Page 455 of Devil’s Disciples

He lifted his chin and looked down his nose at me. “So, as long as you can justify the killing in your mind, it’s okay?”

“My mind is all that fucking matters,” I insisted. “It’s not my responsibility to justify my actions in the minds of others. Arguing with hard-headed fuckers like you about what’s right and what’s wrong gets on my nerves.”

“Well, I’m of the opinion that hacking a man into pieces once he’s dead isn’t a big fucking deal. Ever carved a fucking turkey?”

I gave him a look of disbelief. “Don’t even try to compare carving a turkey to cutting a man into pieces.”

“Cutting up a body is cutting up a body.”

“It’s a fucking turkey!” I argued. I looked at Pee Bee. “How the fuck do you live with this on a daily basis?”

He shrugged. “I kind of like arguing.”

“Well,” I shifted my gaze to Crip. “I don’t.”

“Didn’t mean to get in your feelers, Reno,” Crip said, his voice mimicking a whine. “In the world of a true outlaw, sometimes things get ugly.”

“Oh, I’m not a true outlaw? I’m a wannabe, huh?”

“If it wasn’t for knocking off a bank from time to time, you and that group of fuckers you run with would be nothing but a bunch of do-gooders. You’re goddamned sure not an MC in my book.”

I glared back at him. “I’m a do-gooder?”

He nodded. “Pretty much.”

“I just shot two dope dealers in the parking lot of a taco joint on a Tuesday.” I cocked an eyebrow and cleared my throat. “That doesn’t get me any outlaw points?”

“Not even one,” Crip said dryly. “By your own admission, it was self-defense. Self-defense doesn’t earn you shit. You’re a fucking do-gooder.”

I glared at him for a moment, looked at Pee Bee, and exhaled an exaggerated breath. “Fuck. I can’t win with this prick.”

Crip slapped his hand against my shoulder and barked out a laugh. “I’m just fucking with ya. Here’s what I’m getting at, Brother. I’d like for you to become an outlaw for real. It’s time you jump the fence.”

“What fence?”

“Join our MC,” he said. “We discussed it at last week’s meeting. You wouldn’t have to prospect or anything. Just show up, take an oath, and you’re in.”

“I’m fucking flattered, but I already took an oath. I’ve got a Devil’s Disciples tattoo on my chest to prove it.”

The Devil’s Disciples didn’t wear colors on their leather vests. They had a tattoo on their backs to indicate their allegiance to the club. My back was covered in a colorful tattoo before I joined the club, so my insignia was tattooed on my chest.

“Well, when you’re ready to make that change, we’re ready to have you.”

I loved riding with Crip and his club, but I desperately needed to be involved in the criminal activities of the MC that I was presently in. The thrill the Devil’s Disciples offered kept my adrenaline elevated, and the income fed my gambling habits. If I was in the Filthy Fuckers, I’d be doing nothing more than killing drug dealers and fucking random MC groupies.

“Appreciate it.” I gestured toward the only remaining piece of evidence to the night’s crime. “What about the truck? What are we going to do with it?”

“Curly’s brother has a scrap yard. I’ll have him crush it. You can take the two grand. I’m keeping the notepad. It’s filled with a bunch of hand-written notes. None of that shit makes sense to me, but it might come in handy at some point.”

“Written in Spanish?” I asked. “If it is, I can read it.”

“No. It’s in some kind of code. A bunch of letters, over and over.”

“Tito can figure it out.”

He laughed. “The Brainiac?”

Tito rode with the Devil’s Disciples. His expertise was computers, but his knowledge was endless. He knew everything about everything.