Axel shoved a handful of corn chips into his mouth and crunched, then opened his mouth and stuck his chewed food coated tongue at CJ. “If I don’t want no fucking sandwich, I’m not taking one, C.”
“Fuck, fine.” CJ pretended he wasn’t completely grossed out and scrubbed a hand over his face. “What the fuck do you want to know?”
“Why did Ryder got a da-na test?”
Da-Na? What the fuck was Axel on about now? Did he mean DNA? CJ had had enough about DNA to last a fucking lifetime. He sighed.
“Ryder already said why,” CJ said. “Last night.”
Thinking about CJ’s answer, Axel nodded. “It was weird, though. A lot of weird stuffs was going on, though.” He stuffed more corn chips into his mouth. “Reb. Aunt Zoann. Mattie. Aunt Kendall. And Grant.”
“No, that motherfucker wasn’t weird,” Ryder scoffed around a big bite of sandwich. “He was fucking stupid.”
Ransom belched and set his sandwich back into the container. He knocked aside the wheat bread, snatched off the lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and turkey. He rolled the turkey around the pickles then bit off half. “You can’t fault the man for standing on business, Ry,” he said after swallowing. “He talked about the meth lab at one of our meetings down here.” He shoved the other half of turkey and pickles into his mouth.
Ryder shook his head. “He needs to know the fucking landscape. What do Dad, Diesel, and Uncle Mort always say? Assess, assess, and reassess, whether it’s friend or foe. One wrong move can turn a friend into a foe very quick.”
Smashing his two pieces of mayo-laden bread together, Ransom considered Ryder’s statement. “He wants to do it for the club. For CJ. Who would hold that against him?”
“Narci,” CJ answered.
Like Diesel, he’d been content to eat in peace while their little brothers talked. But Axel was so in tune with club business because he listened and absorbed information. Silence wasn’t a sin. And ‘distracted’ silence could be golden. It eased others into believing you weren’t paying attention. Axel had that perfected.
“Explain,” Ransom said.
“Grant would be competing against Narci.”
Axel scowled. “Then it was up to you to tell that deadbrain fuckhead, CJ. He wants to throw away his money and his life for you.”
Annoyance surged into CJ, but he drew in a breath, reminding himself that he’d listen to the message even if it wasn’t from a messenger he preferred. Like a grown man.
Axel was smart, though, and—like Diesel—he’d be an excellent ally one day.
Finished with his sandwich, Diesel grabbed a napkin from the holder at the end of the counter and dabbed his mouth. “The cat’s out of the bag now. Grant has to figure this shit out. If he doesn’t make the right choice, I’ll talk to him.”
“Me, too,” CJ promised. “I’ve never heard Pop so angry.”
“That motherfucker don’t even know how to fucking cook, CJ,” Axel huffed. “If I was Pop, I would’ve punched Grant in his fucking mouth until he got into a coma and got some fucking sense.”
Ransom lifted his brows, finished with his mayo and bread. “Is that even possible?”
“All torture stuffs is possible.” Axel grinned at Diesel. “Tell him, D.”
“You’re right, Ax,” Diesel said, leaning his folded arms on the counter.
CJ walked to the soda fountain and dispensed five orange sodas, then served them to his brothers before tasting his own. “Speaking of torture—”
“That’s fucking delayed,” Ryder complained.
Axel sucked up the last of his soda through the big red straw CJ had put into the glasses. “Can I have more?”
“Nope,” Diesel said. “You’ll be bouncing off the fucking walls all night and blowing up my goddamn phone because you can’t sleep.”
“I can do that. I pay you.”
Diesel glared at Axel, bypassed the straw in his glass and drank deeply. He loved orange soda and was the one who turned CJ and the rest of the boys onto it. “I’m not having the same fucking debate with you on a regular basis.”
“Suppose I raise your salary by a nickel?”
