Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition by Elizabeth Knox (top 5 ebook reader txt) 📕

of them were good enough for her, especially her little ass kisser, Lathe. It depended on the day, what I would do for him and how much patience I happened to carry.

Running my hand through my hair and then chewing on the inside of one of my snakebite piercings purely out of frustration, I tried to think of anything else. I couldn’t think about that shit anymore. “Get your ass in the truck, Flint!” I yelled, entering the lot to the side of the clubhouse. I had to get my ass to the machine shop, or I’m going to be kicking rocks before dark.

My pocket vibrated, and I sucked on the other piercing momentarily before answering. “Fucking what!” I barked into the poor excuse for what I called a phone. It’s really more the remnants of what used to be.

“Don’t you fucking what me, boy! Get your ass down here, now!” Greg shouted on the other end of the phone, and I quickly slapped closed the flip phone.

“Fuck him.” I already knew that I needed to get to work. I’m no wizard. He’s just going to half to pump his brakes for a minute because the magic I could do is unquestionably not something that would impress him. We both climbed in my old truck and started that way, laughing hysterically about how much trouble we were in with Greg. The whole drive down there, I’m trying to think of just one good reason for him not to fire me. So far, I had nothing. I’m not a punctual person by nature. I just kind of showed up when I felt like it.

My life had consisted of too many days on the time of the correctional system. Since I’ve been out, I’ve kind of done things at my own pace and don’t answer too many. Greg is a shit boss, but when you were a convicted felon, there weren’t too many places you could work. I didn’t kiss his ass but somewhere buried deep in my insides, I had respect for him. Before that, I was under Mouse’s watch. She barely let me mismatch socks, let alone be late for work for a bullshit reason as I am today, taking on two random skanks. I laughed to myself, gritting my teeth and flinching just with the thought of what that conversation would be like passing through my mind. I missed her company on days like this, but damn, am I glad that I don’t have to answer for the fun rides or the gas that fueled them.

The suspense built as we closed in on the shop, while all the dust of the past stormed through my head. At times, it is hard for me to pull myself out of the situations I used to be in and remember to live in the one’s going on around me, mainly because I never expected to see Mouse after I was sentenced. I wiped my hands of what I knew as a life outside of the club and as a criminal.

Flint and I pushed through the big bay doors of the shop, hoping like hell that we didn’t run into Greg before hitting the time clock. Neither one of us ever really had too much luck. When the bottom of our steel toes crunched against the concrete floor, there he stood anyway.

Leaning in the doorway of his small, shitty excuse for an office, he glanced down to his wristwatch and loudly chewed on his gum. “Well, look who the fuck finally decided to show up.” He straightened his posture and waved our timecards in the air like some sort of fan of justice.

“Give me my motherfucking timecard, Greg!” I said with a serious tone, walking the distance of the shop, and stopping in front of him. “You’re holding something that earns me money. Don’t think for a second that I won’t take that arm as a trophy, just to explain to another little prick like you in the future not to mess with my money.”

“Damn, Cobra? You don’t have to take it that far. Just punch in and get to work,” he complained as he handed us our cards.

“Yeah. No shit, Greg,” I said in a condescending voice while dropping my card into the machine. “Come on, Flint, let’s go make this grouchy little prick some money!”

We didn’t hesitate, getting straight to work. The daily grind at the shop is never unbearable. In fact, most places of employment would’ve shit-canned better men than me a long time ago. Greg put up with more shenanigans than most bosses would have, but only because he didn’t have any other choice. He owned the shop but couldn’t run any of his own machines to save his life. We were his bread and butter, and he knew better than to test his luck with that because if all of my brothers walked out, he’d be fucked.

Greg’s shop is small but efficient. He only had enough machines for nine men, and four of those men belonged to the CRMC. Most of the rest of my brothers were constantly blowing through those doors, hoping to get some free work done on their bikes. So, needless to say, it’d be a bad move for him to start any shit.

The old intercom system fired up and crackled loudly. “First rounds on me just as soon as this order gets filled,” Greg announced proudly. A couple of clattering noises followed, and then a loud squeal came over the speaker. “Oh, shit? Where’s that damn off button?”

The guys that were still standing around and not knee-deep in metal shavings all looked at each other, but as usual, I am the first to say something. “That a boy Grouchy Greg,” I laughed.

“Just someone keep his ass in the office and out of our way!” I yelled across the loud roaring of the machines as we fired them up and got to work. I added the last part to be a dick. It isn’t