It was then that Hail’s gaze cut to Slash, something devious in his eyes, almost as sinister as the smirk that toyed with his lips.
“That’s the hacker, right?” he asked, jerking his chin toward Rook. “Have him look into me. You guys got anything good to eat?” he asked, making his way into the kitchen, taking a sip of the stolen coffee, then his whiskey, as he went.
“Hey, Saint,” Slash called, eyeing the stranger as he opened the fridge and looked around. “Why don’t you, Syn, and Crow take our friend here into town? Get him some food. A couple drinks.”
The message was clear: get him out of here so we can research.
Luckily, Hail was just as eager to explore as the rest of us had been when we’d been released.
I remembered how badly I’d wanted food, a drink, and someone pretty to take home.
As soon as they were gone, we put away our guns and got to work.
“I know that look,” Detroit said, looking at Slash. “You like him.”
“He’s crazy. Crazy can be good for a club. But I want to know his past first.”
Luckily, Hail was not a common name.
It wasn’t hard to find out more about him.
His rap sheet was long and full of drunk and disorderly conduct and violence.
But he hadn’t done any long bids until the cop car shit.
Reading between the lines of his criminal history and some information Rook was able to find on the dark web, we felt pretty comfortable assuming that Hail had worked as hired muscle in the past. Over in Chicago, though.
We weren’t sure if he’d left before or if he’d been moved when he’d been convicted.
“You want him,” Detroit concluded when we’d done as much digging as we could.
“I think it’s worth giving him a shot to prospect. The guys will have more to say when they get back later.”
“Where’s he gonna go?” Saint asked. “I’m still using the room over the stationary store.”
The one major downfall of taking guys fresh out of prison was the whole parole situation, since most of us got out early and were stuck on that shit for at least a year.
Saint was getting close to being done.
But he couldn’t be rooming with another ex-con.
“Motel will work,” Slash said, shrugging. “Hail doesn’t seem like someone who will mind the accommodations. Hopefully, he gets Mike as a P.O. He’d be a fucking nightmare with Nancy.”
God, he’d be back in prison in a heartbeat with her. Rook barely managed to stay out, and he was toeing every line.
As it was, he was going to be hungover, if not still drunk, for his first check-in. And, you know, bloodied and bruised.
Still, I saw the glint in Slash’s eye.
He wanted Hail.
We had a new prospect for the club.
Colter - 12 months
“What’s that look for?” I asked when I walked into the clubhouse to find a bunch of the women standing around with strange smiles on their faces.
“Nothing,” Everleigh, a terrible liar, said with a squeaky voice.
