by Jessica Joy
DiMarco lifts his head from the back of his chair, looks over at the corner where Tinker’s disembodied head is yelling through the laptop screen, then looks at me with a bored expression. “One of my men had it in his garage, I told him we required it,” he says with zero emotion on his face or in his voice before laying his head back on the chair again.
Dear God, they really must be bored. Also, if DiMarco’s men are jumping like that word must have gotten around about Leo.
“What did he have!? What did you fuckers do to me!?” Tinker’s voice calls again.
Gage lifts his chin, rolling his head back to look at me upside down from his spot on the floor and explains, “Took feckin’ forever to settle on which to get.”
“Do I even want to know which one of you fools suggested this one?” I ask, tears streaming down my cheeks from laughing so hard still. Without turning away from the murder wall, or even breaking his stride, Sawyer raises his hand.
“Ohhhhhhh. I’m gonna tell my sister!” I say in a teasing singsong. Hand still raised, and still not turning to face me, Sawyer open hand flips to a one fingered salute before returning his hand to the top of his head.
“One of you fuckers better tell me what's going on or I’m letting every single one of those dick pics out of the cock locker!” Tinker threatens.
Sawyer and Gage both freeze and snap to look at the laptop with matching looks of terror on their faces. Oh, I absolutely need to know what the fuck the ‘cock locker’ is if it can instill that level of fear in these badass bikers.
DiMarco scoffs at the threat, “You don’t have anything on me.”
“Oh yes I fucking do pretty boy,” Tinker taunts.
“You must be mistake…” DiMarco starts to dismiss him.
“October 12th, 2015” Tinker states in complete and confident monotone. DiMarco stops his idle swaying and looks like he is about to say something more, but simply looks up at the screen and gives a slight nod.
Through all this I’m still standing here on the stair landing, laughing my ass off, tray of sandwiches perched precariously on the shelf next me. When I see the satisfied smirk on Tinker’s face, and all three men here are put neatly in their place, I decide to take pity on poor sweet Tink.
“Tinker bud, they have you propped up on the shoulders of a Brittany Spears cardboard cutout,” I say with a cringe.
Tinker groans and gives me a pleading look, “Please tell me it’s at least Toxic era Brittany.”
Oh we will soooooo be addressing the fact he knows enough about Brit to have an opinion like that when I get back.
“Sorry sweets, it’s Baby One More Time,” I say, honestly feeling a little remorseful for having to be the one to tell him.
“Eh, I could work a schoolgirl skirt,” Tinker says with an almost smug shrug.
“That’s it. Tink, you and I need to have words when I get back,” I laugh, shaking my head again. “Okay, with that out of the way, I had intended to bring you guys lunch, but what the fuck is going on in here? Are you guys serial killers now?” I ask, gesturing to the wall, only partially kidding if I’m honest.
All four men turn to look at me with varying levels of guilt and sheepishness on their faces except Tinker; he is just smiling. “Jesus Fuck.” I mumble, looking between each of them.
“Well, I wouldn’t classify it as a serial killing per se…” Tinker starts to explain, but Sawyer snaps his name and cuts him off.
Oh, of course. “Club business, right.” I grumble.
“You know how it works Lexi,” Sawyer states calmly. Yeah, of course he's going to pull that shit with me. Tessa’s words from the other day try to ring through my mind but I shut them off. She pulled a stunt and broke the “Club shit” rule when Evan was taken and it directly affected her. So ya know what? So will I. I stalk down the steps and slam the tray down on their shitty metal card table holding god knows how many empty beer cans.
“You know what Sawyer? No. Fuck you and your Club business,” I challenge, pointing a finger at him. I see Gage tense up on the floor and DiMarco’s attention goes from indifferent to rapt. Gotta tell them when they’re being stupid… I’m in it now, might as well finish. “Remember that time when I shot a man in the back for you?” I say looking at Gage’s prone form on the garage floor. “Cuz I do. Four fuckin’ days ago.” Sawyer turns like he is going to interrupt but I cut him off. “I’ve got blood on my hands because of this and so I’m in it just as much as you are; fuck your ‘Club business’ bullshit,” I pause, and blessedly the men are holding very still. Each looking ashamed for one reason or another. “I need to know what’s going on, I deserve to know.” Sawyer is the first to recover.
