Page 56 of Bone’s Choice

Maybe that was why we worked.

Bad shit happened, then life kept moving.

Nobody sat around wringing their hands and asking how everyone felt about it. We figured out the problem. We handled it. Then Taco said something stupid and Dealer threatened to kill him.

Balance.

The laptop chimed.

Myth leaned forward. “Finally.”

I clicked the call.

Shadow’s face filled the screen.

“About fucking time,” I said.

Shadow frowned. “Good morning to you too.”

“You said nine.”

“It’s nine-oh-seven.”

“Exactly.”

“Jesus, Bone,” he grumbled.

Another face appeared beside his. Dave. Minnesota’s tech guy and the closest thing the Grave Prowlers had to a computer genius.

Dave looked like the least likely man in the club to be called Dave.

Big beard. Tattoos crawling up both sides of his neck. One eyebrow pierced. Built like he spent considerably more time lifting shit than sitting in front of computers.

Still just Dave.

I’d asked him years ago why everybody had road names and he was simply Dave. He’d told me to mind my fucking business.

I had.

“You find him?” I asked.

Dave nodded. “Pretty sure.”

The chatter behind me died immediately.

I picked up the laptop and carried it from the bar to one of the tables.

Myth followed. So did everyone else. Even Breaker left his calculator behind.

Within seconds, I had the Wisconsin chapter crowded around me.

Shadow looked at the screen. “You fuckers throwing a party?”

“Taco thinks a taco is a sandwich,” Dealer said.

Shadow stared at us, then looked at Taco. “It’s not.”

Dealer pointed at the laptop. “Thank you.”