CHAPTER TWO
Felix
POP! POP! POP! POP!
Pictures crack and splinter before falling to the floor. Pillows are ripped, raining feathers and cotton, and the sound of females screaming and glass breaking echo through the clubhouse.
Instantly, I wake up.
Instinct kicks in and I roll over and fall off the bed to the grimy floor. I’ve been sleeping at the clubhouse since Zeek has been playing house. Crawling to the dresser in nothing but my boxer briefs I pull out my .45, making sure to keep low to the ground so I don’t get slung with a stray bullet. I swing my bedroom door open and Machete comes running down the hall with an AR-15 in his hands, and no fucking pants. His limp dick and white ass in my line of sight first thing this morning.
Glancing down the hallway I can’t tell where the gunfire is coming from, just bottles of booze exploding along the back wall of the bar. Nobody is in the club shooting at us that I can see.
It’s a drive-by.
Standing up, I jog to a nearby broken window and point my gun out and start spraying and praying. Machete who has a death wish, kicks the front door open and starts firing off rounds hollering like a fucking gorilla.
Exhaust from motorcycles roar and speed off down the street.
“Did you see who it was?” I’m out of breath and not asking anyone in particular.
“MC, but I couldn’t get a look at their cuts,” Machete replies completely calm. He’s not right in the head I swear.
Turning back around I notice the club is torn apart with bullet holes, and some half naked girls are crying. Dolly makes her way from the hallway, a black corset and booty shorts clinging to her tight frame. We call her Dolly because she looks like a doll with her black hair and baby doll eyes. She’s a club slut and a good time if you’re bored.
“What the fuck was that about?” she holds her hand on her hip, eyeing the club. She’s not affected like some of the other girls, and it doesn’t surprise me. Dolly used to be Zeek’s main squeeze before he hooked up with Jillian. Dolly is used to carnage, you have to be to be with us as long as she has.
“Why don’t you just go check on them?” I jut my head to the girls who are pissing themselves in the corner. Their makeup smearing down their face, and their hair looking like someone just smeared cum in it.
“Felix, are you okay?” Gia busts through the front doors, her brown and blonde colored hair wavy and down with a black bandana wrapped tightly around her forehead. Her leather jacket sexy as hell, and that sliver of stomach peeking above her ripped shorts tempting. She’s not my girlfriend in any way but we hook up often. I also use her to my advantage. Meaning if I need a trade for my club, I send Gia to accompany them. I’m not an asshole, well, I am, but she knows our deal and is fine with it. Her and Dolly are the biggest instigators in this club, so not many women come near the main patch holders unless Dolly and Gia give them the okay. The only reason Dolly is still around after the shit she pulled with Jillian is because she was literally on her hands and knees begging Zeek to keep her around. This was her only family and had nowhere else to go. So we took a club vote and naturally, men like their dick sucked, so the votes swung in her favor. The only girl around here that has any pride is Tinker. She helps around the bar when she can. We got her a gig at a casino so she’s been getting on her feet lately. We call her Tinker because she is identical to Tinker Bell.
“I love the smell of bullets and chaos in the morning,” I mutter under my breath, tucking my pistol in the back of my briefs. Ignoring Gia.
“What the fuck was that?” Gatz asks walking out of one of the rooms with a concerned face and two .45’s in his hands. Late to the show, as usual.
“Call Zeek, tell him our protection just ran out.”
“Guess he wasn’t bluffing then.” Machete rubs his temple with the barrel of his gun.
“You got it,” Gatz replies half asleep.
Inhaling the smell of gunpowder, I catch a naked Mac pouring whiskey into a half broken glass. His eyes closed as he guzzles it as if it were a glass of milk, his short hair a fucking mess.
“Am I the only one wearing fucking underwear?” I ask looking at my brothers.
Mac lazily opens an eye and grins.
“I had a good time last night,” he winks at a couple the girls crying in the corner.