“Lexi… it’s just… there are things about the Club…” he stutters. Oh fuck that.
“If it’s such a Club secret, why the fuck is he here?” I yell, pointing at DiMarco and his rumpled ass suit. “He’s not part of your little troupe.” Gage finally rolls to his feet and I can see him gearing up to come calm the storm emanating from me. “Don’t you fuckin’ try it mister,” I warn, holding him at bay with a look and a point. He stops dead in his tracks and puts both hands up, palms toward me, in a placating gesture. “Whether you like it or not, I’m here because of you! I took care of you, I killed my only friend for you! You do not get to deny me this. You least of all get to say I’m wrong.” I can feel the heat leaving me as I go on, unimpeded. “And you!” I say, my tone dropping, anger leaving and icy cold entering my words as I round on DiMarco. “It was one of your men that tried to kill the man I love. Do you remember that? Because I fucking do. I fucking killed him!”
My voice breaks off on a silent sob, effectively putting an end to my rant. Well fuck, that wasn’t how this was supposed to go. I did the right thing, I have no doubt of that. I saved Gage. It needed to happen. So why the fuck am I spilling tears over the whole mess?
I find myself being pulled against Gage’s warm chest, his arms coming around me and holding me close. He presses soft kisses against my temple, soothing me. “Ye did so good Al. So damn good. I know it’s hard, and I promise we’ll get through it. As soon as this mess is done, it’ll be just the two of us. Ye hear me?” he soothes against my ear.
He’s right, it’s not what I want to hear, not even close; but I know he’s right. I need to trust him. As the fire leaves my body I realize that I don’t want to be part of this. I don’t want more blood on my hands, more bodies on my conscience. My job is to be there for him when he comes home, to be his safe harbor from his own raging storms. Without giving him a full answer, I only nod against his shoulder, wrapping my arms around his waist and holding him tight. I steal a glance over at Tinker sitting atop that ridiculous cardboard cutout; the assholes even found a lacy bra and stuffed it with socks to add dimension. I will never fully understand these men, but I do know that they are here, doing what is necessary. I look at each of them seeing the resolve in their eyes, the acceptance that they do believe I’m in this but want to keep me as far from it as possible. I need to let them fix this, it’s the only way they each will feel whole in their own way.
I push back from Gage and look into his eyes, willing him to hear me, “Take them out Gage. When the arm is rotten, you don’t try to save a few fingers at the expense of the body. You cut out the infection, root and stem, before it can spread.”
Gage stills at my words, clearly processing what I’ve said before he gives me a slight nod. “Aye, Mo phráta beag. As ye wish.”
Chapter 23
Gage
I give Lexi one last forehead kiss before she turns and walks back into the house. Watching her go, I have a strong urge to smack that perfect ass but settle on tossing her a wink when she looks over her shoulder one last time. Heaving a sigh, I finally turn back to the guys. The three of them are all staring at me with varying levels of confusion and amusement, and I’m pretty sure Tinker is about to piss himself from trying not to laugh. DiMarco is the first to finally say something.
“You a
nd your fairy speak Patrick,” he says, shaking his head in exasperation at me. “What the hell does that even mean?”
I walk down the stairs and settle into another mismatched office chair, spinning around once for good measure. When I land facing our little group, all three of them are still staring at me, waiting.
“She’s my little potato,” I say with a shrug.
There is almost deafening silence for a long moment before the three of them all burst out laughing. Sawyer is bent double, hands braced on his knees, DiMarco has a hand over his face still laying back in his chair, and Tinker is no longer in frame on the laptop, but I can hear him cackling through the speakers. He’s most likely on the floor.
“What the fuck Gage? Potato?! How is that even a good thing?” Sawyer asks between gasping for breath and laughing.
