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“The motherfuckers took our shit!”
He had a crazy look in his eyes that said he was about to blow. When Joker blew, people paid dearly. I couldn’t remember how many times one of us had to keep him from committing murder.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“The Border Lords. Jensen had a bag of Molly he was supposed to be selling for us, and some new fucker they’re rolling in did a snatch and dash on him.”
Fuck.
Every time The Border Lords initiated a new member, they made them do something risky. Fucking with us was the most dangerous thing they could do—especially if it involved our money. You didn’t fuck with the Sons of Sinister and our money. It was rule number one.
“Are you sure it was them?”
It was a stupid question. It was always the Border Lords, but I didn’t want to jump some innocent fuck.
He nodded, his glacial eyes turning red with rage. The skin beneath his left eye was starting to twitch, which meant I needed to appease him before he simmered too long.
“How much was left?” I asked.
If it had only been a handful, it wasn’t worth our time.
“J hadn’t even sold a single dose, man. It was a full bag.”
Holy shit.
That changed things.
“You mean to tell me this fucker snatched twenty-grand in pills?” Saint asked before I could.
Joker nodded, twisting his fingers together. A smile broke across his lips, and he started to laugh. He knew we were about to take care of business, and the fucker loved to tear shit up.
“Yep. What are we doing? I say we find this little bitch, kick his ass, and get our shit back.”
I agreed with a nod. “Find out where he lives. Get Crow, and we’ll go get our shit.”
I cleaned the engine parts and took a hot shower while Saint and Joker set out to find Crow and the address for the dumb fuck who stole from us. I was dressed and stepping out of the steamy bathroom when I heard them come through the front door.
“Did you get it?” I asked, coming around the corner.
Saint nodded, and Joker grinned.
It was time to kick some ass.
We drove through town toward the country. Joker had found out the fuck who stole our bag of ladies was a new chump from the west coast. He had moved onto our turf, bought himself a bike, and was now pretending he knew what the fuck was going down.
He didn’t know shit.
If he did, he would know better than to pull some shit like this on us.
The streets hadn’t changed much over the years. They were still as fucked-up as they were when I lived on them. I hadn’t had a good childhood. My mother and father had worried more about their next hit than they had their two boys, and when they didn’t get what they needed, my pops used my brother and me as punching bags.
I could take a hit like no other thanks to the old fucker who made me. It was the only good thing my father gave me: that, and the ability to survive.
I got my ass kicked almost every day for half of my life. Once my older brother, Junior, left home, I ran away and lived on the streets with Joker and Saint until we met Crow and figured out precisely what paid the bills.
Drugs.
I hated dealing the one thing that ruined my life, but I had to survive.
