Addicted: A Secret Baby Romance (Rebel Saints MC)

by Zoey Parker

  I let my gaze slide over the crowd, the crowd with the eyes flickering fire and the clenched fist hands.

  My voice is a low growl:

  “I don’t need to tell you that this will change the game for us. That this will send the Piccolos back to Hell where they belong. That this will change everything.”

  My voice echoes through the room as loud as if it were empty.

  I stop again and survey them, this army of brute force, these men of merciless strength.

  “Who are we?” I ask.

  “Rebel Saints!”

  “And what are we gonna do?”

  “Annihilate the Piccolos!”

  I start pacing again, the words flying out of me of their own will:

  “Annihilate isn’t enough – we’re going to wipe them off the face of the planet. We’re going to destroy them so completely, all that will remain is a fuzzy fear of a memory. They’re going to be a cautionary tale – something up-and-coming gang members whisper to each other to let each other know that YOU DON’T FUCK WITH THE REBEL SAINTS”

  I kick the table and it flies into the wall– “SO WHAT DO YOU SAY?”

  “HAROOOOOO!” the room roars as the table falls into a pile of splinters.

  “WHO ARE WE?”

  “REBEL SAINTS!”

  “AND WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO?”

  “WIPE THE PICCOLOS OFF THE PLANET!”

  And, amidst the roaring, gesturing crowd, I stride through them.

  Once outside, Jaws walks up beside me with a familiar yellow box.

  “Timbit?” he asks.

  I shake my head. I check my phone, frown. Still nothing from Toni.

  Jaw pats my arm.

  “Hey man, we’re gonna find her. Don’t worry.”

  “You’re not coming, Jaws.”

  “Boss, Gabe, c’mon.”

  “You’re right that we’re going to find her, but you’re not coming.”

  Cheeks chipmunk-full of timbits, Jaws’ eyebrows curve with frustration.

  “You didn’t even look at the disguises I got yet.”

  I scrutinize his face, but he looks serious.

  “When did we decide on disguises?”

  Jaws shrugs, scratches his neck then his leg.

  “Just makes things easier, take a look at this.”

  He unzips his bag and extracts a handful of skin and grey fluff. He unfurls it, then slops it over his face.

  I take one look at the bald hideously wrinkled thing that Jaws’ eyes are now in and burst out laughing.

  An old man mask. That’s Jaws’ brilliant disguise idea. An old man mask – and a hella ugly one at that.

  “Good, eh?” Jaws says, chuckling himself.

  “You’re still not coming,” I say, walking over to my bike.

  It’s only Jaws’ protestation that follow me, “Aw, come on!”

  Chapter 26

  Toni

  The worst day of my life actually turned out to be three.

  The past few days I’ve moved to my room and slept. I’ve eaten what Maria Fernanda’s brought me, responded when spoken to and slept whenever I could.

  Whenever I sit up, memory smacks me back down under the covers: Papa’s parchment face, Laurenz’s squinty eyes.

  Whenever I try thinking of anything, the gut-wrenching fact returns: his last minutes were spent with the one woman who didn’t deserve a second of his time. That my Papa couldn’t even be permitted to die in peace. That that is a wrong that can never be righted.

  It seemed this black repetitive clench of a day would continue forever, until, finally, she asked it. The question I’ve been dreading.

  “The funeral is in a few minutes. Will you go?”

  Her question shakes me awake.

  I sit up.

  I know what I have to do. And yet what I have to do and want to do are two entirely different things. Funny how the wrong thing is always the easy one.

  Maria Fernanda tries at a smile.

  “They picked the marigold flowers, his favorite. He’ll be buried beside your mother. Your uncle came to town too.”

  Slowly, I pick myself up, get out of bed.

  “I won’t go,” I tell her, “Then the Rebel Saints would know just who Toni Piccolo is, not to mention that it would be a prime time for Carlos and his men to take me out.”

  Maria Fernanda nods. “I’m not permitted to go either.”

  Then, leaning in, she adds, “There’s been much movement in the house the past few days.”

  I walk over to my closet, pick out some black pants and a white button up.

  They can have their funeral there, at the old church Papa loved, all those people, some who loved him, many who didn’t deserve him. I’ll have my own here. Out in the backyard, by the fire pit he loved.

  I’ll have my own funeral here, I’ll honor him in my own way.

  Jane trots by my side as I make the preparations, make the horrible black tea he always liked, get out a lighter, put on a coat.

  Outside the fire pit is full of leaves.

  I can’t even remember the last time we used it. The last time we were a family. Maybe that died years ago with Mama; maybe it was never really there at all. Who knows?

