by Kim Jones
“Obviously, you don’t know her like I do.” I take a drag, hoping the weed will help to drown out the sound of her voice that keeps playing in my head. “I’ll be sending Carrie flowers.” What a coldhearted bitch.
“What did you expect her to do? You undermined her authority. You made her look weak. If people see you doing it, they’ll do it too. I’d have shot your ass.”
“Are you forgetting that she just threatened to kill you? Whose fucking side are you on? And why do I have to keep asking my brothers that question?” I kick at one of the boards on the railing and three fall. Great. Something else to fucking fix.
“She did what she had to do. You didn’t see me shittin’ in my pants and you don’t see me holding a grudge. Why should you.”
“Because you’re my fucking family!” I yell, losing my temper. “I taught her to play on her enemies’ weaknesses. Me! And like the bitch she is, she used it against me. But I’m not her enemy. I’m supposed to be her fucking man!” I’d been betrayed. My heart had been ripped from my chest. That speech about this world being bigger than us was just an excuse. This was for her. She was a selfish bitch who clearly wanted power more than she wanted me.
Rookie doesn’t say anything until my breathing returns to normal. He’s learned how far he can push me, and it’s pretty obvious that I’ve reached my breaking point. “All I’m saying is to put yourself in her shoes. What would you have done?”
Even though I just want to be pissed, I consider his words. Reversing the roles, I know what I’d have done—the exact same thing she did. If I was her man, I should have acted like it instead of like all the other pieces of shit that had forced her to do something she didn’t want to. I’d questioned her in front of the real enemy—Death Mob. I’d made her look weak in front of her own men. I was no better than the other men she’d killed and I deserved to die after how I’d treated her.
Fuck.
I hate my friend sometimes. He always has to be the voice of reason. Deep down, I know she wouldn’t have hurt Rookie. I’m still pissed at her for making the threat. But already I’m finding the will to forgive her.
Handing Rookie a beer, I shake my head. “I should have just let her shoot you.”
* * *
My phone rings around noon the next day and I nearly break my neck to answer it. I’m hoping it’s her voice, but it’s Jimbo’s. And he’s pissed. “Do you mind telling me why the fuck we have to ride halfway across the country for a meeting in the morning that was supposed to take place here tomorrow night?”
“I may or may not have pissed off my girlfriend.” Ex-girlfriend. But he doesn’t have to know that.
“Well, thanks a lot, asshole. And while Nationals fly, you’ll be riding to Nebraska. Now get in the fucking wind.”
* * *
What Jimbo failed to tell me was that part of my punishment wasn’t just making me ride, but every other member within a five-hundred-mile radius had to ride too. I guess he learned that shit in the military—punish one by punishing them all. They’re so pissed they won’t even look at me. Even when we stop to fill up and smoke, they keep their distance. All because my man ego couldn’t take a direct order from Diem.
If Dorian or Jimbo would have walked in and gave me that exact same order, I’d have listened and done what I was told with no questions asked. I was still pissed, but at least I understood her motive.
Before I can stop myself, I’m dialing her number. “What,” she snaps, and I can hear the click of her heels as she walks.
“Hey, pretty girl,” I say, the sound of her voice making me forget that we’re in an argument.
“Zeke, don’t,” she says, but the fight isn’t in her.
“Look . . .” I drag my hand down my face, trying to find the right words to say without the reminder of what happened pissing me off. When I realize I can’t, I stick to business.
“Don’t take your anger out on my club. If you got a problem with me, that’s for me and you to work out. Don’t make the club pay for my mistakes.” Everyone is on their bikes, unable to leave until I do because I’m the highest-ranking officer here. I’ve smoked half a cigarette and been called every motherfucker in the book by my impatient brothers before she finally answers.
“It’s clear that you’re more upset over your club having to endure a schedule change than you are about hurting me.” She pauses a moment, letting out a low breath. “I confided in you, Shady.” The hurt in her voice has me closing my eyes and hating myself a little more.