Alessandra
“So you’re telling me you have no idea who rained bullets into your club?” I ask Felix who is looking at me with a bored expression. He’s obviously lying to me and wasting both of our time. I know I won’t get anything out of him, but it’s my job to try. With him not wearing a shirt and those low-rise jeans, it’s taking everything I have to keep my eyes on my notebook and not his abs. He’s a fine convict if I ever saw one.
“So who called the gun shots in?” he asks, crossing his arms. Ignoring my last question.
I roll my eyes, he knows I can’t give him that information. If I did he’d probably race right over to the chapel across the street and shoot them in the head for tattle-telling and then I’d have the chief up my ass for breaking protocol.
Sighing I look past Felix at the club. It doesn’t look like it did when I came here last night. It’s a mess from the drive by. Bullet holes splintering into the building, glass glittering along the pavement, and bullet casings with spray paint around them everywhere.
You can smell the mayhem and uproar in the air, and I wish I were here to see it all go down.
“Can you just make this easy and tell me what you know?” I huff.
“Can you turn your badge into a fucking eight ball because that’s the only way you’re getting shit,” he laughs, and I clench my notepad in my hand. If I was one of the deputies in his pocket I bet he would have given me something to report back to the station.
I wanted so badly to ask Felix for help last night, but I chickened out. The weight of everything just too much for one night. Plus, if I ask for something with nothing in return I will be in his debt, and that is the last place I want to be.
If he would give me something, anything. I could use it as leverage to get him to look into my father’s case. I have to get in their dirty pockets to get that information though, but I need a fucking window of opportunity.
How do I proposition that though? Do I just come out and say, “Hey, let’s be dirty together?”
“No, I don’t know anything. Shouldn’t someone with more experience be asking me questions?” he sneers, and that little hope of getting in his pocket fizzles.
I flip my notebook shut and sigh. I’m so sick of everyone seeing me as tits and ass, and not brains and a fucking loaded gun.
“I can interrogate just fine, it doesn’t take someone with experience to –”
“You’re just asking the wrong questions, Blue Bird,” he interrupts.
My eyes shoot to his. He’s got one arm tucked under his elbow while he lazily caresses the stubble on his cheeks. His hair is pulled into a messy ponytail and he has on no shirt. Tattoos of intricate ink claiming almost every inch. One, in particular, catches my eyes.
“I’d rather be carried by six, than judged by twelve.”
He looks down noticing I’m staring at it. It’s usually the other way around, I’d rather be judged by twelve than carried by six, but being an outlaw, I can see he’d rather be killed than a rat. It’s powerful. I think I like it his way better.
“I like your tattoo,” I mutter a little embarrassed I got caught staring at it. Sounds like something my dad would say in one of his wisdom speeches. My stomach knots thinking about how he isn’t my father and I push the memories from my head.
“Are we done here?”
Clearing my throat, I nod. “Yeah, for now. I’m sure detectives and –”
“People better than you?” He tilts his head to the side and fire explodes in my chest.
“I really want to pistol whip in you in the side of the head.” The words just come out of my mouth and his eyes flash with surprise.
“That doesn’t seem very professional,” he scolds, tilting his head to the side amused.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I retort dryly.
His hands fall, and he takes a step into my direction.
“Tell me why you were here the other night, I know it wasn’t to cut loose,” he implores his soulful eyes pinning me where I stand. They’re cold and unfriendly, but inviting and offering protection at the same time. I have to look away, they see right through me and I hate the way they make me feel. Sexy, conflicted, aggressive. I feel fucking bipolar.
“Have a good day, Mr. Deluca,” I nod, walking back to my cruiser.
Felix
Zeek palms his face as he looks at the damage to the club. He stayed at his house with Jillian naturally with them just having the kids, so getting a call this morning we were hit has him in a sour mood.
“You mean to tell me nobody fucking saw a thing?” Zeek questions harshly.
“We were fucking sleeping, man, by the time we realized what the hell was going on it was too late,” I tell him, for the fifth fucking time. “Salvatore warned us, and he wasn’t joking,” I shake my head, my hands on my hips as I look the club over myself. I should have killed that asshole and sent our own message to the mafia.
