Ain’t it always?”
Grease turns and walks back to his bike. Blake packs up his gear quickly, and I slide my binoculars into my pack, my mind spinning. Having confirmation that Grease is our rat has me trembling with rage, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from rushing out there and putting a couple rounds in his head right now.
“I can’t believe it,” Blake says. “I never would have thought he’d stab us in the back like that.”
