Page 165 of Property of Bob

The old Kings colors filled most of the leather.

Faded, worn, and not ours. That was the fucked-up part.

I’d worn Kings colors for years. I’d bled for this club. Almost died for it. But the cut on that bar belonged to a version of the Kings none of us really knew.

Anchor stared at it.

“You recognize it?” I asked.

“No.”

“Nothing?”

He shook his head.

Vin leaned closer. “Could be from Razor’s time.”

“Has to be older than ours,” Anchor said.

“How much older?” Ramona asked.

Anchor rubbed his jaw. “Don’t know.”

Shay stepped closer. Prime immediately moved with her. She ignored him. Her eyes were on the cut. “Could it be from when Caleb died?”

The room went quiet.

Caleb Token.

He’d drowned on Skull Island twenty-three years ago.

A death that had been called suspicious but never proved to be anything more.

Except Shay had remembered enough to know there was a hell of a lot more to that night than some guy accidentally falling into the lake.

Bernice had been there. Shay’s mother had been there. Another man had been there.

There had been yelling, fighting, and somebody had said Caleb fucked with the wrong club.

“I don’t know,” Anchor finally said.

Shay stared down at the cut. “But it could be.”

“Yeah.”

She wrapped her arms around herself.

Prime rested his hand on the back of her neck.

I looked away from them and back at the cut. “Circle with the slash,” I muttered.

Anchor’s eyes moved to me. “What about it?”

“The carving.” Vin straightened.

Ramona looked between us. “What carving?”

“The one we found on a tree,” I explained. “Before you got here.”