“I’m putting Jillian and the kids in a safe-house,” he mutters, his dark brows pinched.
“Good call, last thing we need is someone trying to get to them to get to you,” I inform him. “Who knows how many clubs and gangs want us out of Vegas. We better sleep with both eyes open brother.”
“If they touch my family, I’ll burn this fucking city to the ground,” he grits through clenched teeth.
“I’ll be right behind you guns blazing, brother.” I support him. I may not approve of him shacking up with the goddamn enemy, but I respect him and those kids are my blood. I’ll do anything to protect them.
“What did the cops say?” Zeek gives me a look that pisses me off as if I would tell them anything.
“It was just Alessandra, I have her chasing her tail. I handled it,” I smirk, and Zeek silently laughs. Alessandra is the typical fucking cop. Stupid questions, ya get stupid answers.
“All right, let’s get this mess cleaned up and then I want every member in this club at church at six tonight. We are on lockdown, and need to discuss what the fuck that means,” he says the last part lightly.
“Lockdown?” I ask puzzled. That’s a first.
This is new for us, we’ve never had to worry about someone hurting us. We do the hurting.
Alessandra
Having a short day at work, I decide to swing by Jillian’s house. See the babies, and I’m curious if she has any details on what happened at the clubhouse.
Pulling up to Jillian’s one-story house, I park in the driveway full of oil stains from Zeek’s bike.
I hear a baby crying and the TV singing children show tunes. I go to open the door finding it locked. Furrowing my brows I knock, but Jillian can’t hear me over the chaos.
“Jillian, open up it’s me!” I pound against the door. Suddenly the door is ripped open.
“Hey sorry, Zeek called and ordered me to keep the doors locked. Come in,” she says out of breath.
She has one baby in a sling around her and the other hovering over her other shoulder. One of her tits popped out and her hair is everywhere.
My eyes fall to the suitcase on the couch with clothes and bottles strewn everywhere. Is she leaving Zeek?
“You and Zeek calling it quits?” I point to the suitcase.
“Oh thank God, can you please take one?” she pleads ignoring my question, desperation deep in her voice.
Holding my arms out I take Samuel. His little face is beet red, and his arms are flailing everywhere.
“Why is he crying?” I ask, trying to rock him.
“I have no fucking idea. He’s fed and changed, I think he’s tired but he won’t sleep! He never does and it’s really starting to come between me and Zeek without having any sleep.”
Pulling my phone out with one hand I Google how to get a baby to sleep.
Swaddling? I look the image over thinking I can do that, why not?
Tossing my phone on the couch I grab an elephant print blanket from the chair and set Samuel on top of it. Tucking his arms to the side I wrap the blanket around him tightly and sit in the chair with him. Rocking him.
His little eyes find mine, his crying hysterically quieting.
Jillian slowly walks into the room her face pale and mouth agape.
“How did you do that?” she asks in disbelief.
“Does he have a pacifier or a sucky thing?” I whisper, not knowing shit about kids.
She digs one out of her nursing bra and hands it over. I rub it on his mouth and he takes to it like I just offered him a sucker.
His eyes close, his little suckling the cutest.
Jillian plops down on the couch with Layken in one of her arms. I was going to tell her about what I found out about my dad, but right now doesn’t seem like the right time. She looks stressed enough.
“Have babies they said, it’ll be great they said,” she nearly sobs. “I’m his mother and I didn’t even think to look up how to get him to sleep. I’ve been calling the doctor nonstop and they’ve been telling me all these scary things and it was as simple as wrapping him up?” she throws her arm out at us, her eyes glossy.
“You have a lot on your plate, Jillian, you have mommy brain,” I’ve heard that’s a thing, not sure if it’s true but my friend needs me to tell her anything at this point. “You are going to forget the most basic shit because your heart is so into this,” I explain.
She sets Layken in a donut looking pillow thing and her head falls in her hands. She’s overwhelmed.
“I’m trying. Zeek is trying, it’s just…” she exhales.
I reach over and grab her hand.
