Squint shouted, the wind snatching the words away. “What?” Red couldn’t hear anything over the roar of his bike and the rush of air pummeling him as they flew over the asphalt. “How much longer?” Squint repeated. “As long as it takes dipshit,” Red was tired of the damn complaints coming from Squint and Squirt. They should have been used to long rides by now, instead they were complaining about numb asses and hot legs. It was like riding with fucking toddlers. Part of that was the club’s fault, they should have made sure the prospects were getting enough road time. Evidently that hadn’t been big on Big Dogs list of priorities. At least Tinker was riding in obliging silence. Red just wanted to feel the road and visualize Big Dogs face when he finally got to him and confronted him about his betrayal. He wanted to hear him try to talk his way out of it and think he was making a believable case.
