It was . . . torture.
But God help me, the more I thought about it, the more I looked forward to it, and the more I dreaded the end of this phase. I couldn’t keep my hands off her when we were together. I couldn’t stop thinking about her when we were apart. I didn’t have to put on a show to appear angry and irritable and aggressive while at the compound. Every single wasted second in that hellhole pissed me right off and I found myself wondering more and more why I stayed.
Jess was gone. I’d always planned to leave after she took off. So why had I stayed this last year?
She’s sharper than a katana, all her poise and self-confidence is justified, and I go to sleep every night thinking about her eyes.
“Repo!”
My head snapped up and I scowled at the young recruit named Charms—eyes wide, movements agitated—at the end of the hall.
“You coked out?” I barked the question. “I told you to lay off that shit.” Even before Charms had come to us, he’d been an addict. It was the reason he was still a recruit and not a member. Addicts made the worst drug dealers.
But whether Charms remained in his current position wasn’t my call. Product procurement and sale flowed through Wolf; he had the largest number of direct reports.
“No, no. It’s Wolf and Duck.” He backed up, waving his hands for me to follow. “They’ve—shit! Well, just come see. They’re inside the bar.”
I made a sound of frustration, but I followed. Even though none of whatever had happened with Wolf and his boys should’ve been my business—I wasn’t Romeo, and I certainly wasn’t Razor—it seemed like more and more no one could do anything without dragging me into their dumpster fire emergencies.
My area of expertise has always been the money. All the money flowed through me and only me. I worked alone and I had no direct reports, but not because it was my preference. Razor didn’t trust anyone but me to do the job or touch the funds. The only person who might’ve objected to this—Romeo, a.k.a. Darrell Winston, second in command—couldn’t be bothered to care just as long as he ate well and never had to think about it.
Personally, I thought it was crazy of Razor, our President, to entrust such a critical area to just one person. If I hadn’t secretly taken Catfish under my wing—one of the more levelheaded, business-minded members—and taught him the basics, no one would know what I did, how I did it, how to access the accounts, where the money was kept, who my contacts were except for Razor. In fact, I doubted even Razor knew. It’s not like I could write this stuff down and put it into a binder for reference.
But then, Razor was crazy. So . . .
“Come quick!” Charms called from up ahead.
Tuning another two corners, I pulled out the burner cell Diane used to send me messages and checked for new texts. It wasn’t necessary for me to watch where I was going while I walked. I could navigate these halls in the dark.
Diane: I know what movie we’re watching tonight.
I smirked at that, debating whether I could stop for a moment and type out something before Charms came back searching for me. A frenzied shriek echoed down the hall, coming from the direction of the bar, and I reluctantly decided to answer Diane’s message later.
Not picking up my pace for the last few hallways, I moseyed into the bar and surveyed the scene.
Viper was up on the bar top while Gears seemed to be conducting an impromptu surgery on his shoulder. Viper appeared close to passing out and was likely the screamer I’d heard earlier. To my left, Duck was sitting in a chair. His neck an angry red and purple, he’d clearly been choked with a rope. Wolf was next to him, his lip busted, two black eyes blooming, and—from the way he was holding his side—it looked like maybe a few broken ribs.
Placing my hands on my hips, I sighed and glanced at Burro. He was behind the bar, his arms crossed, a rare expression of anger on his features.
“Who was it?” I asked Burro. He’d know the full story. He might editorialize, give too many details, provide details that weren’t relevant, but at least he’d tell me the truth.
“Guess.” Isaac—uh, that is, Twilight—strolled out from behind the bar, his arms filled with bags of ice.
Closing my eyes, I rubbed my forehead and meandered over to the part of the bar Viper wasn’t bleeding all over. “What did you do?” I asked tiredly.
“We didn’t do shit!” Viper yelled, then released a yowl.
“They were doing deals on his land,” Gears ground out, sounding more tired than irritated. “Hold still, boy.”
We needed a new doc, or maybe even a nurse. Gears wasn’t great at patching up wounds, but he was all we had these days. He used to manage black-market acquisition, but that had moved to Catfish some years back and Catfish had been working to rebuild the group. Losing the chop shop years back meant black-market yields were shrinking. I’d tried to help resurrect this, and so had Christine—Razor’s old lady—but we’d both seen our efforts stall.
“What are you going to do about it?” Wolf slurred from his spot next to Duck, his question obviously meant for me.
“About what?” I tapped the bar top, sending Burro a commiserating look. These fucking idiots.
Twilight handed out the bags of ice like popcorn at a baseball game, answering my rhetorical question flatly, “About Romeo’s son.”
“Oh? Which one?” I asked, like I didn’t already know.
“Billy! Goddamn Billy Winston, fucking up Wolf like that.” Charms threw his hands up. “He needs to be handled.”
I shook my head, chuckling because nothing was funny. “Well, it ain’t gonna be me. You want to deal with him, you deal with him.”
“Razor needs to be told,” Wolf choked out.
“Go right ahead.” I gestured to the hallway. “Be my fucking guest.”
“Y’all shoulda killed him when you had the chance.” This bit of wisdom came from Viper, the dumbest among us.
“It’s not like they didn’t try,” Duck croaked out, rubbing his bruised neck. In addition to red and purple, it was turning blue and green and it was a wonder he could talk at all.
“Why can’t he leave shit alone? Why is he always after us?” Viper twisted his head toward me while Gears snipped at the excess thread holding the muscle together. Next, he would apply Steri-Strips to hold the skin together.
“Y’all were on his property, dumbass!” Burro banged on the bar top, making everyone jump. “You want to tell us again how he’s after you? Each time y’all drag yourself in here with a broken nose, rib, whatever, courtesy of Billy Winston, it’s because you’re not respecting the truce. You stay away from his sister, you stay away from Scarlet, and you stay away from his land.”
Duck wheezed something that sounded like agreement.
But Viper grumbled, “It’s Romeo’s property.”
“No. The house and all that land was left to Ashley’s fella, the game warden.” Burro poured himself a shot, downed it, and then proceeded to pour one for me and one more for him. “None of it belongs to Romeo, none of it. And Billy has made his position clear on the subject time and time again. You step on that land, you approach his women, you’re gonna get hurt.”