Zane
The waitress plunked the coffee down in front of me, splashing some of the black liquid onto the table. Sasha’s concern was written on her features, but she didn’t say anything as her cup was just as unceremoniously clunked down in front of her. After depositing the two cups, Sherri whirled and went to see to her other tables. Without taking our order.
“Do you know her?” Sasha asked, dabbing up the spilled coffee with her napkin.
I snorted. “Wish I didn’t. She’s a friend of Asa’s.”
Sasha’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. My comment had done little to shed her unease. “One of Asa’s friends? Will she tell Asa that she saw us together?”
I ignored the streaks of coffee left on the table when I pulled my cup to me. Sasha trailed behind with the napkin, apparently anxious about leaving a mess. I didn’t care; if Sherri wanted to be a bitch, she could be a bitch.
“I doubt it,” I said. “They haven’t talked in years, far as I know. Sherri doesn’t run with the crowd that Asa does anymore, but she’s still pissy at me over our breakup.”
Sasha rolled her eyes and huffed a sigh. “That was years ago! I’m beginning to think you’re the only one that is over your break up.” She pulled over the stack of creamers and began to load a couple into her mug. She paused mid-cream on the second one and looked up at me. “You are over it, right?”
I nodded, not able to slip the smirk off my face. I loved when she got possessive. “Yes. I’m over it, Sasha.”
Satisfied, she returned to her coffee, stirring in a couple of sugar packets before bringing it to those perfect lips for a sip. I continued to leave mine to cool down. I liked it black, and it would be awhile before it was cool enough to drink. But I could watch Sasha drink coffee all day.
“Are you nervous?” she asked.
The early morning light filtered in through the diner’s crappy, plastic blinds. It lit up parts of her hair in a vibrant, almost white blonde. The parts that struck her face highlighted the creamy tone of her skin and the alert green of her eyes. She looked just as beautiful in the morning, after a good tousle in the sheets, as she did every other day. I could stare at her all day.
“No,” I stated simply. “I know what I’m capable of. If there’s somebody there more capable than I, then there really isn’t anything I can do about it.”
She shrugged. “That’s a good way of looking at it.” She took another sip of coffee, eyes scanning the diner. “Is she ever coming back?”
I laughed. “Sherri? Not if she can help it. For a girl who left the life because she couldn’t take all the drama, she sure knows how to keep the drama alive.”
Sasha wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I’m hungry.”
“I know you are sweetheart. I’m just joking; she’ll come back.”
I just wasn’t sure when. If it were any longer than a few minutes, I’d go find her myself. I was hungry too. Sasha had completely worn me out—she had a way of doing that. Not that I was complaining. I would happily starve to death if it meant I got to worship her body from this point to the grave.
“I’m a little nervous,” Sasha said quietly, lowering her cup.
Hearing her say that stirred something protective and dark inside of me. Whatever scared my girl, I wanted to have it taken care of immediately. I would take down the bogeyman himself if it meant her sleeping soundly at night.
“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” I said. “I’m going to get the money for your mom, and then we’re going to ride off into the sunset like a couple of outlaws.”
She snorted. “You have a way of making everything sound so appealing. You’d be a great politician.”
My amused expression was my only answer.
Sherri came back shortly wearing that same sour look I’d never seen her without the whole time I’d known her.
“How are the kids, Sherri?” I asked politely.
She scowled. “What can I get you on this fine, spring morning?”
Sasha stifled a laugh. We placed our orders and watched Sherri swagger off like she owned the place. Maybe she did. I had no idea what she’d been up to in the past few years.
“I kind of like her,” Sasha said. “I don’t know why she’s so sassy, but I can only assume you deserve it.”
I chuckled. “You know, you’re probably right. She was always a bit prickly, anyway.” Taking another sip of coffee, I added, “She’s probably going to spit in my food though.”
“Nah,” Sasha replied. “I don’t think so. She just talks a big game, but underneath I think she secretly likes you.”
“No shit?” I raised my eyebrows in surprise.
Sasha shrugged. “She keeps her feet and body angled toward you anytime she comes up. That’s not something she’d likely do if you disgusted her.”
I reached over the table and gave Sasha’s hand a squeeze. “You are just such an interesting woman. You know that?” I patted her hand and relaxed back against the squeaky polyester seats. “I have a good feeling about today. About the future.”
She smiled coyly and dropped my gaze, favoring her cup instead. Her cheeks began to turn pink, a sight I would commit to memory for the rest of my life.
“About our future?” she asked.
I nodded. “About our future.”
We arrived at the billiards hall just before the first matches were about to begin. It was a hive of activity, and I could have sworn every hustler on the eastern seaboard was in attendance. There was barely enough room to walk around in the crowded space, and I had to pull Sasha by the hand to make sure I didn’t lose her.
Some people clapped me on the back as we passed; others glared. It was a mixed crowd. Sasha stuck close behind me, clearly uncomfortable in the den of sharks. I didn’t blame her. If she could read someone just by looking at them, I had just opened up a horror story to her. But she had known the kind of people who would be here, and she had committed to it. I respected her for that.
