Текст книги "Devil Smoke"

Автор книги: Max Henry

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Maybe I’m not an entirely good man, but I am a good man, and she brings out the best of it. And if I can live in a world as corrupt and lawless as this, what the hell ever stopped me from finding a good woman who could do the same?

The fact you hadn’t found her, yet. That’s what.

FINAL BLOW

Ryan

Bronx gives me a slap on the ass for being cheeky as we reach the top of the stairs, laughing as he jogs ahead and takes the steps two at a time. I pull the neck of his T-shirt over my nose while I watch him go ahead, and inhale. The cotton smells like him, all masculine and musky. It’s a smell I’ll forever associate with belonging. With him.

I make my way downstairs and walk into the common room to find the biker-to-free-space ratio has close on doubled. A heap of new eyes swing my way, and the smile I’d been proudly wearing slips away as I freeze on the spot. Bronx steps away from King and a sandy blond guy I don’t know, coming over to take me by the hand.

“It’s okay. They’re all friendly.”

He pulls me toward King and the stranger as I scout the room again, my gaze stopping on one shorter guy whose veins pop in his forearms as he flexes and releases. Friendly. Yeah, right.

Bronx looks between me and where I’d been looking, before frowning as he shakes his head. “Knock it off, Jo-Jo. You’re freakin’ her the fuck out.”

The guy’s lip lifts in a sneer and he turns away, ushered across to the bar by some bearded goliath.

“How you feelin’ after a wash down?” King asks, a knowing twinkle in his eye. “Refreshed?”

Bronx punches him in the arm. “Don’t you start.”

“At least he’s not lookin’ at me like he wants to kill me.” I glance over my shoulder at Jo-Jo, who’s staring at me again.

“Relax,” the new guy says. “He stares at all the bitches he wants to fuck into submission like that.” The guy laughs, all perfect white teeth and piercing blue eyes.

“You’re not helping,” Bronx growls, pulling me to his side when he sees the look of shock plastered over my face.

“Fuck, just tellin’ it how it is, brother.”

“Ryan,” King says, slapping the new guy on the chest, “meet Sawyer.”

Oh. If he’s here, then Harris must be close by as well. “Hi, Sawyer,” I say, moving to use Bronx as a partial shield while I look around for my dad. The stuff I’ve heard about Sawyer is brutal. I look again at his striking face, all hard angles and soft lips, and muse that he’s pretty much the epitome of a smiling assassin. If I was going to be murdered, it might as well be by such a beautiful man.

He holds his hand out to shake mine, and I tentatively accept. “Nice to meet you,” he replies. “You’ve got your old man’s eyes.”

I do? My hand finds its way to my face. I guess I’d never really thought about it.

“We using the meeting room?” Sawyer asks King.

I look between the three men, and a sick sense of dread sinks to the base of my gut. Bronx’s hand tightens around mine, and I look to the contact, wondering why he’s so calm. Where is my dad?

“Yeah,” King says. “He’s already set up in there.”

Set up? What the hell is going on?

I follow them to the room beside King’s office, letting Bronx lead me through the people drinking and chatting about what must have happened today. As we stop for Bronx to collect a well-dressed guy who completely doesn’t fit in around here, my ears pick up on the key phrases: opened fire, went down, what he deserved. I’m turning them over in my head as Bronx steps aside to let me enter the room first.

Harris. My shoulders sag, and a smile tugs at my lips as I take in exactly what they meant by ‘set up.’ He sits on the far side of the table, two seats turned to face each other so he can rest a leg on one while sitting on the other. There are grazes on his face, a bandage around his hand.

“Are you okay?” I round the table to take a seat beside his feet while the sharp-dressed guy shuts the door behind us all.

“Been better.” Harris smiles.

I let go of a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding as Bronx pulls out a chair beside me, and sits. King and Sawyer take their places across the table, and the somber mood hangs heavy and thick between the men—especially Harris and King.

