GATOR: Wolves MC (Riding With Wolves Book 2) Read Online Free PDF

of the matter is, Hammer had been attacked from behind once before, long ago, and sure enough, it’d been by a Seraph.
    And, the second thing you gotta be aware of is this… Just the day before Hammer got his beat-down, he’d given a beat-down to a junkie in an alley behind a ghetto bar called Kent Town. The junkie was a Seraph, and he’d arranged to meet a woman in that alley—to rob her. That woman just so happened to be the sister of our late biker brother, Terry, and she’d just left Terry’s funeral with a big sack of money the Wolves gave her.
    Luckily though, Hammer was on her trail already. He followed her, and right when that junkie had her in his clutches, Hammer stepped in and “Hammered” the fuck out of him.
    And that junkie’s name… of course… was Pigpen.
    From what Hammer said, Pigpen sounded like a puckered-up pussy. But naturally, there was the fear of revenge. And when what happened to Hammer happened, people thought that maybe, just maybe, that revenge had been exacted.
    All the Wolves, and our affiliates, knew to keep an eye out for Pigpen, so that we could ask him so questions and figure out what happened. Of course, “asking him questions” meant roughin’ him up, too—and we all looked forward to that as part of the process.
    “And Pigpen didn’t just turn up dead,” Hammer went on. “He turned up murdered.”
    “So what?” I replied, ignoring the gravity of the moment. “Someone found him and it went a little too far. Even the noblest warriors get carried away in battle sometimes—and if the war’s gonna be down one soldier, might as well be from their side, not ours .”
    “I didn’t say killed , Gator,” Hammer clarified, standing up and moving closer toward me. “I said murdered . Someone murdered Pigpen… All the details aren’t in yet. Huck’s still collecting info. But from what I heard already, his throat was slashed.”
    Hammer moved even closer to me, and he lowered his voice to a volume and tone I’d only seldom ever heard him use before.
    “They found the weapon near the body,” Hammer continued. “And they found fingerprints on it… And they ran those prints… and came up with a match.”
    Hammer reached out, reached up, and put his hand on my shoulder.
    “Do you know whose fingerprints they found?” Sam asked, almost sweetly.
    “No,” I replied matter-of-factly.
    “ Yours ,” Hammer said, squeezing my shoulder. “So I’ll ask you this one time, brother—and I’ll break every biker law we know for an honest answer… Did you have anything to do with Pigpen’s murder?”
    I reached my hand up to my shoulder and placed it right atop Hammer’s, then I tilted my head and looked him dead straight in the eye, without blinking.
    Hammer pulled his hand down, slapped it against his ass, and turned around.
    “Alright,” he said. “I knew you didn’t , but I had to ask… and that look you gave me told me all that I needed to know. But the question remains—if you didn’t murder Pigpen, who did? And, why’d they plant a blade with your prints on it near the body?”
    I turned from Hammer, chucked the container of almost-spoiled orange juice into the trashcan, and bent down to look from something fresher in the fridge.
    “And why the hell,” Hammer continued without pause, “did Pigpen—or his body —end up in San Francisco?”
    “What’d you say?” I asked, jolting upwards. I was so shocked by what Hammer had just said that I forgot my head was inside the refrigerator, and I conked my head off of it pretty badly.
    “I said, if you didn’t murder Pigpen, who—” Hammer started repeating.
    “No, no,” I interrupted. “I got all that… What’d you say about San Francisco ?”
    “Pigpen’s body was found outside of a bar in San Francisco,” Hammer explained.
    “Was it in the city?” I asked a split-second later. “In San Francisco P.D.’s jurisdiction?”
    “Yeah, pretty sure,” Hammer replied, giving me a strange look.