Dog Warrior Read Free

probably lodged foreign material into the wounds, his body usually expelled such matter while healing. Hopefully—on all counts—the boy was the same. “I’ll figure something out if he stays dead, okay. Do we have all the money?”
    â€œYeah, I was just counting it for a second time.” Kyle fidgeted while he watched Atticus apply cream and bandages. “I’m completely jacked in. Phone and cable are up, and I’ve got security running. We’re set for anything—well, almost anything.” Not counting miscellaneous dead bodies that might or might not come back from the dead. “I also stocked the fridge, and put fresh linen on the beds.”
    â€œGreat! Okay, do me a favor.” Atticus told him where and how they’d found the dead body. “Find out, if you can without drawing attention to us, who killed him and what happened after we left.”
    â€œDo you have an ID on him?” Kyle pointed to the boy in the tub.
    â€œNo. He was wearing colors.” Atticus described the bikerjacket. “The club name was either Dog Warrior or Warriors.”
    â€œBottom rocker?”
    The city named at the bottom of the patch identified the chapter that the member belonged to. Club enforcers, who drifted from chapter to chapter, collecting dues, would have “Nomad” printed in place of a chapter name.
    â€œThere was none.” Now that Kyle mentioned it, Atticus realized how odd it was. Perhaps the jacket hadn’t been a true “gang” jacket.
    â€œSee what you can pull up on the name.”
    â€œRight.” Kyle left in his abrupt manner, locked onto something new.
    Having covered the gaping bullet holes, Atticus strapped the broken ribs and splinted the shattered arm; apparently when the car had hit the boy, he had taken the brunt of the damage with his left side. Finally done repairing what damage he could, Atticus washed his hands, and caught sight of himself in the mirror. He studied his reflection for a minute and then looked down at the boy, trying to judge whether they were as identical as their genetics as Ru claimed them to be. While he had stopped being carded long ago, he didn’t look the thirty-six years that his driver’s license reported. If he seemed solidly in his mid-twenties, what age was this boy who looked only in his late teens? The differences between them were slight. Atticus kept his hair in a short, stylish cut instead of the boy’s long braid. The boy seemed to have another inch or two to grow before reaching Atticus’s height; his youth showed in his chin, the column of his neck, and the depth of his chest. Atticus could remember, though, having this build, this face.
    Ru came back with a cocoa blast. “We should get him up if we can, in case Sumpter shows.”
    One of the bullets had sliced through a major artery, thus the reason for the body shutting down—to keep the heart from pumping out the entire blood supply. Atticus couldsense, though, that the wound was healed over. That was promising in and of itself. “Give it a shot.”
    Ru held the beer stein of warm mash under the Dog Warrior’s nose. He gave the stein to Atticus to hold, repositioned the boy’s head so the throat was one straight column, and spooned some into the lax mouth. “Come on, come on.” After a minute, he shook his head. “No, it’s not working.” He thumped back onto the tile floor. “This is going to soooo suck if he stays dead.”
    â€œHe’s healing,” Atticus said slowly. If Atticus could control the mice, and sense the body healing, maybe he could influence it even more. “Let’s get him out of the tub.”
    â€œHold on.” With practiced ease, Ru cut off the soiled underwear, wrapped it in plastic, tossed it away, and cleaned the boy. It was embarrassing to know Ru had learned the skill on Atticus. Washing his hands, Ru spread a blanket out on the