PREVIEW

... robbed our Sixth Street Gang of supplies? Are you insane? Kneel under the stars and stripes and apologize you traitorous bastard!"

Arthur Scott had barely stepped out of the garage—more of a hidden base than an actual shop—when he was greeted by a shouting match.

A group of heavily armed men stood in formation outside. Most wore body armor, bandoliers, and old camouflage gear. But the effect was ruined by their tacky tattoos, unlit cigars, and the reckless, twitchy energy of stre ...

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