Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 76881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Crank nods. “I don’t suppose you want to head back to the club since he doesn’t seem to be home.”
I very much do, but the stakes are too high. “Good try. Let’s put the bikes around back and stick around for a while. See if anyone shows up. I'm getting real curious about the state of poor Uncle Walter.”
I fire off a message to Poe, updating him on our situation.
“At least it's summer,” Crank grumbles.
We wheel our bikes into a blind spot between a row of bushes and the side of a garage, then slip into Walter’s backyard and find a dark corner under a tree. The two of us settle onto the ground, leaning back against the trunk.
It’s going to be a long fucking night.
14
PAIGE
Riding behind Poe at night with hardly any traffic is a totally different experience than when we were fleeing for our lives. The air has cooled down a little but the highway radiates heat stored up from the sunny day. I rest my cheek against his back and watch the city fly by as we take the highway around downtown. The blur of lights is almost hypnotic, getting less and less brilliant as we move away from the center of town.
The Outlaw Sons are based in an area outside the city that I’ve never been. It’s an old fashioned neighborhood built near the river in an area that used to bustle with shipping. Large but shabby houses sit right next to stores with apartments over them, and the whole place feels like it was designed for a different time, and that time has passed. It doesn’t feel dangerous exactly, but forgotten. I guess a motorcycle club wouldn't have its headquarters in the fanciest part of town.
We come up on a traffic light. It's red, but after a brief slowdown, Poe ignores it and drives through. He points.
A sudden burst of nervousness hits me and I cling to Poe tighter. Knowing they are part of a motorcycle club is different than actually seeing it. Up until this moment, it’s been a club of three in my head, and that feels a lot safer.
When the guys talked about the clubhouse, I was thinking of basically a big frat house, maybe a garage outside for the bikes or whatever. I wasn't even close.
The compound stretches around down the street, surrounded by a tall wall. A big double gate is open, watched by a couple of guys in biker leathers. Next to the gate, a huge sign has the Outlaw Sons skull with the crossed pistons on it, with Outlaw Sons MC in curved text over it. Behind the walls looms a tall shadowy building. Men at the gate wave Poe through and he drives straight in.
The clubhouse is a freaking church. In the dark it wasn't obvious from a distance, but now it's unmistakable. It even has the church tower over the entrance. Lights are on inside, shining through colored stained glass windows, and there's rock music coming out of the open doors, even at this hour. This is wild.
We turn past the clubhouse and into a courtyard surrounded by several additional buildings. It starts to make sense as I look around. They’ve taken over what looks like it used to be a church with a school, including the houses that the priests and the nuns lived in. The only newer looking building is a large garage that has the big bay doors thrown open and is brightly lit inside. Someone's welding something in the back, based on the sparks flying.
He parks in front of the old school and puts his bike up on the pegs. I slide off after him, my legs feeling a little wobbly. The saddlebags holding our stuff get thrown over his shoulder. One of them has the money in it. It makes me nervous not to be in charge of it, though it’s not like I did such a great job considering it got stolen.
“I'll give you the tour tomorrow, when there's shit to see, but if you’re feeling anything like me, you’re ready to get clean and sleep for about a week.” He takes my hand in his and pulls me into the building, putting us in a long hallway. “My room’s on the second floor.”
I wonder how long it’s been since little kids were walking through these doors on the way to learn their ABCs. “Honestly, I'm so keyed up I'm not sure if I'm even going to be able to sleep. How did you end up living in an old school?”
He laughs. “Kind of unusual, right? But it works for our purposes. The old classrooms are big enough to not feel too cramped, and the layout is practical. We’ve had to work around the plumbing, so some rooms are better than others, but it’s home.”