  There’s a pile of logs already there, as if someone knew. That today’s a fire kinda day.

  I light them and a flame flickers to life. From one log to the next, until a full fire is raging.

  I sit down on the log bench Papa made and think of him.

  “I’m sorry, Papa,” I say. “I’m sorry for not being a better leader. For not continuing what you started. I’m sorry I haven’t got along with Carlos in years. I’m sorry about Mama.”

  I sip the tea, my throat rejecting the horrible bitter taste, my hand still forcing it down. I can do this, drink his tea, say goodbye. And yet, the tea won’t go down, no matter how I try. Mid-pour, my hand freezes.

  Just like the family business. No matter how I tried to accept it, resign myself to it – I couldn’t. Because it wasn’t right for me. Because I’m a different person, with a different moral code.

  “I’m sorry Papa,” I say, my voice louder now, less wavering, “But I won’t stop. I will remake the Piccolo business from the inside-out, you’ll see. I will shift it and mold it and morph it until it is unrecognizable in the best way, until it’s something both of us can be proud of. I will do you proud. I’ll do it.”

  I stand up, pour the tea out into the grass.

  “Because you’re wrong, Papa. I’m sorry and I love you, but you’re wrong. Success doesn’t have to be hard, you don’t always have to sacrifice your morality to get what you want. Yes, it takes hard work and time, but I think you can succeed alongside people, not on their backs; I think win-wins can breed success.”

  “And I love you Papa. I don’t think I ever told you enough, and I wish I could’ve told you at the end. That I love you with all my heart. That I don’t agree with a lot of what you did, but I still believe that you were a good man, a loving man. That you did the best you could. You were the best father I could’ve asked for, and I’ll miss you every day.”

  I sit down, speak some more to the flames.

  “And I hope that, wherever you are, you’re happy and at peace. I hope that you finally got what it was that you were searching for.”

  Jane is letting out a low moan. I pat her, the tears streaming down now, practically blinding me and yet… not quite.

  Not enough to obscure the moving shape on the horizon, by Compound One. Moving black shapes.

  I stop moving and listen. Voices.

  I stamp on the flames and run inside.

  Please God, not now.

  I rush around to the front of the house, stop at the corner.

  There are no guards. There’s two men there. I run back.

  Wasn’t it convenient how Carlos and the rest of them just up and left – no protection for the house, nothing?

  Running into the back of the house, I slam the back door, lock it. Race to the b
asement, get out my gun, cursing myself.

  How could I have been so stupid? Overthrowing me right amidst our own father’s funeral?

  This has Carlos written all over it. It’s just too perfect.

  No sooner am I at the bottom step then does the front door start rattling.

  I crouch down just as it’s kicked in.

  Chapter 27

  Gabriel

  When I wake up, I’m more than awake, I’m electrified.

  As soon as I realize that I’m conscious, I get up, get to work.

  Breakfast is bacon and eggs that’s been warming in the oven. I told Teresa not to come in this morning. I don’t want any distractions. I need to be on my A-game.

  In the bathroom, I smile at myself.

  Now, today, finally, it’s the day.

  The past few days have been intolerable. Waiting, planning and more waiting. Getting the vans in order, dismissing Jaws’ stupid suggestions. Any longer and the next funeral would be mine.

  After I brush my teeth, I whisper, “This one’s for you Mama.”

  Really, now that I know what the Piccolos pulled with Hannah – kidnapping my innocent sister, I have no more doubt that they were the ones who shot Momma.

  They’ve never admitted it, but really, I’ve known all along. Who else would it have been?

  And now, finally, they are going to get what’s coming to them.

  I put on my clothes slowly, leisurely: white Calvin Klein boxers, ivory Ralph Lauren jeans, snow Ted Baker button-up.

  I survey myself in the mirror with a satisfied smile. Something tells me that after today my clothes aren’t going to be so white anymore.

  I go to my safe, put in the code and take it out. My white Glock. The White Lady.

  The boys are gonna just love this. It’s not every day that I bring my white gun into battle.

  I step closer to the mirror, spread my arms.

  Let them shoot at me. There’s a good inch of bulletproof material underneath this white button-up, same goes for my white jeans. Even my white shoes are bulletproof.

  If the Piccolos wanna take me out, they’ll have to go for my head or not bother.

  I put a small picture of Hannah in my pocket. In case there’s someone that needs to be questioned.

  I put a knife in my other pocket, in case someone needs convincing.

  I don’t like to waste bullets on convincing. Today, I may just need every last one.

  I don’t check my phone.