“I’m going to let you kick things off,” King says to Harris. I’m not up to speed with MC rules, but I sense that this is quite an honor for him to start the meeting instead of King.

“Job’s done,” Harris announces.

Sawyer slams a hand down on the table, a huge grin on his face. “Fuck yeah.”

“It was never goin’ to be easy,” Harris continues, “but I think three casualties with what we went through is quite the achievement.”

King turns to Sawyer, running his eyes the length of the man. “I’ll be up front with you, man. I expected you to look a fuckload worse.”

Sawyer smiles, and lifts a booted foot to the table. I notice the blood soaked denim that I missed before, and cringe, even before he rolls the leg of the jeans up his lower leg to show a huge gash in his shin.

“I got a momento.” He chuckles. “I’m happy.” He fingers the wound, which has to be at least five inches long, and one wide.

I come close to vomiting when the raw, sinewy flesh rolls and lightens to a bright shade of pink where the gash has come close to bone. Fresh blood springs forth, and he smears it reverently around the wound with two fingers.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” I ask.

He pins me with a blank stare. “Yeah.”

The guy doesn’t understand my question. He’s looking at me as though I’m the strange one for asking. I let loose an involuntary shiver, and then reach for Bronx’s hand. He takes mine with a smile.

“You’ll get used to him.”

I glance back at Sawyer, and find him grinning like a damn psychopath. Figures—he kind of is one.

“There’s another reason I want you all in here,” King says. “We need to discuss who’s going to take over these operations.”

“I thought it was agreed you and Sawyer would be headin’ them up,” Bronx says.

“See, there’s the thing.” King grimaces and ducks his head. “I’ve got a few personal things I want to work on without that kind of pressure. I’ve got a boy who’s finally enjoying the added time with his old man, and I don’t want to lose that momentum. I take Eddie’s shit on board, I may as well have a fuckin’ civil ceremony with my desk, because that’s where I’d be day in, day out.”

“Cut to the chase,” Harris says. “None of us will stop you from makin’ shit right with your family, so you don’t need to justify it. What’s the kicker in this?”

King lifts his gaze to look between the four of us and the silent GQ-looking guy. Sawyer reclines in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I want you two, Bronx and Ryan, to take it on,” King says.

“What?” Bronx and myself say in unison.

“Are you sure?” Bronx asks.

“You’re considering it?” I ask Bronx in reply. I know I am, but that’s because I know how the operation works, and I’ve had plenty of ideas over the years as to how we can clean it up and make it safer for the dealers. They might sell drugs for a living, but it doesn’t mean they should give up the basic human right to return to their families every night.

“I’m not throwing the idea away, no,” he answers, letting go of my hand so he can swivel to face me. “Are you? Considering it?”

“Well, yeah. If I can do something to make a change and help out the people who suffered when Eddie took over, then I’m on board.”

“Always comes full circle,” Harris mutters.

“What?” I ask.

He leans forward in his seat, a sad smile spreading. “That other stuff I didn’t want to tell you yet?”

I frown. “Yeah?”

“The policeman that night would have been paid off to leave you alone, because if you got taken in and processed, all attention would have been on your family.”

“I don’t follow. Isn’t that the point?”

He pulls in a deep breath. “What do you think your daddy did for a job, Ryanna?”

I look around the room at the men watching us, and feel instantly foolish before I’ve even opened my mouth to answer. “He wasn’t a dentist, was he.”

Harris shakes his head slowly. “He co-ordinated one of the best road-rail operations there ever was for bringing drugs over the border.”

When will the fucking suprises stop? “Ever was?” I ask. “What happened”

“Died a death with your daddy.”

I shake my head, pinching my nose while Bronx places a hand on my back. “It’s still strange hearing you call him my daddy when you’re my dad.”

“By blood only,” Harris reasons.

I wave a hand at the silent men around us as I shrink into my seat, adding the newest information to my swirling cauldron of lies. “Carry on, please.”

