My grandma used to tell me a story when I was younger. My granddad was this strong, hefty guy over six feet tall and 200 pounds. He was all muscle, like me, and that made him a sight to see whenever he walked into the room. My grandma used to call him a bull in a china shop. He never knew his own strength.
When he first opened The Emerald Pub, he wanted to make sure that the restaurant had the best beef in town. Irish restaurants weren’t exactly known for their food, but he wanted to change that. So he went down to Dallas with a group of his friends to pick the farmer who would raise and butcher his meat. My grandma says that during his first time down in Dallas, he thought he could use that big man in a small place to get him a good deal. He wasn’t an intimidating guy if you talked to him, but if he wanted to be scary, he knew just how to puff out his chest, pound his fists, and look taller than the nearest mountain.
However, when he got to Dallas, he instantly realized that he wasn’t in Vegas anymore or around his other Irish friends. All the guys looked like him -- rugged, rough, powerful. While he may be a bit taller than still the majority of them, they had something else about them. It was a feeling of danger or off-the-grid edginess that made my granddad hightail it back to Vegas without so much as negotiating on the beef or making sure he was picking the best cattle in town.
“You’re going to grow up like him, Liam,” my grandma used to say with a smile. “You’ll be big and bold. You’ll probably have his damn dirty mouth too. But that doesn’t mean that you’re going to be the greatest person out there.”
I knew then what she meant. My size and my muscles weren’t going to make me the leader that I was supposed to be or the fighter that I wanted to be. It was going to take something else to make sure others bowed down to me. I had to develop this character or personality. It was all about big egos and not giving a shit about what anyone thought about me. Then they certainly wouldn’t mess with my turf or question my strength.
Walking into Steel Saints clubhouse on most days, I wouldn’t even stop to notice the stares or the men who suddenly quit talking when I came through the doors. I couldn’t afford to give a damn about them. They were small, weak, and powerless. I was the guy that everyone needed to kiss the ring of. The men that I made my seconds and VPs were picked because they could walk with me like this and not feel like they constantly had to prove something. They could be loyal just by knowing what their place was.
Alana is not that kind of person. For all that feistiness and wit in her, she certainly shrinks away when she sees the inside of the headquarters. It’s not much, nothing that I would run from. It’s an empty warehouse we converted a few years ago to hold our supplies and to conduct our meetings. There are a few rooms I reserve for offices, and there is a vault near the back that I have guarded 24/7 by my most worthy men.
Most of the time, this place is dead empty. During the day, my boys go off and work their normal jobs or rest up for night-time business when the money is really flowing. Like tonight, there are at least twenty boys standing around, taking their free beers and shots before cycling out for their shifts. They fill up their backpacks and seat storage with stuffed toys filled with the finest cocaine. We place packs of heroin in overstocked greeting card envelopes. We’ve got tabs of angel dust lining bike helmets.
When they’re not selling drugs, they’re running security. That’s where the bulk of our income comes in these days. The mafia and the other clubs got the girls and supplies down to a science. They longer they’ve been on the streets, the more territory they collect. It leaves us newer guys with slim pickings for routes. What they do need, however, is protection from guys like us.
We’ve got ex-cops and cons, men who just got back from the service, and others who don’t even have real first names. We don’t care what their backstory is. We just care if they get the damn job done right and are trustworthy enough to bring back their share of the cash to be split between the group. Those men, the giants and despicables sitting around the wall of the warehouse, are the ones who stare down Alana as she slowly scuffs her feet on the old tile floor, trying not to bring any more attention to herself.
“Keep going,” I whisper to her as my hand pushes harder into her back. She leans back slightly as if she physically needs me to continue dragging her along. “Ain’t no one going to hurt you as long as you’re with me.” I want to stop and grab her by her shoulders, shake her until she grows some balls, and acts like the Alana I’ve come to know. But instead, I whisper what my grandma always tells me before my fights to remember my granddad’s story, “They’re more afraid of who you are. Act like it.”
I watch as she pauses in her step and closes her eyes. Her chest picks up slightly before falling with a huge sigh. When she opens her eyes again, it’s with a look of complete determination. She takes a step to the side, away from my hand on her back, and walks confidently in front of me. Her shoulders go up and down, and her head lifts so that her nostrils show and her eyes peer down. The corners of her lip tighten as she says loudly, “Just tell me where the hell I am supposed to go, Liam.”
There we go. That’s the Alana I know. I step next to her as I lead the way towards one of the offices near an exit where the rest of the guys in my cabinet are supposed to be waiting. The rest of the guys go back to work or continue swigging their warm beers. A few do a line of coke on old wooden coffee tables without giving a rat about us. This is what we needed: Get in. Get out. Get on. No attention necessary.
The office is dark, barely lit when we walk inside. In the shadows, I can make out the bodies of my second, Jason, who went in before us after meeting us outside in the parking lot, and Winston, my enforcer captain. Clemson, my secretary and money man is there too, but his tiny body is hidden by Adams, our recruiter, as he paces the small room back and forth.
None of them look up at me as I walk in. They’re all fixed on Alana. Adams and Winston lick their lips slowly. I don’t blame them. After fucking her myself, I could certainly go for another round. She had no idea what kind of impression she made on men like me. However, Clemson and Jason both paid no attention. Their face was fixed on distrust and disgust. We never brought chicks to this place, let alone a girl that was not part of the club’s revolving list of old maids and pass-arounds. They certainly didn’t get a place in this room unless we were into it.
