of Clint. He’d have to find another way.
He just hoped to hell that if he was right, Clint would give him fair warning to get Kenny out of the way somehow. Clint had intimated that he was keeping tabs on the job, still guiding the DEA within the structures he’d learned of during his time on the inside of the MC.
He wondered if there was going to come a point in time where he would just have to let Kenny make his own mistakes and pay the price of them without Jace’s aid.
“Just the dates, Kenny—so I can make sure I’m around if you get into trouble with the law,” Jace told him, and Kenny couldn’t argue with that.
After half an hour, a couple of the Killers rode up in full gear.
“I told them I’d be here with you,” Kenny said, and Jace cursed inwardly.
Half the people who were sitting at tables in the outside portion of the burger joint got up and left, mainly those with kids, while many of the girls and women stayed, lowered their shirts a little so their breasts jutted, licked their lips and seemed to cry out for the attention.
Jace wanted to tell them that none of them should want the kind of attention this lifestyle would bring them, but he had enough trouble with the one idiot he was sitting next to.
Kenny waved to them, and Jace tensed like there was an imminent firefight in his future.
Nacho and Shaz tapped fists with both men, sat next to Kenny and ate off his plate but didn’t dare touch Jace’s.
“Your cousin’s been making a name for himself,” Nacho told him. High-school dropout with no life outside the gang, he was taking Kenny a little too much under his wing.
Jace should’ve brought Kenny into the military with him. Should’ve insisted on it. He just kept eating while they talked sports and fucking and riding until a subject that made his blood run cold came up.
“Wait, back up on that,” he said, and Nacho looked at him warily.
“Cage fighting—Kenny’s up next week. We’re training him for the big night.”
It took everything Jace had not to smash Nacho’s forehead into the table. Kenny avoided looking at Jace, because he knew his cousin was seething.
Kenny knew some basic bar-fighting moves, but cage fighting was serious business around here. Totally illegal, off-the-charts violent, with an anything-goes attitude, and Kenny didn’t need to lose any more brain cells.
“You’d be a shoo-in,” Nacho told Jace now. “Too bad. Although you could do it and just not tell anyone who you are.”
There was no use explaining that his hands were registered deadly weapons for a reason, that he could kill a man so many different ways that he couldn’t even pretend it would be a fair fight. Rules were in place for a reason—men in his job had fought before—innocent bar fights—and they’d killed men accidentally, because judging their own strength against an untrained opponent just wasn’t something they could always control.
“Yeah, think of all the money we could pull down,” Shaz was adding. “Jace, what if you just teach us some of your moves?”
“I’m sure Cools has some.” Jace shoved his food away. He’d lost his appetite. “Gotta head out. Talk soon.”
He didn’t look back at the table of assholes, was heading to evening training hours earlier than necessary just to get his head back on straight after this little meeting of the minds. Maybe Sawyer was around.
But apparently it was going to be an entire day of assholes, because his handler rang him up when he was almost to base.
Mike didn’t want to hear that he hadn’t been able to glean much intel. The whole thing was like walking over a live landmine. There was no way you weren’t going to take a hit, no matter how carefully you stepped.
“Tell me you’ve got something for me, Jace,” Mike said in that I-just-want-to-help-you-out bullshit tone.
He told Mike about the dates for the newest runs.
“That’s it?”
“Ah, fuck, Mike, that’s enough. I’ve been away.”
“What do
He just hoped to hell that if he was right, Clint would give him fair warning to get Kenny out of the way somehow. Clint had intimated that he was keeping tabs on the job, still guiding the DEA within the structures he’d learned of during his time on the inside of the MC.
He wondered if there was going to come a point in time where he would just have to let Kenny make his own mistakes and pay the price of them without Jace’s aid.
“Just the dates, Kenny—so I can make sure I’m around if you get into trouble with the law,” Jace told him, and Kenny couldn’t argue with that.
After half an hour, a couple of the Killers rode up in full gear.
“I told them I’d be here with you,” Kenny said, and Jace cursed inwardly.
Half the people who were sitting at tables in the outside portion of the burger joint got up and left, mainly those with kids, while many of the girls and women stayed, lowered their shirts a little so their breasts jutted, licked their lips and seemed to cry out for the attention.
Jace wanted to tell them that none of them should want the kind of attention this lifestyle would bring them, but he had enough trouble with the one idiot he was sitting next to.
Kenny waved to them, and Jace tensed like there was an imminent firefight in his future.
Nacho and Shaz tapped fists with both men, sat next to Kenny and ate off his plate but didn’t dare touch Jace’s.
“Your cousin’s been making a name for himself,” Nacho told him. High-school dropout with no life outside the gang, he was taking Kenny a little too much under his wing.
Jace should’ve brought Kenny into the military with him. Should’ve insisted on it. He just kept eating while they talked sports and fucking and riding until a subject that made his blood run cold came up.
“Wait, back up on that,” he said, and Nacho looked at him warily.
“Cage fighting—Kenny’s up next week. We’re training him for the big night.”
It took everything Jace had not to smash Nacho’s forehead into the table. Kenny avoided looking at Jace, because he knew his cousin was seething.
Kenny knew some basic bar-fighting moves, but cage fighting was serious business around here. Totally illegal, off-the-charts violent, with an anything-goes attitude, and Kenny didn’t need to lose any more brain cells.
“You’d be a shoo-in,” Nacho told Jace now. “Too bad. Although you could do it and just not tell anyone who you are.”
There was no use explaining that his hands were registered deadly weapons for a reason, that he could kill a man so many different ways that he couldn’t even pretend it would be a fair fight. Rules were in place for a reason—men in his job had fought before—innocent bar fights—and they’d killed men accidentally, because judging their own strength against an untrained opponent just wasn’t something they could always control.
“Yeah, think of all the money we could pull down,” Shaz was adding. “Jace, what if you just teach us some of your moves?”
“I’m sure Cools has some.” Jace shoved his food away. He’d lost his appetite. “Gotta head out. Talk soon.”
He didn’t look back at the table of assholes, was heading to evening training hours earlier than necessary just to get his head back on straight after this little meeting of the minds. Maybe Sawyer was around.
But apparently it was going to be an entire day of assholes, because his handler rang him up when he was almost to base.
Mike didn’t want to hear that he hadn’t been able to glean much intel. The whole thing was like walking over a live landmine. There was no way you weren’t going to take a hit, no matter how carefully you stepped.
“Tell me you’ve got something for me, Jace,” Mike said in that I-just-want-to-help-you-out bullshit tone.
He told Mike about the dates for the newest runs.
“That’s it?”
“Ah, fuck, Mike, that’s enough. I’ve been away.”
“What do
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