Rhythm of the Road by Autumn Jones Lake

Author:Autumn Jones Lake [Lake, Autumn Jones]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781943950478
Publisher: Ahead of the Pack, LLC

Chapter Thirty-Two

Rooster

The ride east drags. Maybe it’s because my body knows I’m moving away from Shelby. No amount of internal rationalization that I’ll see her soon seems to lessen the nagging pull.

As promised, Murphy’s waiting for us by the gas station off Exit 28. I signal to Dex and Jigsaw as I change lanes. Murphy nods at me as I roll up next to him.

“’Sup, brother?” he asks, clutching my hand and pulling me in. “How’d it go?”

“Good.” Although, I doubt Murphy would make a joke about it, I’m not in the mood to whine to him—or anyone else—about how much I’m already missing Shelby.

After a quick run inside, we pull out of the parking lot and head to Zips. I’ve only been to the racetrack Eraser owns a handful of times. Racing doesn’t interest me all that much. Seems more like an excuse to piss away money on car parts and betting to make a guy feel better about his dick size. Since I’m pretty confident in the dick department, the whole posturing, trash-talking, and gambling scene bores the shit out of me.

Beyond my lack of interest in racing, I’m not as convinced as Murphy and Z that we even need a support club. Support clubs have always been more trouble than they’re worth in my experience. The thought of having to ride out here on a regular basis to “mentor” these little punks couldn’t be more unappealing when there’s a certain little sassy singer on the road I’d rather visit.

But I’m here to observe and assist my brothers, so I’ll keep my opinions to myself. For now.

When the time comes, though, what’s right for the club will have to be my priority whether it fucks up my plans or not.

We take the turn down the long-forgotten road leading to Zips. I’m guessing back in the sixties or seventies, this place was rockin’. Eraser’s maintained its charming overgrown, neglected appearance on the outside. Cracked asphalt, wild grass, trees in desperate need of pruning almost obscuring the entrance. No one finds their way here by accident or without an invite.

Inside’s been maintained better—hard to convince people to drop hundreds of dollars a night if they’re worried they’re gonna break an axle on the track.

Eraser’s the first one to greet us as we make our way over to the snack shack. “How you been?”

I shake his hand. “Can’t complain.”

Remy and Griff follow to greet us and bump fists.

Eraser reaches for Murphy next, pulling him in with a quick slap on the back. “How’s the head?”

Murphy knocks on his skull. “Harder than ever.”

“Good.”

Ah, nice little reminder. These three had our backs when it counted. Without them, we might still be wasting our time tracking down the asshole who whacked Murphy upside the head with a baseball bat and put him in the hospital.

Maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the support club idea after all.

While Murphy and Remy pull away to gossip about underground fighting, Griff hooks his thumbs in his pockets and lifts his chin at me.

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