“You can call me; I can take them off your hands for a few hours. Long enough for you to shower, sleep, maybe eat,” I laugh, looking at the empty Pringle cans, and a package of crackers on the coffee table.
She laughs, wiping a tear from her cheek.
“Yeah well I’m being sent to a safe-house so that isn’t going to be an option,” she says with hesitation.
My eyes cut back to the suitcase, forgetting about it amidst the chaos.
“Safe-house?”
“Yeah, the club is in some shit and Zeek thinks it’s safer if me and the kids are hidden. Can you believe this shit?” She shakes her head, standing. “I don’t fucking run. Ever!” She throws a bottle in the diaper bag and looks over her shoulder at Samuel and me.
“I don’t think I’m going to go,” she mutters. “I mean, what example is Zeek setting if he’s giving me special treatment? We are a part of his life now, and that means his club. I need them to accept me, and I’m not going to gain any of the members respect if he keeps treating me like a princess.”
I sigh. “You’re right. Everyone still sees you as the sheriff. You need to go by his way of life if you’re going to commit to your relationship, babe.”
Jillian holds her arms out, wanting her son back so I gently give him to her.
The sound of a car’s engine can be heard running idle just outside. Jillian stands, looking out the blinds.
“Who is it?” I ask, looking down at Samuel’s button nose.
I have no idea. They’re just sitting there, Should I call Zeek?” she asks.
I open the front door to get a better look at who is parked out front. A black SUV is parked in the middle of the street, and a man with a dark hat and black sunglasses stares back at me from the passenger side. His arm resting on the window jam casually. Cocking my gun, I take a step off the front porch and onto the grass.
“Can I help you?” I holler, walking in the direction of the SUV.
The sound of motorcycles thunders from just up the road, and the SUV squeals tires racing off. There’s no license plate, so I can’t run the plates.
Zeek, Felix, and Machete pull into the driveway and I instantly dive into protective mode.
“What the fuck have you gotten Jillian into!” I holler, replacing my gun in my holster.
Zeek frowns at my tone of voice, a look of confusion crossing his face. Felix whips the black bandana from his forehead and shoots me an annoyed glare.
Suddenly Jillian is racing out of the house in a fury of pissed off girlfriend and mother.
“I want you to explain right fucking now what is going on!” She shoves Zeek in the chest before he is able to get off his motorcycle completely. Nearly losing his balance, he looks down at her with a hard expression.
As they start arguing back and forth, Felix makes his way over to me.
“What happened?” he questions. I think about telling him to go find a more experienced cop but decide against being a brat. For now.
“Some SUV was just sitting outside with a man staring at the house. He didn’t do anything, but he wasn’t exactly asking for a cup of sugar either,” I tell him, crossing my arms. The way the man’s head was drawn, and looking at the house you could feel the intimidation behind him.
Felix bites his bottom lip, his chest rising with a large exhale. The way tension sets in his shoulders I can tell the club has stepped into a fucking mess.
“I’m not going to the safe-house, end of story!” Jillian shouts.
She pushes past Zeek and heads inside.
Zeek strides up to me, his forehead wrinkled. “You didn’t see shit, got it?” he threatens.
I roll my eyes at his intimidation tactics.
“That’s because I didn’t see shit. Aren’t you going to go chase him down and do whatever it is you guys do?” I point at the street as if the SUV will just reappear.
“You just don’t know when to shut up do you?” Felix tilts his head to the side, eyeing me hungrily.
“It doesn’t work that way I’m afraid.” The softness in Zeek’s voice takes me aback. He really does care for her. “Jillian wants Felix following you around,” he informs.
“What?!?” Felix and I bark in unison.
Zeek smirks like the cat that ate the fucking canary, and I instantly want to rip his head off.
“You were seen with Jillian by a possible rival. You’re at risk and Jillian thinks it’s a good idea if you have a babysitter. So, baby, meet sitter.” Zeek points between Felix and I.
“Jillian!” I roar, my eyes narrowed at the front door of the house.
She pops her hip out and crosses her arms. “It’s happening. Get over it,” she snaps before turning around and going inside.
