Bullseye shrugs. “Kid like that, useless and loud? You think we’d keep him in the clubhouse?”
Doc’s eyes narrow. “So, why didn’t you start with that? Why all the farce about you not knowing where he is?”
Unfazed, Prez replies, “We wanted to get to the bottom of what you were going to do with him.”
His argument seems weak to me, but Doc, overeager to get his hands on his son, seems keener to get to him than to wonder what games the officers have been playing. I do hear him mutter, “Stupid bikers, stupid fucking club,” under his breath before turning his eyes to me and demanding, “Well, what are you waiting for? Take me to him.”
Scowling, because what else can I do but keep up the charade I’ve almost blown by losing my temper, I ask, “What are the Mojave Devils offering for him? Perhaps we can make a better offer.”
Doc snorts. “You got the hots for him yourself? Or are you the soft one, Short? Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I’ve shook on a deal, and the MDMC is going to get what they’re paying for.”
The Mojave Devils have something on him, of that I’m certain. And just what that is, well, we’re soon going to find out when we get to the secluded barn at the back of our property.
