19
Stone
After leaving the Burtonellis, I went straight to the club intending to have a few shots of whiskey—and swore when I saw Warden’s truck in the lot.
“The f**k is he doing here this early in the morning?” I grumbled to myself while parking. I climbed out, slamming the driver door behind me. A gust of wind slapped me in the face, and I hunched in my jacket, hurrying to the club’s entrance.
Only a handful of other vehicles sat in the parking area, two of which I knew belonged to prospects months away from getting patched in.
Sin sat right inside the door, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed.
“The f**k is going on?” I asked, shutting out the winter wind behind me.
“Meeting in Vigil’s office,” he said, motioning toward the closed door with his chin. “Two prospects got into it
