Page 15 of Property of Fang
“All the girls will say is someone had a head injury.”
I huff and stare into the distant field, painted with the kind of blue hues that promise snow isn’t far away.A kid.I can’t stop thinking that she could have been Molly. That one day Reno will leave her with someone she doesn’t really know, and we’ll never see her again.
“Loki’s in the kitchen helping one of the women make them all something to eat.”
“Hero,” I sass.
Darko smirks. “Chaos also asked Kyra to invite her old man here; see if Marty can find out where they all came from.”
I glance at the guy. “Can’t the women tell us that themselves?” Save us dealing with a sheriff who’d rather use this situation against us than help us.
Darko shrugs. “The girl won’t talk. The redhead’s fucking catatonic—apparently Flinch is arranging someone to check them all over—and the brunette wants to stay until she knows the rest of them are taken care of.”
“What about the one with the concussion?” Although her injury didn’t appear bad enough to be the source of the blood.
“Which one?” He twists to face me, elbow on the rail. “The angry White girl with Loki, or the Black lady?”
“The latter.” I scrub through my memory for signs I missed that Freckles was injured too. “Didn’t realize the emo chick was hurt.”
“Not as bad.” He faces the yard again. “But the other one said she’s okay. Had an Advil and got comfy on the floor with her eyes closed.”
“She needs watching.”
“I know.” Darko sighs. “Fucking annoyed I didn’t know there were two keepers.”
“Not your fault. You can only work with the information you had.”
“Maybe. But I don’t like being wrong.” He studies me in my periphery. “Why you out here, anyway?”
“Couldn’t be fucked listening to everyone bickering about what to do in there.” Not when the noise in my head is loud enough. “Anyone asked the women for their fucking names yet?”
Darko shrugs. “All I know is the brunette is Darla. You’d have to ask Loki what the angry one’s called. Kid won’t talk, nor will the redhead, and nobody wants to bother the injured one.”
“Her name’s Nandi,” I fill in.
He makes a small, “Huh.”
“What about the skinny girl?”
Darko shakes his head. “She’s fucking tweaking, man. Pretty sure she’s the reason they want to call the doc in.” He turns to face me again. “Why don’t you come back inside if you’re so curious?”
Good question. Why don’t I? “Not sure.” Maybe because staying out here in the fading night provides me a kind of ignorance to the reality of the situation.
That this is only the start.
Six women—or should I say, five women and achild—is a fucking drop in the ocean that is the skin trade run by the Devil’s Breed. We’ve known about this for years, in some capacity or another. But until they crossed into our territory with it, there wasn’t a lot we could do. What happens on Breed turf is their business. Crossing the boundary to interfere in that would invite them to come into our backyard, and as much as we don’t agree with the things they do, we’ve got our people to put first.
Picking a fight with a bigger dog seemed like the wrong way to go about doing that.
Now?Fuck.I don’t know. This issue is bigger than us. It’s bigger than Minnesota, the Kings of Anarchy, and definitelybigger than a town like Temperance. We tugged on the loose thread. Only time will tell how long it takes to unravel the mess. Fallen Aces have been trying for years, and last I heard the Red River Reapers were mixed up in the same fight.
You don’t get rid of parasites like the Breed easy or quick.
“You got any cigarettes on you?” I tip my chin at Darko.
He lifts an eyebrow, yet pulls out a slightly crumpled pack. “You know it’s bad for you, right?”
“So are bikes and women.” I take a stick and pop it between my lips, leaning in to the flame Darko offers. “They weren’t what I expected. The girls.”
