Page 86 of Ruger's Rage
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Three hours later, I'm sitting across from Viper in a neutral meeting spot—a diner halfway between our territories.
Two VP's and two Sergeants at Arms flank each of us, enough firepower to handle trouble but not enough to start a war.
Viper hasn't changed much since I last saw him—mid-forties, weathered face, calculating eyes that miss nothing.
He studies me over the rim of his coffee cup. "Bold move, requesting a meet after torching our clubhouse."
"Bolder move, accepting after hitting my garage," I counter.
A flicker of confusion crosses his face. "What garage?"
"North side. This morning. Your patch was left behind."
He sets his cup down slowly. "We didn't hit any garage."
"Just like we didn't torch your clubhouse."
He’s putting the dots together. "Someone's playing us."
"Not just someone—Striker." I slide a phone across the table—Kinsey's, with the recording cued up. "Listen."
He does, face darkening with each word.
When it ends, he pushes the phone back toward me. "Where'd you get this?"
"Does it matter?"
"It might."
I weigh the risks of revealing Kinsey's involvement.
If Viper truly cares for her as she claimed, it could help our case. If not, I've just endangered a potential asset. "Your goddaughter brought it to me."
Surprise, then concern flash across his face. "Kinsey? Is she?—"
"Safe. For now. Sporting a nasty shiner courtesy of her father."
His jaw tightens. "Struck his own daughter?"
"Just like he used to beat his wife. Some men don't change."
Viper sits back, digesting this.
I can see what’s happening behind his eyes, the way he’s trying not to let his anger force him into a decision, but he cares for Kinsey, that much I’m sure of. "The warehouse hit tonight," he says finally. "It's a setup."
"Designed to start a war that benefits no one but Striker and his new friend Santini." I lean forward. "I've got no beef with the Vultures. Never have. Territory disputes, sure. Business disagreements, inevitable. But all-out war? Waste of resources, waste of lives."
"Agreed." Viper nods slowly. "So what's your play?"
"We show up as planned. But instead of killing each other, we grab Striker. Settle this once and for all."
"And Santini?"
I think of Tildie, of the fear that still shadows her eyes sometimes. "He's mine to deal with."
Viper studies me for a long moment. "The bartender. She yours?"