Bronx turns back to King and shrugs. “I guess Ryan and I are in on the idea. What do you say, Ty?” He looks to our sharp-dressed company.

The guy taps his fingers on the desk before him. “Your call, brother.”

“This affects you and Malice,” Bronx explains. I let my gaze roam his profile as he talks, feeling a little small and out of place amongst people who know each other so well when I don’t even know Bronx’s last name.

“Man, we knew this gig wouldn’t last forever,” Ty says. He looks across as me, and then back to Bronx. “Ramona and I have plans for building a legit business, and Malice? Well, he’s still spending most of his time trying to knock up Jane.”

“You’re not surprised by this,” Bronx accuses the guy. I’ve got no idea who he is or how he fits in, but my instincts are telling me he’s a part of whatever it is Bronx usually does when he’s not trying to infiltrate rival drug crews.

“King and I have already discussed it,” Ty says.

“What? When?”

“When you two were upstairs going for the state yodeling title,” King says, chuckling to himself. The grin on Sawyer’s face is equally as broad.

Harris just buries his head in his hands.

Heat flames my face, and I consider sliding under the table and out of sight. “I told you I couldn’t show my face again,” I mutter under my breath, much to Bronx’s amusement.

“It’s a big change,” Bronx says to Ty, ignoring my distress. “You think I can do it?” The vulnerability in his gaze kills me, pulling me from my pity party.

Bronx looks to his friend for reassurance, and Ty gives it in spades.

“Brother, you’ve always been up to the challenge. When Malice dragged you away from that bar spitting out teeth for a fucking half-eaten sandwich, you proved then and there you’re not one to back down.” I look to Bronx, wondering just how much ground we have to cover. “I mean it,” Ty continues. “I can’t think of anyone with a better heart to take on that role. You’ve proved you can resist the drug by stepping back before addiction took you, and you proved you’ll do anything to make things right.” Ty looks pointedly at me before settling back on Bronx. “The Butcher Boys are history, brother—it’s time to make your own way.”

My ears perk up at the name, and I sit straighter in my seat to look between Ty and Bronx. “You’re both Butcher Boys? You’re those guys?”

Bronx smiles sheepishly. “Yeah. Why’s that?”

“Jesus!” I twist to face him better. “I’d heard about what they did, and I had this visual in my head of these scarred and gap-toothed old guys running around with bloody aprons on.”

“I can get us some if you’d like?” Ty teases.

Harris chuckles beside me. I flash him a warning look.

“I’m not losing my teeth for you though, darlin’,” Bronx adds with a laugh.

I groan, but don’t bother fighting my smile. These guys are so at ease around each other, and the feeling rubs off. “If you’d told me that was who you were a month ago, I think I would have run a mile. But after today?” I shrug. “I think we all know I’m not so adverse to what it is you guys do.”

Sawyer leans forward opposite me, placing his elbows on the table. “Some of us also do it to protect the people who matter.”

“Because family isn’t just blood,” King adds. “It’s the people who are there to help you when there’s nothing in it for them.”

“People who forgive you no matter what,” Harris says to King.

“The people who know what respect and loyalty really are,” Bronx finishes.

The men all grumble their satisfaction with the spoken words. I couldn’t agree more as well. But they forgot another trait that I’ve seen shared so frequently in my time with them—love. These men love their brothers hard, and they aren’t afraid to show it.

Harris sucks in a deep breath beside me, and the newfound warmth in the room dissipates with a whoosh. “There’s somethin’ else, Ryan.”

King turns his head, avoiding looking at the two of us. My skin sears, the attention of the room on Harris and I.

“I got an admission to make.” Harris fidgets with the rings on his fingers. The sight settles me a little, seeing him display a habit I thought was only mine. “I got cancer.”

My newfound peace slips a hat on and walks out the door, suitcase in hand. “How bad?”

