Puck laughed. “You sound like you’re an old man, dude. I’m itching to kick their asses. It’s been a while since we had a good rumble.”
Rags nodded. “Not since San Diego a couple of years ago. I wonder if these assholes are gonna show up at the Fall Festival next weekend.”
“I wouldn’t put it past them.”
“We’re the ones doing the festival on private property, so I say don’t let the fuckers in.”
“That’s one of the things we’re gonna discuss at church.”
“Is Banger calling a special one?”
“Nah, just the regular one tomorrow afternoon,” Puck said.
A notification pinged, and Rags’s eyes dropped to the screen. “Gotta go. Throttle’s already at the job site. I’ll see you later, brother.”
When Rags arrived at the building, Throttle was bent over digging a hole and cussing up a storm.
“Hey,” Rags said, dry leaves crunching under his work boots as he came up to Throttle.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Sweat poured down his face.
“At the clubhouse. I thought we were meeting up at nine thirty.”
“I told you eight o’clock about a hundred times. Lately, you’ve got your head up your ass.”
Irritation, like fine, sharp grit, settled over Rags’s skin. “I’ll let that pass. Last week you were an hour late for a job, but I did the work and didn’t whine about it like a wimp.” Rags picked up a shovel and joined Throttle.
“I’m not whining, I’m just saying we got shit to do.”
“I know, so leave it alone.”
“Did you go to the party last night? I heard it was pretty hardcore.”
Rags shook his head. “I wasn’t up for it. I went riding instead.”
Throttle halted mid-scoop as his gaze snapped toward Rags. “I never thought I’d hear you say you weren’t up for some pussy. What the hell, dude?”
“I can get that any time I want, but riding…, you know what it’s like, brother. The slight gasoline fumes, waves of heat coming up from the engine, the rush of wind all around… Fuck, dude, it beats out a party any time.”
Throttle leaned back. “Yeah, nothing like it. Pussy doesn’t even compare. Shit, man, I wanna go for a ride now. Let’s get this job over so we can hit the backroads.”
“Can’t do it today. I’m meeting Clara for dinner.”
“Is it her birthday?”
“Nah, she wants to talk. I don’t know what it’s about. Probably about moving out. She’s been itching to get her own place.”
Throttle laughed. “I’m sure that doesn’t go over with you or your parents.”
“Not at all with my parents. I’m not that excited about it, but she’s gotta make her own way. I just wish she’d start doing all that when she hits forty or something. I worry about her.”
“Especially with this chicken shit asshole who’s killing chicks. Kimber told me about the latest one. She’s obsessed with true crime and all that.”
“She doesn’t get enough of it with being your ol’ lady?” Rags threw another load of dirt into the wheelbarrow.
Throttle jerked his head back. “We don’t do shit like that, dude.”
“I know, I was just joking.” A wave of unease washed over him. “I do worry about Clara. I’ve been hanging out of sight to make sure she gets home okay the past couple of weeks. Jeremy has done it a few nights, too. Clara doesn’t know we’re there, but until this asshole is found, I don’t feel good about her driving home alone.”