“If they wanted me dead, I’d be dead,” Saint said blandly.He spotted Wrong Way emerging from behind the shell of a junked car.“Where’s Cas?”
Sinn glanced around.“Cas!”
“Here,” came a pain-filled voice.They all spun and saw Cas holding his side.“Caught a damn bullet.”
“Gonna live?”
“Hurts like a motherfucker, but yeah, I’ll live.Just a flesh wound.”
“Mount up,” Saint ordered.He slipped his gun back into his holster and looked around for the black duffel bag.“Wrong Way, where’s the money?”
The prospect glanced around and pointed to an area on the ground.“I had it right here.”
“Well, it’s not there now,” Saint snapped.“What happened to it?”
“I ...I ...don’t know.”The kid ran fingers through his hair.“Everything happened so fast that I—”
“Fuck!”Saint roared.“Fan out.Find that money.”
After a few minutes, it was painfully clear that the money was gone.There weren’t too many places it could’ve gone in the few minutes they were under attack.
“Those bastards took the dope and their money,” Cas growled.“I knew it was a setup.”
Saint pointed at Wrong Way.“You had one fucking job!”
“I-I’m sorry, Boss,” the kid stammered.
“You’re gonna get the shittiest chores I can find for you,” Saint snarled, grabbing the kid’s leather vest and yanking him close.“You’re gonna have to work your way out of the fucking doghouse.”
He pushed the prospect away and marched to his bike, so pissed off he was surprised fire wasn’t exploding from the top of his head.There went his fucking blood pressure.He wished, really wished, he could smoke a goddamn cigarette.
“Why don’t you get Cas back to the clubhouse so you can get his wound taken care of?”Sinn suggested.“I’ll make a thorough sweep of the area again to make sure we didn’t miss anything.”
Saint nodded.“Wrong Way better pray it turns up.”
“Yeah, just don’t shoot him.He’s the only prospect we got at the moment.”
