as well as it used to.
“He can barely breathe. How hasn’t he died?” Keyes muttered. “Those fuckin’ prospects he recruited need to go. I’ll never vote ’em in.”
Dev grabbed the bag of food and dumped the contents between them. Keyes stopped a can of soda from rolling off the edge of the table. He couldn’t have agreed more about the Disciples newest prospect pool. There were about fifteen of them who needed to be cut if for nothing more than they had no respect for anything or anybody.
“Agreed. Their days are numbered. We need to bring up the motion next time church is called. Just be done with them all.” He lifted his gaze, judging how torn up Keyes might be after seeing his old man. There wasn’t any emotion reflected in his friend’s face. Only the low rumble of Keyes’s stomach, apparently appreciating the sight of the food. “Mom said the tire shop was turnin’ a nice profit again.” Keyes took over the tire shop a couple of years ago when his old man first fell ill, and it had been steadily improving…until that fucking raid stalled progress.
“Yeah. I’ve already started quotin’ prices on holiday tires. I figure we’ll make up the ground we lost durin’ the raid. I reupped my advertisin’ on those in-store shoppin’ carts. They work crazy well. Figure people’ll shop for groceries in the stores again durin’ the holidays,” Keyes said, flipping the edge of the paper to unroll his sandwich. He used too much force, the garnishes continued to roll, making Keyes have to scoop up the sandwich. With it palmed in his hand, he took a huge bite, tearing a large chunk out of the hoagie as he placed a napkin on one thigh.
A napkin. In his lap. Dev raised his eyebrows.
His brother wasn’t hiding near as much as he thought he did. Civilized people and his mother at Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner made them put napkins in their laps.
“You got a haircut,” Dev mentioned. Repeatedly trimmed hair was not a typical dress-code habit of a Disciples of Havoc biker.
Dev started mentally ticking off all the little changes he’d noticed in Keyes. His normally scraggly beard was now cut and kept neat. He suspected a brush was pushed through it. His long hair wasn’t several different lengths now and may have some of those expertly cut layers in to make it look fuller.
Keyes wore a T-shirt and jeans, both looking like they were recently purchased brand new, not from the thrift store they sifted through regularly.
His brother didn’t make eye contact or acknowledge his words. Instead, he opened both bags of chips, eyeing each. He picked the bag with the least broken chips, tossing the other on the table with disinterest.
Dev found humor in the action and reached for the bag. At some point, he was going to have to start digging to see what his buddy was hiding. But like he had decided months ago, he let his suspicions be enough since Keyes seemed happier. More than anyone Dev knew, Keyes deserved happiness in whatever form it came. He’d tell Dev more when he needed to know.
“We have a run this evenin’. My old man asked if you were in?” Dev asked, taking a much smaller bite than Keyes.
Keyes swallowed the lump of food in his mouth and opened the can of soda that hadn’t made the roll down the table, taking a long drink to help wash the oversized bite down. “’Course. Normal time?”
“He didn’t tell me any different,” Dev said, his mouth full of food. He talked and chewed at the same time only because Keyes hated that shit. His buddy was super tidy, had an innate sense of cleanliness and manners that he was born with—not that they could figure out what side of the family those had passed down through—and was the gentlest of giants about ninety percent of the time.
That other ten percent rivaled Dev on the crazy meter.
“Who’s that?” Keyes tilted his head to take a look behind Dev. Dev glanced over his shoulder too. He hadn’t heard the Dallas PD cruiser pulling up to the pavilion. It was always a roll of the dice whether to bristle at a cop or flip them off in a salute, knowing they were on the Disciples payroll.
“Tay Grisby. He’s got somethin’ to say so I’ve been avoidin’ him the last few days. I don’t really want to hear it.” Dev took another bite as Keyes swallowed, reached for the napkin to wipe the crumbs off his hands, then beard. He wadded the paper napkin up, tossed it aside, and bowed that big chest, looking like the threat he was.
Dev liked the way Keyes’s chest expanded about five inches bigger every time he wanted to look intimidating. At a little over six feet tall, Dev had muscle, but not like his friend. Most people feared his brother when it was Dev that could cause the most destruction in every situation.
Keyes stood to his full height, holding his ground as the officer came under the pavilion’s cover. The cop eyed Keyes closely as if judging the threat. Keyes looked mean as hell, which was one reason his old man included Keyes on his secret drug runs.
Dev took another bite, watching the show of force playing out in front of him. He got involved when Grisby’s hand shifted to rest on the butt of his pistol attached to his belt. “Calm down. It’s too fuckin’ hot outside for a cop to be out of their climate-controlled cage. Why’re you here?”
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Grisby said and cut his irritated gaze to Dev. “I don’t like having to chase you down. It’s not part of our deal.”
“Quit flirtin’ with me,” Dev said, taking another bite of his sandwich. “You want a go at this? All you’ve ever had to do was ask.” Dev raised a single brow at the cop.
Keyes just stood there, a stoic sentinel. His fists balled at his sides. Keyes did silence so well. Grisby had been on the Disciples payroll for years. Up until their last invasion, he’d been excellent at keeping the club one step ahead of everything going on behind the scenes that they weren’t privy to.
The one thing Grisby had in spades was homophobia. Dev’s implication hit its mark. Grisby got his back up. Stupid fucker.
“That shit’s not ever funny, Devilman. Where’s your old man?” The disgust was clear in his tone.
“Why?” Dev asked. Grisby was the informant, not Dev. If it concerned his old man, his location was the last thing Grisby needed to know.
“Something’s going down. There’s a change happening. I don’t know what and I’m not sure where it’s coming from.”
Okay, that was cryptic. Dev could play along. “More than what we’ve been dealin’ with?”
“Yeah,” Grisby said, looking serious, acting uncomfortable as hell.