“What? Haven’t ye seen the Martian?! Potatoes contain everything ye need to live,” I explain, as if it’s the most reasonable thing to ever come out of my mouth. DiMarco and Sawyer still look totally confused but Tinker goes quiet, a little smile on his face when he reappears on screen.
“What the fuck. That still doesn’t answer our question,” DiMarco says
“She’s my little potato. She’s everything I need.”
The room is silent again as my words sink into their thick skulls. If anyone was going to understand where I’m coming from and grasp the weight of that admission coming from me, it would be these three men. They know what I’ve been through and how hard I have fought to get where I am today. They know that if I say she’s everything I need, then shit’s about to get real.
Tinker, ever the one to break a silence chips in with a sing-song, “Gagey loves Potato. Potato loves Gagey.” He’s trying to hold a straight face but his smile cracks through.
Sawyer raises his eyebrows at me, “That’s right, she did say…”
“I know exactly what she said.” I interrupt. Not wanting to dwell on it with this cesspool of testosterone. “And I will not be addressin’ that shit for the first time with yer sorry asses.”
Thankfully, DiMarco clears his throat and shuffles some papers around and speaks up,
“I’ve been having my contacts pull at a few strings. Followed the money through Leo’s accounts and traced a series of monthly deposits, the first hitting the day after you all contacted me. The accounting of it all was complex, wove quite the web I must say, but it is imperfect. Finding the origin account is simply a matter of time. My man will pass the information along to Tinker once he can verify it without a doubt. I also have my contacts in Seattle shaking some branches with the local street gangs to see what falls out. Apparently, your little revenge mission caused quite a stir in the darker elements of the city and upset the balance in more ways than one. My informant tells me there was talk of a payment of one hundred grand to one of the smaller gangs to act as hired muscle that night,” DiMarco explains, his tone businesslike and unaffected.
“Have your guy send me what he found on that as well, the more specific the better. I will work to match it with outgoing transactions on this end,” Tinker says, the sound of his keyboard clicking away as he takes a note echoing through the speakers. “Axel’s been smart with all of his moves, making a lot of money move in and out of most of the accounts. Honestly, the money is a mess, but I know I can untangle it all. He’s smart, but not that smart. We’ll get him.”
“We know you will Brother,” Sawyer confirms. “Where are we at with the Brothers? Any progress on finalizing that list?”
Tinker shuffles some more papers around on his desk before pulling one up and looking over it as he answers. “Good, good. Between Bowie’s ‘talk’ with Subzero, and the rest of us pushing where we can, I think we have a pretty solid handle on who is in Axel’s camp and who’s in ours.”
“Pretty good isn’t good enough Tink. Who don’t we know yet?” Sawyer asks.
“We’ve gotten through everyone. Only ones we don’t have a read on are the three old farts,” Tinker explains.
“Those feckers have been around since the last ice age and have seen more presidents than the U.S. They’re fine,” I assure them. Tinker and Sawyer nod in agreement and I continue, “So what’s that leave us with on the other side?” I ask.
“Including us, it’s 11 for, 9 against, 3 unknown,” Tinker rattles off. Sawyer curses under his breath and resumes his pacing, tugging his hands through his hair in frustration again. I know this isn’t what he wanted, we all hoped it would be a much smaller number to have to deal with, but there’s no going back now.
“Doesn’t matter. Lexi’s right. If the arm is rotten ye take the whole thing. They’re out. All of ‘em,” I say firmly. Sawyer and Tinker both sigh, and DiMarco simply sits back and watches our interaction, knowing this isn’t his say.
“Not a call I want to make lightly. If we do this, we need everyone on board. Tink, is there any way you and Bowie can float it to the other 7 in our camp?” Sawyer asks, hoping that we can share the load.
“I dunno Spartan, we’re already drawing some attention with all the side conversations. We trust these guys but I don’t know if we’ll be able to have quiet conversations with over half the Club without someone we don’t want overhearing,” Tink responds, clearly worried about his own skin and the tenuous plan we think we’re gonna pull off.
“I know I don’t have any skin in this particular game, but may I just ask, are you sure you are prepared to make that kind of culling? That is almost half your men,” DiMarco says carefully, showing a surprising amount of tact.
