The car ride home was silent, and I kept staring at the clock, counting down the hours until I’d meet my brothers at Jack’s and ride with him to turn himself in. I knew I wasn’t alone. We were all grieving a living man and there’s no right or wrong way to mourn. Knowing that, I didn’t press Lacey when she said she was going to bed. I didn’t worry about her illness taking over or try to talk the situation to death.
I let her be and in turn, I sat alone in the dark, reminiscing over days past.
Like the day I first met the self-proclaimed Bulldog.
And the day he took the gavel. I can still recall the smirk on his face as he turned and appointed me his vice president.
All the times we rode to hell with the Devil on our backs.
How he peeled me off my dead wife’s body and sat with me at her grave.
The nights he carried my drunk ass out of bars and all the times he flushed my drugs.
When he first told me to look out for his daughter and the day, he found out I stole her heart.
And how can I forget the day he gave me his blessing to marry her?
I never knew my father and sadly, never having a man to look up to or guide me didn’t bother and maybe that’s because I had Jack. A man I spent most of my life calling a friend and brother when he deserved a higher honor.
The trip down memory lane and the realization that I was losing a man I considered more of a father than the sperm donor responsible for my existence, was a lot to take in. I couldn’t sit in the house anymore or stare at the clock another second. I’d never be able to fill his shoes and there was no fucking point in trying.
Knowing that I grabbed the keys to my bike and left the house. I had no idea where I was headed until an hour later, I found myself riding through a seedy neighborhood in Queens. I didn’t run these streets, but I knew them like the back of my hand. Every corner dealer and every drug den. All the ways to score.
Now, here’s where the true test of fate lies. You see if I was truly capable of being the man both Jack and Lacey thought I could be, I’d tell you I turned my bike around and took my ass home. That I crawled into bed next to my wife and while she slept, I silently reaffirmed all the promises I’ve made to her. I’d tell you I held her close and swore to be the best version of myself.
To put her and our baby before everything.
To help her care for Danny.
To stay clean and sober.
But I ain’t that guy and I never fucking will be.
Now, here I am sitting in the office of Pipe’s garage, cutting a line of coke, telling myself I just need a little to take the edge off.
One line.
Just a hit.
Lifting my hips, I pull a wad of cash out of my back pocket. Grabbing the first bill, I roll good ol’ George Washington expertly and as I lower one end to the white powder, I freeze. Staring at the coke on the desk, I picture that cocksucker Javier and the smug expression he wore on his face when he realized he had us by the balls.
For all I know, the poison staring back at me is his product. The idea that I possibly put green in his pocket and food on his table sickens me. Dropping the rolled twenty on the desk, I lean back against the chair and push my fingers through my hair.
I play back all the events that led the club to where we’re at and I try to configure how we ended up at the mercy of the cartel. The Feds weren’t gunning for us, they wanted Javier. They were building a fucking case against the Sinaloa Cartel and instead they got Jack. Even if you combine all our crimes, it doesn’t equal a fair trade.
Something is off.
No fucking D.A. in their right mind would settle for Jack and absolve our crimes when he could take down a global criminal enterprise. Someone dropped the ball somewhere. That’s what happens when you leave the task of cleaning the streets to the boys in blue. People want to talk shit about vigilante justice. They call people like us thugs and say we’re no good, but you can bet your ass there is a criminal making moves behind every politician and law enforcement agency and those fucks are reaping the benefits of his crimes. They get the key to the city and we get a fucking jail cell. I bet you if we gave the D.A. the cartel, he’d not only bury the evidence against me but he’d fucking release, Jack, too.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, I cringe and slam my fist against the desk. The coke flies around as I rack my brain for a solution. Cursing, I tug at the ends of my hair in frustration. I can’t bring this to Jack. He’s hellbent on turning himself in and playing the hero and on top of that, there isn’t enough time to make it happen before he surrenders. I’m fucking good but I ain’t God. I can’t produce the fucking cartel in six fucking hours. I can’t offer those cocksuckers on a silver platter before those iron bars close on Jack. The first step would be seeking legal counsel and determining if I can strike a new deal with the D.A., one that exonerates Jack and absolves me of any crimes.
Jack’s lawyer is a pussy and probably wouldn’t fucking answer if I called him now. The motherfucker needs his beauty rest for when he gets in front of the camera tomorrow and delivers a press conference, declaring New York’s ultimate outlaw has turned himself in.
Prick.
That leaves me with a choice. I can either corner him tomorrow when we ride with Jack to the district attorney’s office and he surrenders, or I can go completely rogue and get Bianci in on this with me. He was eager to lend a helping hand when everyone got locked up and I’m sure Victor’s fancy ass lawyer would jump at the chance to save the day. Especially if the fucking price was right.
I’m about to reach into my kutte and grab my phone when someone flicks the lights on. Instead of my phone, I pull out my gun and aim it at the intruder.
Pipe holds up his hands in mock surrender as he narrows his eyes. His gaze switches from my face to the mound of coke on the desk and he drops his hands.
“Don’t let me stop you,” he grinds out.
Lowering my gun, I sigh and divert my attention to the drugs. For a second I forgot I was a washed up junkie looking to snort my life away.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I mutter. “I didn’t do any.”
Flitting my gaze back to him, I watch as he crosses his arms against his chest and laughs sadistically. It shouldn’t bother me and yet, I can’t help but grind my teeth as he takes another step closer. Disdain alive in his eyes.
“I swear on my unborn child’s life I didn’t fucking snort it. I was going to but…” I stop myself from continuing, pocketing my gun.
“But what? What were you going to say, Blackie? What lie were you going to spin this time? You gonna tell me you just wanted to test your strength, huh? You wanted to see if you were stronger than your demons, is that it?”
Standing, I swipe my hand across the line of coke, sending the particles flying into the air.
“Yeah, Pipe, that’s it,” I sneer. “You got me all figured out.”
“You know, Jack did us all a favor by handing his patch to Wolf. God knows if you were the one holding the gavel, you’d drag us all to Hell. It’s just too bad your wife has to go along with you for the ride.”
Nodding, I round the desk and pause when I reach him. Meeting his gaze, I level him with a look. If he can read me as good as he thinks he can, he’ll know I’m fucking a straight as a pin.
“Yeah, it’s a fucking shame.”