“Diem,” I try, but she cuts me off, her tone now cold and unforgiving like she just flipped a switch.
“I told you that I was struggling and you treated me with the same respect as the men I was forced to kill. I see where your priorities are, and I completely understand. Because like you, I know where mine are too.” She hangs up and I roar loud enough to silence everyone in the parking lot. I’ve never been so angry with myself.
Of course the club was my priority. But Diem was too, even though I’d yet to make her feel like one. I kick at the air, mumbling obscenities while my club looks on like I’ve lost my mind. I straddle my bike, asking myself the same question I’ve asked over and over. What the fuck is wrong with me?
I’m at a hundred and twenty before I figure it out, but the reality hits me so hard, I nearly wreck with the impact. There’s no answer other than the obvious—I’m just an insensitive, control-freak, anti-feminist prick.
* * *
By the time we make it to the warehouse, I’m fucking livid with myself. And exhausted. And running off of gas fumes and coffee. I light a cigarette and stand with my club as Diem steps out of the same SUV she arrived in last night. Damn, she’s pretty. Even tired and overworked, she’s exquisite. Just like the neatly pressed business suit she wears over that goddess body I know is hidden underneath.
“I need men on the ground on the East Coast right away,” she starts. She’s barking orders and calling shots without even as much as a “good afternoon” or a look in my direction. “We’re expecting production to slow, and we will be patient with you. Don’t get men you don’t trust just to hurry the business along. We want good, dependable soldiers like you. How long do you think it will take?”
She directs her questions to Jimbo, who responds like a National president should. With the truth and no bullshit. “At least a year. We have several support club chapters we can Prospect, but it takes time. A one-percenter isn’t born overnight.”
Her small head nods as she purses her lips, just like she always does when she’s thinking. “I suggest moving chapters you have now to fill in until you get some more guys ready. We’ll make sure your territory isn’t compromised.” Jimbo agrees, and they discuss locations.
Meanwhile, Clark, the big man I recognize as the one from the Death Mob clubhouse, is burning holes into me, so I finally meet his gaze. He rolls his neck and I flex my fingers. It’s an intimidation method that makes us both look like grade school kids.
“Do you have a problem?” Diem’s voice rings out and I don’t have to look at her to know she’s talking to me. She only uses that tone when she’s pissed at me. And I guess she’s still pissed.
“Not at all,” I say, not looking at her.
“What about you?” she says, and I know she’s talking to the guy I’m sizing up. “Do you have a problem?”
“I don’t like him,” he growls, his voice low and gruff. He sounds mean, but he’ll die just as quick as any other man who gets a bullet in his head.
“Yeah? Me either. But this is business. So if the two of you want to get in a pissing contest over whose dick is bigger, then do it when you’re not on my time.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answers, like a whooped puppy. I just smirk.
“Something funny to you?” This time, I turn to look at her.
“No, pretty girl. Nothing’s funny.” She’s not embarrassed by my endearme
nt, but she’s not blushing about it either.
Her eyes narrow on me as she ignores everyone else in the room. The silence is uncomfortable, but not to us. “We’re all on the same team here, Shady.” She drawls my name out like it tastes bad in her mouth. It sounds bad too. I like when she calls me Zeke. Somehow, it means something different.
“And what team is that, Diem? Because right now it feels like you’re on one side and I’m on the other.” I’m over the whole keeping our relationship a secret shit. I don’t give a damn who knows.
“These men are here for me. They’re here to protect me,” she argues, but her case is weak.
I offer her a smirk and shake my head. Her eyebrows rise in amusement. “You don’t agree?”
“You don’t need them.”
“Why, because I have you?” She laughs, and it stings. Only because I’ve already answered this question once, and she still doesn’t believe it.
“Yeah, babe, ’cause you got me. But even if you didn’t, you can handle yourself. I always knew that, and I should have said it sooner.”