“I would rather be a part of a small group of loyal men I know I can trust, than a large one where I need to watch my back. Men who turn on their Brothers don’t deserve to be Sons,” Sawyer says, his voice stone cold.
“I agree, use yer discretion Tink, we’ll need men te help but keep it tight,” I contribute.
Tinker responds with an affirmative wave and DiMarco merely nods. “Alright then. Assuming you all agree, what’s the play?” he asks.
The word “play” coming from DiMarco triggers an old memory of mine from back when I was one of his men. There had been a little upstart who had been trying to carve out a few blocks of territory for himself. Obviously Sal couldn’t let that stand so a couple of ‘Family Men’ and myself paid the fucker a visit one night.
Turning to DiMarco, an idea forming in my mind I say, “Hey Sal. Remember the little concerto we played with Vinny over on 8th?”
DiMarco’s brows raise slightly at the mention. Oh yeah, he remembers. “Not messing around are you Patrick?” he asks knowingly.
Not acknowledging his question, I continue down the rapidly forming shopping list in my head. “Oh, and we should throw in a Bobby on 12th for good measure.”
“Are you sure?” DiMarco asks, sounding skeptical.
“Yes.” I state flatly.
“A Bobby on 12th is… Messy,” Sal clarifies with a roll of his hand.
“Still too good for what he deserves.” I answer, the ice in my tone putting any reservations to rest because he simply nods and pulls out his phone to start working on my list.
“What the fuck are you two talking about?” Tinker asks once it goes quiet again. I ignore his question and continue to think through my plan, formulating the best way to present it to the Club and get them on board.
“One second Tink,” I say, holding up a hand as I finish the thoughts.
It takes all of about thirty minutes to lay the whole thing out, DiMarco chiming in here or there to refine my memory and Sawyer adding in a few pieces of logistics with players I hadn’t considered but it’s done. The Forsaken Sons will never look the same again, and I hope it will be for the better.
As we adjourn for the night, Sawyer pins me with a look that says I can’t squirm my way free. “That talk about your past? Yeah. We’re gonna be havin’ that soon,” he says with finality.
“Just put it on the list Brother,” I reply. He makes his way back into the house, most likely to find Tessa a
nd a reminder that there’s still some good in this world. I can’t blame him, we’re about to put a whole lot of evil into it.
Chapter 24
Lexi
After my little blow up at the Idiot Brigade yesterday I’ve decided to let them do their work. Or at least, that had been my intention when I started this little baking project. I’m elbow deep in a batch of bread dough, attempting to get it to come together enough to knead properly, when DiMarco walks in.
“Ah Alexis, what a pleasant surprise,” he enthuses as he crosses to the coffee maker.
Turning toward him, I offer him a demure smile. “Why hello Salvatore. How are you and the other psychopaths doing today?” I ask sweetly, choosing to play his game. Of course, I’m in here, where the hell else would I be?
“Psychopath implies a certain level of... instability. I prefer ‘Sociopath with Megalomaniacal Tendencies,’” he says blandly as he fixes himself a mug from the carafe. The fact he just called himself a heartless egomaniac who wants to take over the world is entirely too entertaining and I burst out laughing. With my hands still wrist deep in the dough I can’t do much more than double over and attempt to calm myself. Damn I needed that laugh.
“Alrighty, ya heartless bastard, how are you and the rest of the idiot brigade today?” I ask once I can breathe again.
DiMarco chuckles as he settles himself on a stool across the counter from me and takes a sip of his coffee. He grimaces for a moment and sets the mug down before returning his gaze to me, watching me work. “I’m not sure how you all tolerate such horrid swill.”
“What, can’t live without your fancy espresso machine?” I tease.
“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t agree,” he challenges, and goddammit, he’s right. I’ve been spoiled since staying at the loft, the coffee there was amazing and we didn’t really have time to stock up before we got here. It’s really hard to go back to Folgers after having honest to God Italian espresso every morning. Deciding that changing the subject is the safest course of action, I set to kneading the dough that has finally come together for a moment before I continue.