  I know Tony texted me, but I still don’t know what. I haven’t looked and I won’t. Not until this is over. I can’t have any distractions. I have to get Hannah out of there. I have to save my sister or everything is pointless.

  Downstairs, Jaws and Pulse are in my black swivel chairs, spinning around.

  I didn’t call them but I didn’t need to. I said, “My place at 10,” and it’s 10.

  They whistle as I walk in.

  They’re in all black, seem to blend into the apartment, this pure black room: black marble floors and walls, black leather seats, black velvet curtains. As Hannah liked to say the “black on black on black” room. I’ve always loved the shock I made when I caught myself in a mirror, the gleaming white beacon amidst so much black.

  “You ready?” I ask them.

  “Fuck yes!” Jaws says leaping up. Even his spikes have been slicked back, as if knowing instinctively that today is the kind of day that destroys even hair spikes.

  “Oh, am I ready,” Pulse says, then, giving me a significant look, “But is she ready?”

  I pick my white leather jacket up off the coat, put it on.

  I open the fridge. There, in the meat compartment, there she is. Our weapon of sweet, sweet vengeance.

  “Adrestia” is what Pulse is calling her these days, the cords and switchboards that are the bombs we’re going to blow the Piccolos back to hell with. Apparently, Adrestia was the Greek goddess of retribution.

  Pulse clasps his creation, Jaws grabs an apple, we tuck it all in our wheeled suitcases, and we’re off.

  The elevator is there before we are, and everyone we encounter, whose gazes follow us long as we pass, all of them know. Even the slick bald nod of a desk boy knows. There is no resisting. What we will do today is inevitable. Success isn’t a question of “if” but “when.”

  Outside, the long line of vans forms a conspicuous brigade in front of my apartment building. Not regular Lionel boarders, that’s for sure. Not regular boarders at all. All white, the stereotypical white van that, in this case, are for purposes just as sketchy as they look.

  The first seven vans have around 50 or so Rebel Saints tucked snuggly inside, the second-last van is where we pack Adrestia.

  Finally, as we approach our van, the last one, Jaws takes a bite of his apple. Jaws. Who’s still supposed to be in the hospital.

  “What the hell are you doing here eh?” I ask him, irritated with myself for just noticing now.

  Mid-bite, he shrugs.

  “Was more interesting than sitting through one of those hospital check-ups.”

  I shake my head.

  “No. No way. You get the hell out of here. You aren’t well enough to fight.”

  My phone rings. It’s Pip.

  “The Piccolos just arrived at the funeral, boss.”

  “Great. See any guy that might be Toni Piccolo?”

  “No, doesn’t look like it, but I don’t know if they’ve all arrived yet.”

  “Ok, great, thanks Pip. Keep me posted.”

  “Will do Boss.”

  I hang up and look on the long line of vans, my weapons of mass destruction, all waiting for my command. None of this seems real I’ve been waiting for it for so long.

  When I come to, I check my phone: already five minutes have passed since I talked to Pip, five minutes that I’ve been standing here, reveling in what’s to come.

  This plan won’t be real if I keep on standing here thinking about it. It’s time to act.

  I go to the first van, give it a thumbs-up. As it takes off, I do the same to the next, then the next.

  Until only the final van and Pulse, Jaws and I are left.

  Pulse gets in the driver’s seat, and I get in the passenger’s seat.

  As Jaws goes to open the back door, I press the lock button. He yanks the handle uselessly, turns to the front with a dismayed face.

  Through the door, we can just make out his moan, “Boss, c’mon, please.”

  I open the window a crack, shake my head, smile, and wave, “Bye Jaws. We’ll send you pics.”

  As Pulse pulls away from the curb and down the street, Jaws stays stock-still, his face a drooping mask of dismay.

  “Kinda harsh,” Pulse comments, with a glance in the rearview mirror at Jaws’ rapidly diminishing form.

  “I’ve put him in enough danger already. Not this time,” I say.

  The traffic is much worse than expected. With each passing minute, I can see the vein in Pulse’s temple throbbing more.

  “We’ll get there in time,” I say, though I’m not sure who I’m saying it for.

  I feel like getting out of the car, striding across the tops of these cars, this hood to bumper line of cars. Or just driving over them, crushing over them like tanks.

  We don’t have time for this.

  “Boss, how’s it going?” Pip asks me over the headset I put on a few minutes ago.

  I grin. I was starting to worry it wasn’t working. Thank God for Bluetooth.

  “Traffic, we’re almost there.”

  When we finally pull up to the house, we’re 15 minutes later than we should be.

  “The boys are already setting up the explosives,” Pip tells me, “You just have to find Hannah.”