Edge, Episode Two: Season One (Edge, A Serial Series Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

King? Nothing, not one damn thing rocked his steady calm.
    “Are we sure that fucker was even dead?” Thames asked with another exhale.
    Reveca dared to let her eyes open slowly , lowered her chin, and casually glanced over her shoulder at Cashton who was perched on a stool at the bar, tuning his guitar, his one and only vice in the living world. He clenched his jaw as he broke the string he was adjusting.
    “You ignorant ass. Vec got him from Crass. He was as dead as that sadist ’s haircut you have,” Echo said to Thames.
    Thames let his eyes grow hooded . A playful malice lingered there. He reached his hand up to smooth over his nearly clean shaven head then slid it down his face past the his brow ring, across the stubble on his cheek then to his dark goatee which reached an inch or so below his chin. “The ladies like it rough right here.”
    “Bullshit ,” Echo said. “You just got sick of Carla pulling your hair out when you went down on her.”
    “I got fucking sick of Carla in general,” Thames snapped back as the others started to bellow laughs. “I’m serious. He wasn’t dead long.  No way in hell.”
    “And where did this verdict come from?” Judge asked as he exhaled.
    Despite what the name would suggest, Judge was not old and wise, gritty, or well worn. Judge had some of the most innocent features of the MC; near all American boy haircut kept slightly long, hair so blond that the tips were white. He always shaved because even when he had a beard, no one could really see it. His name came from not only him appraising every situation thoroughly, but because when he was alive, his father was a judge.
    Before Judge went down a dark road he was in law school himself. Of course that was centuries ago and most of the laws he knew or studied then had long been altered, but still, he could read law and he could find any loophole the Vlub needed.
    The fact that he was a seer, had the gift of dual vision, added to his mystery, his magnetism. Judge could look at any soul or circumstance and in his mind’s eye see a dual path, one that would show him where whomever’s actions would carry them, at least for the next step or two in life. It was flawed like all the enhanced gifts the MC had. It had his limits. Judge saw that path as an outsider, never knew all the details, so it was nearly impossible for him to know where the long term risk would reside, but he could always help the Club avoid immediate troubled waters.
    “Where did that verdict come from? Are you being serious right now? Give me that,” Thames said taking the blunt away. “Obviously you cannot chill and judge properly.” He nodded across the garage. “Look at him. That’s the second transmission he’s nearly rebuilt.”
    King was across the garage, wearing loose fitting stone washed jeans, a white wife beater tank. Marks of grease were shadowed on his arms, arms that were thick and perfectly sculpted, glistening with the summer heat. His steady ice gaze was on his task at hand and nothing else.
    “And ?” Judge said.
    “That bike is only five years old, an infant, and not once has he asked anyone what the hell to do—he just does it.”
    “So you’re jealous that he’s a better mechanic than you?” Judge said dominantly reaching for the blunt once more.
    “He shouldn’t know how to do that even if he was Henry Ford’s best fucking friend. And you know what else?” Thames said as he raised his pierced brow. “He asked Talon what parts he could have or use in the Boneyard—he told him any. I went out there last night, that fucker is resurrecting a firebird, a 1975. And when he’s not doing that, not fixing bikes, he’s building a bike, too.”
    “So I’m right, you’re jealous ,” Judge said as he coughed out his exhale.
    Thames jabbed him in the ribcage with his elbow.
    “He was with a lord of death,” Echo said finally, rushing his fingers through dark hair that reached his thick shoulders, simply to get it out of