Pike (The Pawn Duet #1) - T.M. Frazier Page 0,15

eyes takes shape before me. Suppressed rage boils up from deep within, burning hotter than the branding against my back.

“You’re one of us now,” he says, lacing his hand through mine and pressing a kiss to my knuckles that I thankfully can’t feel over the throbbing on my back. “And I have the perfect second assignment in mind for you.”

“Thank you, sir,” I say on a shaky breath.

It doesn’t matter that they’ve marked me because I’m not one of them. I’ll never be one of them. As far as I’m concerned, we aren’t even the same species, and the only similarity we share is that one day we’ll all be dead.

They don’t know it yet, but right now, they’re all as good as dead.

Possessed by the devil or not, there will be hell to pay.

Chapter Six

Pike

Pike’s Pawn was originally supposed to be a cover. A business to launder money and a place to rest my head at night in the apartment on the second floor. Last, but not least, a reason to move to Logan’s Beach. But in the years since it’s been Pike’s Pawn, I’ve generally come to appreciate the place outside of the benefits of concealing my more illicit endeavors.

Plus, it makes me a shit ton of money.

As it went on I found a respect for the place. A sense of pride at the business I created and the first place that I’ve ever truly been able to call home.

Too bad I’m going to have to sell it and everything inside of it to pay King back. Even then, I’ll still owe him a shit-ton of money.

Nine glances up at me. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re not going to have to sell shit. I’m fucking rolling in it. And my brother keeps giving me money or hiding it in the walls of my fucking house. I’ll pay King back and clear the debt. It’s the least I owe you after everything you’ve done for me.”

I scoff. “Thank you, but also fuck you. No. King’s rolling in it, too, but that’s not how this shit works, and you know it. I took his money, and I’ll be the one to give it back. And it’s about more than money. I can’t build trust or a reputation with the men who run this town if I let you pay off my debts for me. I’ll pay him back.”

One way or another.

“Whatevs. Have it your way.” While we wait for the security footage from that night on the causeway to upload to Nine’s computer, we do what any two men faced with an impossible task do.

We get fucking shit-canned.

“Hey, do you remember that punk?” Nine asks, pointing to the small TV propped on a stool in the corner.

With beer in hand, I pause my closing-up ritual at the register and glance over. Instantly, I recognize the man on the screen. I’d remember that cocky swagger anywhere. Percy Alban. He’s walking out the prison gates with his hand on his crotch like he’s keeping his big swinging dick from bursting through his bright orange jumpsuit. He crashes into the waiting arms of an older bald man who looks like a future version of Percy. The punk looks a lot older than I remember with a lot more tattoos, but then again, the last time I saw him, we were fifteen years old. “Yeah, I remember him. That skinhead was my cellmate for about six months in the detention center.”

Nine leans back in the chair and props his feet up on the counter. “Can’t believe they let him out. That fucker was born to live in prison.”

“His family’s got money,” I say, launching my empty beer into the trash can in the corner.

“Isn’t his dad like the Dumbledore of white supremacists?”

I cock my head. “Dumbledore?”

Nine waves his beer around in the air. “Yeah, you know, the head wizard guy or whatever they call the leader of their empire. Like the Hogwarts guy if Hogwarts were full of little neo Nazi’s instead of wanna be wizards.”

I shove Nine’s feet off the counter to grab another beer. “Doesn’t matter. He’ll end up back in there. These days, I’m more concerned about keeping myself out of the joint than wondering why they let some fucking piece of shit white trash racist out.” I remove cash from the register and shove it into the bank bag. “Besides, that motherfucker got himself locked up. He ran his mouth to everyone that would listen, and even those