“Terminal.”

I nod tightly, pressing my lips tight. I can’t look at him. It hurts, I won’t deny it, but at the same time the sense of loss I expected to slam into me like a hurricane is absent. I feel . . . nothing.

“I’m really sorry to hear that.” My gaze is fixed on my hands as I worry a cuticle until it bleeds.

“You okay?” King asks.

I look up to see who he’s talking to: myself, or Harris. He gives both of us equal attention. Harris, however, fixes solely on me.

Bronx squeezes my hand, and I drag in a sobering breath. “I’m okay. Upset, but okay.” All five men look at me with a mixture of surprise and confusion. I sigh and pull Bronx’s hand closer across the table to play with his fingers as I address Harris. “I know I’m not crying, wailing, or breaking down about it, and I know that’s strange. Please don’t think I don’t care, because I do. It’s just that you’ve been gone for the last twelve years of my life. I’ve had time to mourn you already. I guess I’m more sad that I’ll lose both of my fathers now, biological and not, if that makes any sense?”

“I understand,” Harris says. He takes a deep breath, looking as though a weight’s been lifted. “We’ll make what time’s left good, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I whisper, reaching over to pat his foot.

Bronx squeezes my hand, and I turn to give him a smile in response. I can only hope that one day I find the right way to convey to him what it’s meant to have Bronx here for me through this. Telling him I couldn’t have done it without him just doesn’t seem enough.

“We’re all here for you both,” King says. “You need anything, you tell us.”

“Appreciated,” Harris says with a nod.

“And I appreciate it,” I add. “I can’t thank you enough, King, for what you’ve done—for what your men have sacrificed to get us to this point.”

“We didn’t do it for you,” he says with a friendly smile.

“Yeah, but you did it because of me.”

“True.” King slaps his hand down on the table and stands. “If it’s all good with you assholes, I’d like to talk about the logistics later. Right now,” he says, rounding the table and opening the door, “we have a few toasts to make in honor of some good men that were lost today.”

“Here, here,” Sawyer agrees, standing.

My heart swells for these men, for their old-school code of honor and camaraderie—such simple morals, but ones that are so easily lost in today’s world of every man being out for himself. Most people you meet are content to twist a knife in your back in the name of pegging themselves higher and reaping the sole benefits, but these guys know what it is to treat their brothers as family. I guess when death is so much a part of your world it’s only natural that you appreciate the small joys found in life.

Why constrict yourself with laws laid down by people who have no concept of honor among thieves, when you can live in a community as sharing and protecting of their own as this? I may have lost my parents to a fire, been reunited with and just as quickly told I’ll lose my only remaining blood relative, but this right here is a real family. I can say with an honest hand to my heart, that when Harris has left me a second and final time, I won’t be alone. I’ll have the people I will fight to protect with my life. The ones who make such a sacrifice enough.

EPILOGUE

Ryan

three months later

“Who knew there was so much paperwork involved in runnin’ this shit?”

I look across the office in our new home to where Bronx sits on the floor in only his gym shorts, his legs splayed as he sorts through the papers between them. His shoulders bunch and roll with the movement of his arms, and it’s magic to watch. I’m oblivious to the fact he’s still talking when a sharp “Ryan!” snaps me around.

I look up to his face to find the grin I’ve come to know as being imminent trouble. “I know I’m sexy as hell, beautiful, but we need to get this organized if you’re goin’ to make visitation with Hank.”

It took several weeks of bartering, but I managed to get Hank to add me to his list of approved visitors. He heard through the prison grapevine what happened before I had a chance to get in touch, and understandably he’s reluctant to see me. But I have to go. I need him to know what really happened, not what the gossipmongers have decided did.

I look at the mess across the desk and floor, and back to Bronx. “Baby, this stuff’s been disorganized for years. I think another hour wont hurt.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Only an hour?”

