Jerry Langton Three-Book Biker Bundle Read Online Free PDF

he forgot to lock his car.
    When they got to the purple, windowless metal front door, Ned noticed Dave Peters and “Little” John Rautins standing on each side of it. Both men were in full Death Dealers regalia and had their arms crossed in front of them. Neither acknowledged Ned, but both nodded at Johansson when he approached. Just at the edge of his peripheral vision, Ned could see Buddy standing on a corner a block away, playing with his hands and pretending not to watch what was going on.
    Although the Strip was ostensibly open at 7:30 on a Sunday night, the door was locked. Rautins banged on it—three hits, then a pause, then two more. The door opened. The DJ, who had been setting up, slunk away as soon as he saw who was coming through. Ned was surrounded by a phalanx of silent and angry-looking bikers. Only Peters—who had a reputation as a ruthless psycho and had a look in his eyes to match—wasn’t significantly larger than him.
    Wordlessly, they paraded him into Steve’s office. Steve was behind his desk, sitting next to a large, Hispanic-looking man in an expensive suit and lots of gold jewelry. The chair in front of the desk was open. Ned sat in it.
    Steve didn’t acknowledge his presence at first, instead shuffling papers and shaking his head. Finally, without looking up, he sighed and said: “You know, you really, really, really fucked up last night.”
    Lessard laughed. Just about then, Gagliano entered the room and apologized for being late. Steve rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Ned. “You put us all in danger; you freaked out and you showed weakness,” he said, still shaking his head and still not looking at Ned. “And you did it for a woman.” He paused. “Well,” he finally looked him in the eye. “What have you got to say for yourself ?”
    Ned ran his hands through his hair nervously and exhaled loudly. “Nothing.”
    â€œGood, that’s what I hoped you would say,” Steve said. “Because there is no excuse for what you did—what you displayed last night was weakness, and by trying to defend it, you would be piling weakness upon weakness . . . but today, right now, you showed me strength, real strength.”
    Ned was silent.
    â€œThe fact is . . . what is done is done,” Steve continued. “One more useless fuck—taking up space, breathing my oxygen, probably not recycling . . . ” Lessard laughed again and Steve grinned an acknowledgement of his henchman’s appreciation. “. . . is no longer with us; that’s not a problem.” Steve paused. He came around and sat on the edge of the desk, just a few inches away from Ned’s face. “What bothers me is why,” he said, and paused. “You know why they won’t let fags into combat?”
    It wasn’t a rhetorical question; he expected an answer. “No, I don’t know.”
    â€œBecause the generals are afraid that fags will form close personal attachments to their squadmates and that their subsequent emotions would prevent them from doing their duty,” he said. “What you did last night was the act of a fag—you freaked out and acted out because of your close, personal attachment to that woman, didn’t you?”
    â€œI guess so.”
    â€œThere’s nothing to guess, you did or you didn’t—choose.”
    â€œOkay, I did.”
    â€œDid you make a prudent, well-thought-out decision when you hit that worthless fuck in the head with a beer bottle?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAnd why did you put such an imprudent, poorly-thought-out plan into action?”
    â€œBecause he was abusing Kelli?”
    â€œBecause he was abusing Kelli,” Steve mocked him in an annoying falsetto. “And that made you feel how?”
    â€œI don’t follow you.”
    â€œYour problem is that you let your little faggot emotions get in the way of your better