“You’re fucking kidding me! I’m not protecting a goddamn cop!” Felix protests.
“You are, end of. We will discuss the details after we get Jillian to the clubhouse,” Zeek declares, walking past Felix and toward his house.
“You’re taking her to the clubhouse?” Felix asks in disbelief. I’m shocked myself, she may be at risk here, but she’ll definitely be at risk in there.
“She’s my queen. My crew gets with that, or gets the fuck out,” Zeek declares. “When I’m sitting in the chair behind the table, she is the one that stands behind me. Get that?” Shaking his head, Zeek stomps off.
Felix looks at me with a hard expression, obviously not pleased with the predicament.
“What? It’s not like I’m entirely thrilled about this either,” I huff.
Felix
“When she’s at work, she should be fine, but when she’s off the clock I really want someone to watch over her,” Jillian suggests. She’s sitting on the couch with little baby rags folded on her lap. She looks every bit of a stay-at-home mother, but the flare behind her eyes tells me that spitfire sheriff is still very much there. She’s not my friend, nor my family. We both know it but respect each other enough to appease Zeek. I’m just not used to being this close to a law enforcement without the need to run or defend myself. It takes a lot of trust to lie next to someone wearing a badge and I don’t know Jillian enough to trust her. Biting my lip, I raise a brow at Zeek, not thrilled out of all the men around here he wants his Vice President; me, to play babysitter. I got shit to do.
Jillian looks at me with pleading eyes. “She’s all I have left, Felix.” I’m not going to lie, a piece of me wants her to get on her knees and fucking beg. That would very much please me to see a sheriff on her knees begging me for something. To see the tables, turn them and be at my mercy.
Taking a breath, I silently nod instead. Zeek killed her father, and though it wasn’t entirely his fault it’s still something he can’t take back and will always be making up to her. Therefore all of us will.
“It will be taken care of, babe. Now let’s get you outta here before we can’t,” Zeek demands with a cut throat tone.
Jillian gives a tight-lipped smile and finishes packing in the other room, leaving Zeek alone with me.
“I got her in this shit, I owe her this,” Zeek explains, knowing I’m not happy about any of this. I don’t want to roll over to the mafia either, but I’m starting to wonder what the fuck we got ourselves into.
“Why me, can’t a prospect do this shit?” I ask. I hate law enforcement, probably more than anyone and here Zeek is fucking making me protect one. He’ll regret this. I’ll make this bitch dirty before the end of all this. Watch.
He points at me with a serious face, wrinkles forming around his eyes.
“Because you’re the only man I trust enough to get the job done. Alessandra means something to Jillian, so you better stop seeing her as a cop, and start as a fucking kitten you’re protecting from the big dogs. Got it?”
“Got it,” I bite out. Little does he know, he’s feeding her right to a fucking alpha dog - me.
“Look, you’re my brother following me into this hell and you either have my back or you don’t. But I need to know right now,” he cuts the shit, and it hits me hard in my chest with reality.
“No, I have your back, it’s just going to take me some time to wrap my head around why you would jeopardize everything we have, for her.” I point in the other room, my voice low. We were raised not to trust them, and it’s going to take me more time to reprogram my DNA.
He shakes his head, rubbing his cheeks.
“One day, you’ll get it. Until then, you just gotta trust me.”
I grab his hand and fist it firmly in a brotherly manner.
“I trust you. Always have,” I say seriously. I’ve been by his side since I was a kid, and he’s never let me down once. He’s my cousin, but even more a brother. We have the same blood that runs deep for this club. There is no straying from that line of loyalty. My dad was killed by a rival gang when I was in my teens, and my mother was a club whore who ran out on us when I was an infant. I was raised by the club and would do anything for it.
“Then have my back, and protect Alessandra.”
“I will. I do.”
As attractive as Alessandra is, I want to put a bullet in that tight little ass. It’s in my heart to hate her, to want to defy and wreck her. It’s also in my nature to want to fuck the ever-loving shit out of her.
The question is how can I do both and keep my president happy?