Outlaw ignored him and looked at Cox. “This my brother and my nephew. Easton need a room on our wing. Close to the fuckin’ door. That motherfucker outside? Cleaner—Roddie Banks—ain’t fuckin’ allowed back there. Bash can see Easton but he can’t walk the fuckin’ wing. You listen to fuckin’ Johnnie, ignore any of my fuckin’ rules, and Diesel fuckin’ you up. If you want a gruesome death, fuckin’ test me.”
The man shook his head. “My father just lost Gypsy. I don’t want him to suffer a double loss.”
“Good. Now, get the fuck. I’m leavin’ in twenty or thirty minutes. I expect orderlies outside this fuckin’ door in ten.”
Easton watched as the motherfucker almost ran into the fucking door, trying to rush to do Outlaw’s bidding.
“You called me your brother,” Bash said.
“Ain’t you?” Outlaw asked irritably.
“Never thought you’d acknowledge me.”
“Me neither, so shut the fuck up.”
He nodded to Diesel and for the first time, Easton noticed the briefcase. He set it on the rolling table. Easton couldn’t deny his moment of unease, wondering if Diesel was about to blow him away.
“Bash think you in danger if you remain a Scorpion,” Outlaw said. “You want to be a Dweller for real?”
If Easton showed his hope that Outlaw wasn’t bullshitting him, he’d offend the fuck out of Bash, so he shrugged, ready to do a fucking happy dance.
“Diesel your fuckin’ sponsor.”
Or, maybe, weep in fucking fear.
“I thought Johnnie—”
“You thought fucking wrong,” Diesel said flatly, and handed Bash a piece of paper. “If you have any contact with this motherfucker and you ask him anything about the Dwellers,Iwill personally kill him. I still haven’t perfected scalping.”
“What’s the paper for?” Bash pushed out.
“You sign the agreement that Easton’s only your son, on the threat of his gruesome death, and not your spy and definitely not a Scorpion.” Smiling, Diesel grabbed a pen from the briefcase and held it out to Bash. “Sign on the dotted line.”
Instead of taking the pen, he looked at Outlaw. “I don’t want him killed. I want him safe.”
Why that touched Easton, he wasn’t sure, but it was the first time Bash had ever expressed that type of concern.
“He ain’t dyin’, Bash,” Outlaw said. “As long as he on the up and up, I ain’t lettin’ Diesel kill him, but I trust Johnnie less than I trust your kid. It’s either Diesel or he ain’t gettin’ a fuckin’ sponsor.”
“Fuck.” Bash snatched the pen and scribbled his name. “There.”
Diesel smirked at Easton, his gray eyes promising pain. “Now, you.”
“What about me?”
“Sign. A private oath of allegiance.”
“To you?”
“To Outlaw. I don’t give a fuck what happens to you. You fuck over him, he reserves the right to decide how I kill you.”
Outlaw was much fairer than Cleaner and, in many instances, Bash. Diesel also respected the fuck out of him, so he’d rein that motherfucker in. Easton signed the oath, praying he wouldn’t regret that decision.
“We’re gonna have a formal meeting between our clubs, Bash. In the next month or so. We got to set it up.” Outlaw nodded to Diesel again. “Right now, I want to sign a preliminary agreement. You can have your club attorney read it first.”
Easton knew Bash had let their legal team go several years ago because of financial constraints, but he nodded.
“Kendall our new lead attorney,” Outlaw continued. “She drafted this. I think it’s fair—”
