The Blood of Brothers: A Sycamore Moon Novel (Sycamore Moon Series Book 2) Read Online Free

The Blood of Brothers: A Sycamore Moon Novel (Sycamore Moon Series Book 2)
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crime. His friendship with Maxim, Sanctuary's only police detective, reinforced that. But as the months passed, the understanding he had garnered with the club slowly waned. Everybody knew Diego was half in and half out—even him.
    "Just because I choose not to be a criminal doesn't mean I can't be a brother. Just because I'm not a wolf doesn't mean I can't hold my own."
    "That's right," said West mockingly. "You used to be a CDC assassin. You hunted our kind with silver, bullets and blade. It's just a shame you lost your little knife."
    "It was a pretty big knife actually. But I can be a help without it. You're ignoring the fact that it was me who found the Mexi van of cash."
    West grunted.
    A week earlier, while Diego had been riding alone on Interstate 40, he noticed a suspicious black van being escorted by two bikers flying California colors. After following them for a while, the bikers fell off, hoping to lure Diego away from the vehicle. Instead, he'd gotten the attention of his fellow Sons, and they intercepted the van. The contents were... enriching. It had been a drug run, except in reverse—it was cash to pay for the drug run.
    The Seventh Sons were a small motorcycle club. They didn't have the kind of reach that the cartels or international outfits had. But they were a small core of men with a powerful secret: they were wolves, nearly unkillable without specialized means. Whether people believed the rumors or were ignorant of them, the Seventh Sons owned the Interstate in Arizona and everybody knew it. They commanded their toll for safe passage and someone had tried to skirt that arrangement. Now, the entire MC was gearing up to meet with the Cali gang. That was why Diego was playing pool. Omar was still a kid, no matter his affiliation, no matter his condition, and he was nervous. Diego had just wanted to put him at ease.
    West didn't budge. "I know what you lucked into. I also know that you're not coming with us. If you want to help the club, then prove it and back us up. Ride with us."
    Diego averted his eyes and saw Gaston standing in the living room. The president heeded them with interest. Gaston had allowed Diego to keep away from the illicit activities thus far, but he was no doubt hoping that West made a convincing case.
    Diego was afraid to check if other club members were watching as well. He returned West's stare and removed any trace of joviality from his voice. "You're asking me to be involved in a drug deal."
    "I'm asking you to shit or get off the pot," said West, raising his voice.
    Clint stormed over as the bickering came to a head. "Shoot me in my hairy ass! How many times have I asked you to keep it down in the mornings? You thick-headed sasquatch."
    Clint was a mess. He was the oldest club member in age and tenure. His brown beard was thick and mangy and always had pieces of dirt or slobber in it. His large belly was a record of his excesses, but his breath was a more overpowering indicator. He had a hangover. An especially bad one, Diego thought, because he looked much worse than usual. He was scratched up and had a welt under his left eye.
    "What the hell happened to you last night, bro?" asked Omar.
    "You know I was over at the Lodge. More of the same. But my head feels like a firecracker, and you all are lightin' the fuse."
    Diego smiled. Clint was a bit of a hillbilly, a perfect example of the type who would have sassed Omar for speaking Spanish, but he was mostly harmless. He disappeared for days, visited his family in New Mexico, and drank at every available opportunity. But he was steadfast and mostly reliable, and had come into town last night for this very meet.
    The heavy man trudged to the beer fridge next to the pool table and grabbed himself a bottle. "Don't worry, Pres. A little hair of the dog will straighten me up. And you three should come over and take a seat, too." With that, he chugged the beer and passed through the archway that led to the living room.
    Diego slid his cue
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