Yeah—he has a point. After the initial ‘honeymoon’ phase where we fucked anywhere and everywhere, we’ve kind of perfected the art of making it last while we take the time to get to know each other’s bodies better.

“You’re right—let’s finish this first. It’ll be quicker.”

He goes back to sorting the profiles on the dealers into alphabetical order, chuckling as he stacks the papers. All the profiles have to be updated and entered into the computer—a task for a week when I feel motivated enough.

Enough.

A word that’s so intrinsic to how we met, the hurdles we overcame to take a chance on one another, and the drive we have now to succeed in our new roles. I surprised Bronx last week with a painting I’d had one of the prospects at the Devil’s Breed do for me. The kid’s an absolute wizard with a brush, and he brought my idea to life perfectly. It’s a canvas that now hangs in our hallway, made up of different styled letters, painted in vibrant yet understated hues, which spell out ‘enough’.

Bronx stared at it for a solid ten minutes before he leaned over and wrapped his huge arm around my neck and pulled me into his side. He didn’t have to say anything—I knew I’d hit the nail on the head when he sucked in a huge breath and slowly sighed. Some of the best things we’ve said to each other have been without words.

And as I catch him staring at me again with that hunger in his eyes, I muse that it’s not a skill I want us to lose anytime soon.

“Focus, grasshopper,” I tease.

“Can’t. I’ve got a distraction that’s making my body do funny things.” He points down at his tenting erection with a silly look on his face. “Oh my God. What is it? What do I do with it?”

I throw the closest thing to me—a hard-backed notepad—at him and get up to leave the room for a breather when our house-alarm trips. All previous thoughts are shelved as I take a step back and pull my gun from the top drawer of the desk. Bronx is on his feet and heading down the hallway at speed by the time I get the clip in and the safety off.

He sidesteps from view as I make my way to where the panel for the alarm is, re-emerging from the kitchen with his handgun at the ready by his thigh. I point to the flashing light that indicates the backyard, and we spread out either side of the French doors that lead out onto the patio. Bronx checks through the windows, nodding to indicate it’s clear on his side, and I do the same.

There’s no one there.

Yeah, and a house alarm also doesn’t set itself off.

The cops may not have been able to pin a thing on me, given that I’m legally dead, but everybody connected to the underworld in the northern states knows what really happened. So it’s fair to say we both have a few enemies.

Bronx reaches out, flicking the latch and pushing the door open as he straightens back to his side of the doorway. We wait for a beat, nothing happening, and then the last thing I expect to hear has me leaping out of my skin.

Meow.

“Fucking cats,” Bronx hisses, stepping out the door and glaring at his two dogs who lie on the grass with tongues hanging out. “And you two . . . fucking hopeless.”

The stray moggy wraps itself around Bronx’s legs, rubbing its back high on his calves. He shakes it off with a gentle push, stooping down to pick it up, and walks across the lawn to drop it back over the six-foot fence that rings our property.

As I look around the yard, mind-mapping how I’m going to landscape the garden, it hits me. This right here—this is what it’s all about. Every experience that caused me to suffer, and every heartache I endured, it all led me to this. Our love might not be conventional, and we may need a shitload of assurance that what we are is enough a lot of the time, but this love? It’s ours.

I put the safety on the gun, and shake my head with a smile as Bronx reaches the edge of the lawn. “Those strays are getting worse. I think I need a new dog.”

“I think you may be right.” He steps up on to the patio and tucks his gun in the back of his shorts to pat the rottweilers on his way past.

“But first . . .” I squeal and giggle as Bronx scoops me up, carrying me inside the house and pausing to shut the door. “You look too fuckin’ sexy carrying that piece to make me wait any longer.”

Bronx captures my mouth with his own, groaning as I toss my gun onto the sofa as we pass by. He hesitates at the alarm panel, re-setting the zones, and then gives me that one-sided smile that sets my heart on fire each and every time.

“Love you, darlin’.”

“Love you more, trouble-maker.”