“But you didn’t,” she cuts in. Her words are angry and laced with a hate I didn’t know she had inside her. She takes a deep breath, crossing her arms over her chest. “You know how I love a challenge, so prove it to me. Prove that all I need is you.” That creepy, evil smile crosses her lips and I narrow my eyes on her.
“How?”
She waves her hand across the room at the six men standing in a line with their arms clasped in front of them. “You think you’re a wolf? Act like one.”
I smile at her choice of words. I don’t doubt myself in the least. I’ve always been good at fighting, but now, she’s just given me something to fight for. “You want me to take on all of them?” I ask, flashing her the grin she once called irresistible.
“Well, there are only six. Surely a man like you can handle it. Don’t worry. I’ll stop them before they kill you.” Damn, she really is pissed.
I take off my cut as my brothers move back and the six men move forward. I hand it to Chaps who just shakes his head at me. I know what he’s thinking. Dumb-ass.
“You must really like to see me fight. What will this be? The third time?” I ask, knowing she gets off on this shit. Chances are I was fixing to get my ass kicked. But it wouldn’t be the first time.
“I think so . . . Wait,” she says, putting her finger on her chin. “Is this where I say this is going to hurt me worse than it hurts you?”
“Only if it makes you feel better, baby.”
Her eyes narrow, the humor lost from her face. She’s seething with rage. And she’s going to enjoy the shit out of this. With a jerk of her chin, she gives the command. “Take him.”
Naturally, they send the biggest guy first—Clark. He’s the only one who’s a real threat. The others are overweight, middle-aged men who are probably named Tony or Joe and are someone’s uncle’s cousin’s brother’s kid. Wasting no time, I throat punch Clark, and while he’s distracted with the feeling of his throat closing up, I work on his temple until he falls like dead weight to the ground.
The next one comes at me, and it only takes two licks for me to take him down. After that, they keep coming. One by one I drop them. The only problem is that once they’re down, they don’t stay that way. Soon, I’m fighting off two at a time. Then three. Finally, they’re kicking my ass. Diem is watching, and when I swing my gaze at her, I can tell that she’s struggling with watching me bleed. I guess it does hurt her worse than it does me. Right now, I can’t feel a fucking thing.
Finding what little energy I have left, I break free from their hold and reach for my gun that is hidden beneath my shirt. Knowing if I fire they’ll kill me, I grab the man closest to me and use him as a shield while I keep my gun trained on his head. “I believe I’ve had enough,” I announce breathlessly. I’m not ashamed of admitting it. I just took on six men for longer than any of them could have lasted one-on-one with me.
Guns are drawn, everyone is in a standoff, and Diem looks happier than a pig in shit. Clapping her hands, she walks toward me. “I’m impressed. I figured you would just shoot them.”
I smirk. “Nah, I like to get a little sweaty. Keeps me in shape.”
“Everyone, put your guns down. Like I said, we’re all on the same team. Even you, Shady.”
I give her a bloody smile that widens when she frowns at the sight of the blood running down my chin. “Does that mean I’m forgiven?” I ask, letting the man go and sticking my gun back in my pants.
Straightening her back, she purses her lips—that face of stone back in place. “That means you’ll live long enough to try again tomorrow.”
Bitch.
25
THE NEXT MORNING, Rookie walks in the living room wearing basketball shorts, flip-flops, a muscle shirt, and headphones. I’ve known him for years and this is the first time I’ve ever seen him not wearing jeans and boots.
“What’s with that?” I ask, gesturing to his outfit that makes me feel a little uncomfortable. What the hell happened to my badass brother? He looks like a high school kid.
“Road trip clothes. I suggest you do the same,” he says, throwing his duffel over his shoulder.
“You know where we’re going?”
“Pennsylvania,” he says with a shrug.
“How do you know that?” Nobody had told me anything. I was just told to pack.
“Diem told me last night.”
