“This is…” one of the younger guys asked, shutting up when the bruiser with the club stepped toward him.
Sullenly, the guys took a sandwich and water then sat on the ground outside the truck to eat.
“Okay, bedtime,” Butch announced ten minutes later. “Get in the truck.”
“What about our backpacks?” one teen asked.
“I told you, you get them back when the job is done, not before.”
“You said at the end of the day,” the teen replied.
“I lied. Want to make something of it?” Butch said, his hands fisting.
The teen cowered, shaking his head.
“So far,” Vin murmured after he and Davie climbed in, “it’s going just like we thought, down to the cages.”
There was a row of them along one wall. “Your own private bedrooms,” Butch said, smirking. “Sleep well.”
“In these?” Vin said, feigning surprise and dismay.
“Yeah. Got a problem with it?” the bruiser with the club asked, pounding it against the palm of his hand.