We weaved through to the registration table, where I checked in and grabbed my schedule for the day.
“Looks like I’m at table four, first,” I read off the pamphlet, craning my neck above the crowd to see where I was supposed to go. The table was in a far corner. Good. Less crowded, less distraction. I tugged Sasha along behind me to the table and greeted the judges and my opponent, a skinny kid with spectacles, wearing a polo shirt two sizes too big.
“Chris,” he introduced himself. “Chris White.”
I nodded and offered my hand. His handshake was weak as shit. “Zane Pendleton.”
He didn’t shirk away or avoid my gaze, though. His outfit, his poor posture, it was obviously a ploy. Underneath I doubted he was secretly buff and intimidating, but I also doubted I’d be able to recognize him.
Good kid. I liked him already. Too bad I was gonna have to wipe the floor with him.
We took our spots and Sasha took hers at the edge of the room. I felt her eyes on me with each move I made. The kid was good, but he was nowhere near my level. Unless there was a steep curve in the competition, my odds of winning were good. Very good.
The match was close, but I was far from performing at my highest. I didn’t want to burn out quickly, nor did I want anyone watching to know just how much firepower I had at my disposal. Better to keep that to myself, for now.
Afterward, Chris looked positively crushed. He took off his glasses, itching at the bridge of his nose like he didn’t wear them often and they were uncomfortable.
“You did good, kid,” I said.
He looked up at me with a half-smile. “Not as good as you.”
Sasha came up beside me, standing close enough for me to feel her heat. I resisted the urge to pull her into my arms and claim her mouth, right in front of this kid.
“You’ll get there,” I reassured him. “You’ve got plenty of time. Years ahead of you.”
He nodded. “You’re right. Maybe I’d be better sitting this one out and placing a bet on you instead.”
I guffawed with laughter. “Hey, if you think it’s worth it—have at it. But stick out the rest of your matches first, eh?”
I gave him a good-hearted knock on the shoulder with my fist, which he didn’t even stumble from.
Sasha tugged on my elbow. “I think I need a drink,” she said. “It’s so packed in here. And I’m thirsty.”
Sliding my arm around her waist, I tugged her in next to my chest. “You’re right. While you get a drink, I’m just gonna go get some air. I might call Niles and see if he and the other guys are planning to stop by. Then at least you’ll have someone to talk to.”
Her eyes practically lit up. “Cool.” She grinned. “I’ll see you in a few minutes then.”
We parted ways—her heading for the bar at the other side of the room, me heading for the hallway to the left that looked most promising in terms of door prospects. I resisted the urge to whistle merrily on my way. Things were going so well.
Though I had never really wanted to be a part of my dad’s club, that wasn’t to say I didn’t enjoy it once I was ingratiated with the community. There were plenty of perks to being in the Iron Reapers, especially for the president’s son. First of all, unlimited free tattoos. Okay, maybe that shouldn’t have been my first priority, but for a guy just out of high school, it was a pretty sweet deal. That and all the booze, drugs, and women I had within arm’s reach at all times.
I hadn’t done anything harder than a fine, aged whiskey in years, but seeing all these people around me wiping their noses and practically bouncing on their feet reminded me of those early few years. When Niles and I would ride down to one of the bars in my dad’s territory and bust in like celebrities, turning the heads of every single person in that place. All the women wanted to fuck us; all the guys wanted to be us or beat us.
When had it all turned sour for me? My younger self would have eaten up this shit like candy. I would’ve been hopped up on something, chugging a beer, and grinding Sasha against a wall like an animal in between games. Then, because I’d been a cocky little shit, I would have sauntered around the table, taking shots, slamming the balls into the holes one by one with a precision that shocked even the most seasoned billiards player. Because I liked to win.
That was still the same; I still liked to win. I still couldn’t stand the thought of losing anything to anybody. This tournament seemed like it was in the bag, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try my hardest and outgun everyone in the later rounds.
I’d been feeling this way before Sasha came along, but something told me she would have been enough to get me here even if I hadn’t. Then again, if Sasha hadn’t been around I probably would be balls deep in Asa right now, letting her believe that I believed her fictional baby story just so I could get a good screw before cutting out. I’d been an arrogant little shit too.
And a bit of an asshole.
Okay, maybe more than just a bit.
I had worked hard to get where I was in life, both professionally and mentally. I had earned that girl. And I was fucking lucky for finding her. I couldn’t wait to get this prize money so she and her mom wouldn’t have to go down a road there was no coming back from. She loved her mom; losing her would break her. And I felt protective of both of them.
I was halfway down the hall when I heard heavy footfalls behind me. I was being followed. I knew better than to turn to get a look at who was behind me. They would make themselves known soon enough. Better, at least, to go outside and deal with this shit away from prying eyes.
I knocked open the exit door with enough force that it came flying back at the person following me. The sound of it coming back and slamming against their outstretched hands made me snicker.
“That’s what’s you get for following me like you thought you were James fucking Bond,” I said, turning on my heel.