I do the math in my head. We didn’t see Diem last night. We saw her yesterday morning. Then it hits me. “She called you?”
“Yeah.” He shoots me a look, then drops his eyes when I glare back at him. “I figured she told you too.”
“Well she didn’t,” I snap, pushing past him out the door. “You’re gonna look real fucking cute when you’re the only one dressed like a Backstreet Boy.” It’s a pathetic comeback, but it’s all I have. I grab my bag from the couch and open the front door to see an SUV pulling into the driveway.
The last thing I want to do is be in an enclosed space with Diem. I’d rather fucking walk. But when she steps out, a little piece of that ice around my heart chips off. She doesn’t look like a contract killer, second in command Mafia guru this morning. She looks like Diem. And she’s wearing road trip clothes—leggings, an oversized T-shirt, and no makeup. I look down at my boots and jeans. Then up at Rookie, who is smiling down at me from the porch steps.
“Rookie, can I have a minute?” Diem asks, her voice a lot softer than I’ve heard her lately.
“With all due respect, Diem, anything you say to me can be said in front of Shady,” Rookie says. I want to stick my tongue out at her like a five-year-old, but I don’t. I just avoid her gaze altogether and instead, look over the top of her head.
“I want to apologize for the other day. I was working on a tight deadline and had to handle some things quickly. It was the only way I knew how to get rid of . . . him.” I feel her eyes on me, but I refuse to give her the benefit of meeting her gaze.
“I’m not worried about what you said to me. I get it.” I think Rookie is finished, but then his voice drops and the air grows colder. “But don’t ever mention Carrie’s name again in front of people we don’t know. And don’t ever try to use us as leverage. Shady has every right to be pissed. He’s a lot more forgiving than I would have been if you’d threatened me with his life.”
I finally look at Diem, who nods, pulling her lip between her teeth. “I won’t,” she promises, and offers a smile. But Rookie doesn’t return it. She turns around, but he calls to her again.
“And, Diem,” he growls, his tone deadly. When she meets his eyes, something she sees makes her shrink a little in size. “I don’t give second chances.”
Rookie brushes past her, throwing his duffel in the car before getting in. I fight hard to contain my smile. I want to fist pump the air and announc
e to the world that he’s my brother. But of course, I don’t.
Diem looks at me, her face full of apology. “Can we talk?” she asks, hope ringing in her voice.
“Nope,” I say, stepping past her. I hear her mumble something, but it’s lost in my own laughter.
* * *
“Is this the road to Itta Bena?” I ask, thirty minutes into our drive south. Nobody answers, so I try again. “Are we there yet?” Nothing. “I gotta pee.” Diem doesn’t respond, but I can see her shift in aggravation.
Me and Rookie are in the backseat. He’s wearing his headphones, so he can’t hear me. Diem is up front with Clark, her personal driver and right-hand man, who is also listening to music. I’m guessing Diem isn’t listening to anything in hopes that I will talk. I should probably sleep, but I’m too aware of her presence and I swear I can smell her from back here.
“Stop looking at me,” she snaps, not bothering to turn around.
“I’m not looking at you. I’m looking out the windshield.”
“Well, look out your window, asshole.”
“Nah, I like to see where we’re going. By the way, where the hell is that exactly?” I ask, and she turns around to give me a conniving smile.
“For me to know and you to find out.”
“What are you, in fifth grade?”
“Says the guy who has been asking ‘are we there yet’ for the past fifteen minutes.” She’s got me there. Looking back out her window, she throws a dog a bone. “We’re going to Pennsylvania.”
“I know that. What part of Pennsylvania?” I lean forward, startling her when she turns and my face is inches from hers. She drags her eyes down my face with a disgusted look. I just smile.
“The middle part.”
“Why?” I ask, moving closer. She pulls back, pretending like she’s annoyed, but I can see her pulse throbbing in the side of her neck. She likes me this close.
“Business, Zeke. Everything is business.”
My smile widens. “You called me Zeke.”
