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“It ain’t when you kill someone under my protection,” Locke said, rocking the chair back and forth. Pickman wheezed out his breath.

The door opened, and Tiny returned with Greg. Locke leaned over the back of the chair and grinned at Pickman. “Meet Greg, the kids’ big brother. We wish to know who’s organising this. Greg, don’t let him die without a name,” Locke said.

“The cleaning crew is on their way, sir,” Greg replied, eyeing Pickman with relish.

Pickman saw the murder in Greg’s eyes and realised his fate. “Stefan Marker. He wants more territory. He controls Omaha and is aiming for Sioux City, as Salisbury won’t give him a pipeline.”

“So you thought you’d muscle in? Cause some trouble and fuck us over. Doesn’t work like that here. This is our turf to hold, and we will,” Locke released a slight chuckle. “The arrogance of Marker.”

“You can’t touch me; I’m one of his top lieutenants,” Pickman yelled. “This is war.”

“Marker declared the moment he stepped into our state without permission. The underground shall end it,” Locke stated.

“Marker won’t stand for this. If I vanish, he’ll send more!” Pickman babbled, trying to find a way out of the mess he was in.

“Oh, you won’t disappear, Pickman. We’re going to do this the old way,” Locke stated, and I barely hid a grimace.

“What’s that mean?”

“Yeah. Greg will take your hand while you’re conscious and then cauterise the wound. We wouldn’t want you to die quickly. Then he’ll saw through your neck with a blunt saw, again, while you’re alive. We’ll send both to Marker. If he doesn’t think we’re at war, he will after that.” Locke grinned.

“You’re fuckin’ insane!” Pickman screamed, spittle flying from his lips.

“Psycho, remember? God, do I need a name badge? Get whatever information we need out of him. Times, dates, upcoming fights, previous ones—everything, Greg. Don’t fail to get me the info I require. That asshole is yours. Take him to a holding cell,” Locke ordered Greg.

Greg grinned and smashed Pickman in the face until he was unconscious. Locke stared at him.

“Make him scream for your brother and bring me the footage.”

Greg nodded, and Locke turned on his heel and straightened his suit. “Ready, gentlemen?”

“Gonna share what you get?” I demanded.

“Yes. You are bothersome. My oath is good, even if I’m a raving lunatic.”

“Never a truer word spoken,” Tiny muttered as we followed Locke back to the Hummer.

Chance and Inglorious needed Marker’s name urgently. Marker was a crime boss in Missouri, not in our territory. However, the egomaniac had brought war to us. That wouldn’t stand. Not in our book, anyway.

Meadow

“Ready?” Chill asked as he grabbed Zion by the scruff of his t-shirt.

I smirked at him. My kids were amped and raring to go. Chill had committed the mistake of telling them we were going to a cabin the club owned. After last weekend at Wall Drug and now this, he’d made a rod for his back.

“I am,” I said pointedly, as Poet zoomed past. He’d also mistakenly sugared them up. I had an audiobook on my phone, earbuds, and a pillow. Chill was on his own after ignoring my warnings. I got into the car, got comfortable, and put on the book—Oakwood Manor, by Elizabeth N. Harris.

Twenty-five minutes later, Chill climbed into the SUV with a dark look at me. A serene smile crossed my lips, and Chill shook his head before heading out.

An hour drive took two. Poet had to pee, then Zion did; then they wanted drinks and snacks, and Chill was grinding his teeth as we arrived.

“Told you, road trip equals no sugary drinks or candy. Maybe you’ll learn for the return home,” I teased.

Cassian snorted. He’d done the same as me.

“Let’s explore,” he said.

“Yup. The sugared-up demons from hell remain yours until they come down off their high,” I informed Chill and disappeared before he could argue.