“Give me some credit.”
“Then what’s the plan? And don’t give me any bullshit about not telling me ‘cause it’s club business.”
I heave out a sigh. “I’m using the money as bait, and that’s as much as I’m telling you.”
At eleven fifty-five p.m. in the early days of May, the Steel Pier stands in the shadows. The stinging salt air whips around the pylons, bringing the chill of the still, cold water. In another month, the pier will be alive and vibrating, but before Memorial Day, only the security lights shine over the dormantrides and empty concession stands. The full moon illuminates the water and the wet, hard sand like concrete under my boots.
Waiting. Not my favorite thing.
I flick my eyes to the left only for a second. Having the meet here is somewhat symbolic since the AC boards are the oldest in the country. They’ve withstood time, violent storms, and are still standing, just like the Kings of Anarchy.
The shadows move, and Viper appears out of the darkness. He steps forward, and a minute later, the shadows shift again. Bullet and Crank, eyes pinned and shining in the moonlight. Probably jacked on something synthetic.
“You really came alone,” Viper sneers.
“‘Cause I honor a deal.”
“Or just stupid.”
My fingers itch for the trigger of my .45, but I have to play this out. “Thing is,” I keep my tone low, “we could’ve avoided all this if you just stayed outta Jersey.”
“You try to be a tough guy, but you’re nothing but a punk who lost his club and is ready to lose his life for a used-up piece of snatch.”
I grit my teeth. “That’s where you’re wrong, ‘cause you got no heart. For you, it’s all about the show. All about puffing out your chest.” I tap my one-percent patch. “But you got nothing on the inside, and in the end, that’s what makes you weak.”
“Quit spitting bullshit,” Viper blusters.
I step forward, my boots crunching over the packed sand.
Viper’s eyes run over me. “Where’s the flash drive and the money?”
I reach into my cut, and Viper’s eyes widen just enough to let me know he’s on edge.
“First the flash drive.” I pull it out and hold it between my thumb and forefinger. “Very valuable to your future.” I toss it to him, and he catches it in his fist.
“Now the money.”
“You can’t be stupid enough to think I’d come here carrying five hundred grand on me.” I reach into the other side of my cut, pull out two banded stacks of hundreds, and hold them up. “The rest will be transferred after I walk away and you and your Dogs are back in Philly.”
“That wasn’t the fuckin’ deal,” Viper barks as Bullet and Crank take two steps forward.
“I said you’d get the drive and the money; I just didn’t say when.” My back stiffens, and my eyes dart to the underside of the boardwalk.
“Fuckin’ bullshit.” Bullet reaches into his cut.
“I wouldn’t do that if you ever wanna see the rest of this money.” I toss the stacks to Viper’s feet.
Crank scrambles to pick them up, and I lock eyes with Viper. “That’s the deal. My only deal and insurance I make it off this beach.”
I’m counting on Viper’s greed.
Viper’s lips twist, his feet shift, then . . . footsteps. Even and deliberate.
My head snaps over my shoulder, then my eyes widen.
Sammie steps into the moonlight. Tight jeans, low boots, and a hoodie wrapped tight around her. Her eyes burn bright with purpose.
“Fuck,” I hiss into the night air.