Two angry looking men stood in front of me. I had missed the second set of footsteps. Well, people make mistakes. I had seen them around before, but they weren’t from the Iron Reapers. I tried to remember their faces without having to look on the crests on the back of their leather vests.
The first one was tall, with a round, chubby face and long, stringy black hair. He had what looked like the beginnings of a mustache on his upper lip, but I suspected it had been that way for months, if not years. His eyes squinted at me with anger. The other man was older, probably in his early forties. His hair was graying on the sides, though the top was still a light, sandy brown. His eyes were wide set on his face, giving him the appearance of a deranged sloth. I lifted my gaze from his thin, snarling lips to his piercing blue eyes.
Both of them were wearing leather vests and jeans, with checkered shirts on underneath that I was sure they hadn’t noticed were matching. The first guy’s was grubby, oil stains spattered on the fabric. The second guy’s wasn’t much better.
“You guys from Gray’s Devils?” I asked.
Gray ran a shop just outside the French Quarter. Most of his guys were mechanics by trade or specialized in something of that realm.
“All you need to know is that we’re the guys who are going to ruin your fucking life if you don’t listen very carefully to what we have to say.”
I thrust my hands in my pockets, a clear signal that I didn’t perceive them as a threat, and leaned against the brick wall behind me. Even in the alley, the sunshine still wormed its way in atop the walls, lighting up their faces like they were on a film set. I hung back in the shadows, cool and unaffected. I’d played this game before. I was good at it.
“You’re lucky I don’t feel like bruising my knuckles before my next game,” I said. “Really makes gripping the cue a pain in the ass. Well, more just uncomfortable than anything else.” I winked. “But you get my point.”
Grease-stache and Pierce Bros-no scowled at me. I doubted their intimidation strategies often backfired so spectacularly. But they’d never met me before. I sized them up. Yeah, I could take both of them. Probably. I’d come out a little worse for wear than I normally preferred, especially when I had something like a tournament to kick the shit out of after. It would be easier for me to talk this out, but I couldn’t resist poking fun at the two idiots. They must not have known much about me to think they would be able to make this interaction work in their favor.
“You are such a cocky prick,” Grease-stache spat, screwing up his nose. Apparently, nobody had ever taught him to keep a cool head. I was often surprised by how little thugs these days seemed to get taught about not completely blowing it with their egos.
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” I crossed my arms, now starting to get agitated. Not by them, but by the fact that Sasha was probably heading back to the table now. I didn’t want her to come out looking for me and see what was about to happen. “Are you guys going to stand there all day, or do you plan on telling me what this is all about?”
Pierce Bros-no stepped forward. “There are a couple of big bets on you losing tonight, shithead. So you’ve got to lose.”
I snorted. “Like hell I will. Nice try though. Points for effort. Minus points for style.”
I decided the conversation was over. They were clearly just trying to intimidate me, which might have worked on someone like Chris—but not me. Not the president of the Iron Reapers. Not Zane Pendleton.
“You’ve got the wrong guy, gentlemen,” I said courteously. “So fuck off before I decide to fuck you up.”
I moved to push through them, but they stopped me. I rolled my eyes and sighed. Some guys just had to do things the hard way.
“What?” I asked, annoyed. I took a step back.
“We’ve got your girl.” Pierce Bros-no’s snarl hit me like a ton of bricks.
My heart froze in my chest. “You couldn’t…”
“We do. And if you don’t throw the tournament, you’ll never see her again.” Grease-stache looked thoroughly pleased with himself. I wondered if they’d been stalling this whole time to make sure they had her before I busted in there and took her back. Had they already shoved her into an unmarked van somewhere? Had they hurt her? I would kill them. I would fucking kill them!
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” I snarled. “Be very sure you want to go ahead with whatever it is you’re planning. I’m only going to give you this one chance to back out.”
Grease-stache seemed in his element now. His face was as bright as a hundred-watt bulb. “Oh, we’re very sure.” He patted me on the back, and I jerked. He scuttled back. Pretending I hadn’t just scared him, Grease-stache said, “Remember that you can’t make it look too obvious. Lose, but lose by a hair.”
I did not appreciate being told what to do, and certainly not by some overgrown child in a biker jacket. But what could I do? If they had Sasha, and it would be easy to find out if they did, I was at their mercy. I would do anything to save her. Even if it meant losing her.
Which I would, I realized. Because Sasha would sacrifice herself for her mother. She’d want me to go ahead and win the tournament and save her mom. I wanted to save her mom too, but when it really came down to it, I would sacrifice everything to make sure Sasha was safe.
“Fine.” I gave Pierce Bros-no a rough shove back. He joined Grease-stache by the wall. “If you touch a hair on her head I will kill you. Do you hear me? And it will not be quick.”
Both men turned white in the face. It was good to see that my ability to threaten hadn’t been dampened by my recent adoption of civility.
“Good luck,” said Grease-stache before turning and ducking back into the building.
Even through my rage, I managed a slight chuckle. I wouldn’t be the one needing luck—they would