“We’re staying at the Motel 6?”
“Yes,” Butch said, sitting next to him.
Mason nodded.
“You know, Spawn, you remind me of someone.”
I showed no overt reaction. But the chances of me speaking to him without being prompted by a question were now zero. Last thing this club fucking needed was a fight.
A fight I’d win, granted, but a fight that was more civil war than actual war.Even if we aren’t really allies yet.
“Yeah?”
“I can’t place it. Did you grow up in New Mexico?”
“I was in there from time to time. Didn’t spend much time there, though.”
That was technically true. And it was as much as I was going to give Mason.
“Ah, gotcha.”
He sounded satisfied with the answer. But I knew better than to assume that all was good. If things didn’t go well in the room with Brock and Satan, Brock would say something. Everyone in this building was willing to play politics, even if Satan wouldn’t admit to it.
Everyone in this building was willing to do whatever it took to get their way.
And yes, that included me.
Other than the destruction of King, though, it remained determined what I wanted to get.
Or rather, it remained unsaid and unadmitted what I wanted to get.