I clear my throat as I pull out a chair for her to sit. She follows quickly; obviously eager to just get through the door and into what she thought was a safe space. Her shoulders relax, and her head bobs down towards her hands. She runs her fingers slowly through the blonde strands before fixing it up into a ponytail. She shakes almost violently as she does it.
I take my place near the front of the cramped room so that everyone can see me. Placing a hand on her shoulder, I say, “This is Alana. I want her to do some work for the club, but before I bring her on as an honorary member, I thought it best to run it by you all first.”
“What kind of work is a girl like her good for? No way you’re having her work the streets for us. Those chicken legs wouldn’t last a minute out there with the Johns… or with us here in the club.” Alana’s face turns that pastel pink again; the red marks dot her neck and chest. She knew exactly what it meant to be a working girl in this club.
I spit on the ground annoyed as I explain, “Do you think I’d fucking waste your time and mine if I found some Jane for the streets? Shit no. This is about the package from tonight. We need Alana and her truck to move the diamonds before the mafia get word of us.”
Jason peers at her through the distance. He then looks back up at me suspiciously. While he’s almost been my right-hand man, he got that title by seeing things I couldn’t. He was the best judge of someone’s character. He almost always knew when a recruit would try to pull something stupid or when a deal we were about to make was going to leave us high and dry. He was the reason why we had so many good connections with the local 99. He had that sense about him that made him more valuable than the rest of the thick heads in this room.
When Jason speaks, he does it without breaking his glare, “You want to use her ice cream truck to sell diamonds? How the hell are we supposed to know we can trust her to sell the goods? How do we know she isn’t just going to up and run for it or contact the mafia and clue them in?”
“I won’t!” Alana suddenly exclaims as she sits forward in her chair. “First of all, I have no idea what mafia you’re talking about. And secondly, I’m doing this for my dad who is in the hospital. I just want to make some money to pay for his bills and then I’m done and out. You’ll never see or hear from me again. I can swear that right now.” She looks up at me almost desperately. Just hours ago, she was unsure about my plans, but now that she’s had time to think about the money, she’s on board. It’s a game changer.
“She knows the terms,” I say stiffly, trying to ignore Alana’s outburst. That’s not going to win her any awards here. Enthusiasm was always looked on as more suspicious than anything. “We sell the product over the next few weeks, I live in her truck and supervise everything. Together, we report back at the Pub. Clemson here and can manage the financials of it.”
“How much are you giving her? Isn’t that going to come out of our paychecks?” Winston asks with his deep, bass voice that seems to rattle the cement walls.
Before Alana can speak again, I lift my hand up and lie straight to them, “She’s getting my boxing commission. I want to sell those fucking diamonds so badly that I’m willing to give that up for the club.”
“You can’t be serious?” Jason asks. The hairs on my neck prick up. The rest of the guys I can convince. Jason, on the other hand…
“I am serious. We need this money to build up the Arsonary. Without it, we’re fucking screwed if another club comes at us. Plus, with the rumors swirling around about internal takeover, we need a damn big win here if we’re going to hold some ground. I think we can all agree on that.”
That part was true. They knew it as much as I did. Steel Saints was geared up to tear itself apart from the inside out. And coups like this don’t go over well for men like Jason or me. Those guys just don’t lose their position in the club and are sent on their merry ways to start new clubs or to just stop being members. They get taken down or are never heard from again. Our time was running short with each and every second we wasted on not getting back the trust of all those who doubt us.
Jason stands slowly, his hands tracing up his knees as he goes upright. He walks past Alana’s chair and then towards me. I can see his jaw move back and forth as he swallows hard. In a harsh whisper, he says, “Make it work, Liam. Because if we get caught because of a girl or those diamonds don’t move because you’re too busy up in some skank’s business, I will join the rest of those assholes in tearing you down.”
I am frozen in some sort of anger and disbelief. Never, ever has my second even so much as questioned me, let alone challenged and threatened me like this. I grab the hand he uses to go for the doorknob, forcing it upwards. He’s got about forty pounds on me, but I’m way stronger and more disciplined than him. With a huge thrust of force, I toss him towards the opposite wall. The bang of his body echoing loudly. He falls to his knees in a pile of leather and flesh.
I take a footstep towards him, lifting my leg slightly so that he cowers back down, his arms and legs forming a small crescent shape on the floor instinctively. “Whoa! Boss! Come on now.” One of the guys behind me shouts, trying to break me off of him. I can hear Alana gasp. The chair she is sitting on slides out from under her. They all stand behind me, waiting to see what I will do to the one person who has always had my back until now.
Without even bothering to keep this between the two of us, I shout down at him, “Don’t you fucking call her a skank again, do you hear me?”
I have no idea why that’s what I choose to focus on. Alana will be called much worse over the course of the next few weeks. I know that for sure. But standing over him, forcing him to listen to my will -- nothing feels more right than defending her honor.
I look back over my shoulder as I firmly say, “Wilson, get us some security and have them meet us at the hospital. We’re going to be checking in on her dad. I expect at least two guys there and ready to ride when we’re done.”