“You got a fuckin’ cold, you better not fuckin’ give it to me.”
Yeah, that’s Hangman. Don’t matter if the rest of us catch Typhoid as long as he stays healthy.
“Id’s not a cold,” Trigger replies nasally. “Id’s allergies.”
Joker wrinkles his forehead. “Since when do you have allergies?”
“Evanee brought home dis new cat. Peruson or Panamash or somethin’ like dat.”
“Persian,” Coyote, our resident genius, says.
“Thank fuck you got all those degrees,” Hangman says to him, then to Trigger, “You got a bunch of cats. Why’s this one different?”
“Long hair. It’s fuckin’ everywhere in the house.”
Rocky lets out a snore that draws our attention.
Hangman slams his hand on the table. “Are you fuckin’ sleeping, you asshole?”
Rocky wakes with a start. “Wha?”
“I’m gonna fuckin’ cut your balls off! Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“It’s not my fault. It’s Dot’s.”
Hangman looks confused. “What the fuck’s wrong with your grandma?”
“Dot, my baby. She never fuckin’ sleeps. I got maybe two hours last night and one of ‘em was when I was ridin’ here on my bike.”
The room breaks into laughter, then harder when Hash says, “Maybe you should trade. Cat to Rocky, kid to Trigger.”
“No fuckin’ way,” Trigger says. “The last thing I need is Evanee thinking she wants a baby.”
Ryder’s laugh turns into a groan as clutches his ribs. He looks like shit. His left eye is swollen almost shut and his nose is plastered. He’s got gauze taped on one side of his forehead and smears of blood on his T-shirt.
“Who the fuck did this to you?” Hangman bellows as he curls his fist. “He fuckin’ better be dead by now.”
“No one,” Ryder says, his face flushing.
“Then what the hell happened?”
His face reddens. “Llama kicked me.”
“What?” Joker says. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Ryder clenches his teeth. “Llama kicked me in the face. The other got me in the ribs.”
We all stare at him, waiting for the punch line. None is forthcoming.
Hangman slams his fist on the table. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“It’s personal,” Ryder says simply as the rest of us cringe. But he’s saved from Hangman’s wrath as Zero stumbles into the room.
Stark catches my eye and raises his eyebrows. He earned his colors at the same time as Zero, but the celebration was with the Vegas club. He and Ryder aren’t officially ours, but we borrowed them because our club needed numbers after we lost three brothers and a prospect. They’ve been here since last fall but will be heading back in a couple of months.
“You better have a fucking good reason for being late or you can say goodbye to your teeth,” Hangman snarls, ignoring the fact that Zero’s got bruises on his face and choke marks around his neck.
Zero nods. “Got cornered by Makarov, who’s accusin’ us of fucking around instead of monitoring the gang activity in Reno. Says there’s trouble brewing. Gang war.”
