Dead Men Motorcycle Club by Angelica Siren Read Free Book Online

other crews that are looking to get a hold on what the Dead Men already have. Some of them are willing to fight and some of them are willing to kill. Cash knows that, and he knows the only way to fight back is to play by the same rules."
    I nodded at her quietly. That was a lot to take in. Cash was friendly and charming, but I was well aware that there was a dark side to his personality as well. As ever, he was a living contrast. This time though, the dark side seemed to be creeping all over the fairytale image I had been constructing of him in my mind. His shining armor was turning rusty and blackened. His faithful steed was becoming a creature of nightmare.
    "Thanks, Karen," I told her, "You've given me a lot to think about." I mulled over what she told me as I ate my enchilada - which was just as delicious as I hoped. The rest of our conversion turned to much less heady topics, such as the quality of the food at the couple restaurants I'd eaten, the quality of my motel and whether she might be able to find me a more permanent place to stay, and the general state of San Viero itself. Karen seemed to have boundless knowledge when it came to the town. She said that she had been born in Portland, but had moved down to Southern California when she was just a girl. Now, she said, she couldn't imagine living anywhere else.
    When we got back to the garage, she went to the business office and I went off to find Zach, to see what else needed to be done. When I found him, he was talking to Tubbs about the Ford I'd seen on the lift earlier. From what I gathered of their conversation, Tubbs had been slacking off and the truck was supposed to be finished already. I didn't even have time to show initiative and volunteer. As soon as Zach spotted me, I could tell that the work was now mine.
    "You two go get your hands in that engine and get it worked out. If it's not starting by five when Taylor comes to pick it up, there's going to be hell to pay," he said.
    Tubbs and I walked over to the truck together in silence. He had been present with Mike and Vickers, but aside from laughing, he hadn't really participated in anything, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt for the moment. I was relieved when we reached the truck at the end of the line and he cleared his throat as if he had something important to say.
    "Uhh," he started, "Listen, about earlier..."
    I kept my gaze steady, watching him and not wanting to let him off the hook for his role in the incident, small though it might have been.
    "Sorry for what Mike did. He's a prick."
    I could tell that was all the apology I was going to get out of him, soft spoken as he was. Still, it was something, and probably more than I could ever expect to hear from Vickers or Mike themselves. I wondered how much of the apology was because he honestly felt bad and how much was because of Cash. In the end, it didn't really matter.
    After I accepted his apology, Tubbs was a bit more talkative, though he was still far from loud. He explained the trouble he'd been having getting the starter working on the truck. I lobbed him a few softball theories, but he brushed them aside, explaining that he'd already tried my solutions. I was stumped as to what was wrong with the starter. We brought the truck down to the floor and got under the hood.
    I was impressed by Tubbs' knowledge, and I like to think he was impressed by mine. I'd worked with a lot of different mechanics over the years, but Tubbs was the one who seemed to come closest to my Dad's skill. Sometimes he would just stand and stare at the engine for a few minutes. Some people might see that and suppose that he was just confused, but I could see what he was up to. He was doing all of the investigation and testing in his head. He was able to look at the engine and take it apart just by looking at it. The condition of one part compared to the part next to it informed him of what was working and what wasn't. It was impressive, and I have to admit I was a bit