Chapter 1
Fox
After fuck knew how long, Mac finally lifted the harsh restrictions on the lodge. Now, instead of all the rules and regulations, all we had was a curfew. And if we weren’t going to be back at the lodge for some reason, we had to check in regularly. It wasn’t ideal, but it sure as hell was a lot better than what we all were living under. The lodge was getting cramped; things were starting to smell, food was being eaten faster than we could buy it. The entire thing was becoming a fucking mess.
Sydney was trying to keep Emery calm, Gemma was growing with her pregnancy and needing all these weird fucking things to eat, and all of us tiptoed around Laiken. Granted, we had her and Snake’s shit to thank for the lifting of some of these restrictions, but still. She was a fucking cop. I wasn’t taking any chances with her, no matter how much anyone else trusted her.
Our club was in the process of unloading all our drugs. It still pissed me off to no end that we were getting rid of that part of our business. That was easily two-thirds of the club’s entire fucking income during the year. I got it. I understood that business was business and that we were growing families and shit, but I wasn’t sticking my cock in anyone. I wasn’t being selfish and not wrapping that shit. What the fuck were these guys thinking, trying to pop out babies and have relationships and shit?
Didn’t they understand that our lifestyle didn’t meet standards to be a household dad?
It was bullshit, in my opinion. I made soaring amounts of money to help take care of my Dad in the home. He was comfortable, taken care of, and always had his meds. Things went to shit when he had his stroke three years ago, and fuck knew I couldn’t take care of him. The home treated him right, and it was because I could pay for a good one. I did some fucking wonders with the boatload of money I raked in.
At least, the money I would rake in until all the drugs were gone.
If I didn’t find another way to supplement my income, my Dad would be toast. I wouldn’t be able to pay his bills, and that man would have to go to some shitty hellhole of a care facility where he’d get bed sores and never be bathed. And that wasn’t happening. Not on my damn watch. Just because the men of this club wanted to stick their dicks in things and have accidents didn’t mean I had to pay for it. I didn’t get attached to things. I didn’t allow myself to fall in love, or whatever the fuck they thought they were doing.
It came with the territory, and it wasn’t like I’d be any good at it anyway.
A knock came at my warehouse door, and I got off the couch. I was expecting a very important visitor who I had very key news to deliver. I drew in a deep breath and pulled the door open, hearing the metal slide against metal. I lived a few miles away from the club’s warehouse. In a converted warehouse building, I’d turned into apartments. It was a community of shitty places people had come in and fixed up. Some lived here; some partied here, some opened businesses here. My warehouse apartment was squished between a woman who enjoyed her booze and a bakery that was always my downfall in the mornings.
That old man had the best fucking cheese pastries alive.
“Calais,” I said.
“Fox. Update me. What’s going on?”
“I’ve got your money, but my supply’s running out,” I said.
“Not good. Not good. What’s up with the down in supplies, Fox? That wasn’t our game plan.”
“The original deal was to sell this shit off until I ran out. That’s what I’m doing. And I’ve got your money. Here.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a white envelope. Calais was standing there, with his face tattoos glaring and his knuckles battered and bruised. The wounds on his skin were fresh, which meant I hadn’t been his first stop. I handed him the white envelope and he thumbed through everything, acting like he was counting that shit to look tough. But I knew he wasn’t. It didn’t matter if I short-changed him because he’d have no fucking idea with that glassy look in his eye.
Not that I would. But still.
“You gotta figure this out, man,” Calais said. “We came into business with you because of your stash. You said you had drugs for months to pedal. And it’s only been two months.”
“You guys are good. What can I say?” I asked.
Calais leaned against my door frame and shoved the envelope into his pocket.
“No one enters a deal with us and goes back on their word,” he said.
“No one’s saying I went back on my word. I said my stash is almost gone. It’s not completely out. I’ve got some shit to sell off, and then I’ve got one more load coming my way. It’ll get us for another couple of months, then we’ll figure something out,” I said.
“You better have it figured out before that couple months is out, Fox. I’d hate to see something happen to your pops.”
I stared at Calais as I clenched my fists. No one threatened my father unless they wanted their tongue ripped out through their dickhole. I stood there, toe to toe with one of the top members of the KG9’s, hoping he read the anger and heat boiling behind my eyes. No one was touching my father. No one was going to hurt him.
“I’ll have it figured out when I get it figured out,” I said. “And if I don’t figure it out, then the two of us will come up with something. That’s how this shit works. That’s how we laid it out.”
“I don’t give a shit what you laid out,” he said. “When it comes to the promises you make, you better see you can follow through. I don’t give a shit about what you do with your life. You give us what you promised. A partnership to give us more money.”
“Which happens one of two ways, I already told you that. Either I can create the connections while all this is going on, or we can create the connections together after the stash is done. Either way, you get your connections, and we all get our money.”
“Better hope my boss sees it that way,” Calais said. “Thanks for the money. I’ll be back in a few days to pick up our next shipment. Better have it ready.”
Calais pushed off my door frame and headed for his beat up, piece of shit car. There were moments when I questioned whether getting involved with the local street gang was going to be a good idea. But, the arrangement we came to was beneficial for both of us. They helped me unload the drugs that were my responsibility, and they got to take a part of the cut. The plan was to have established drug pipelines by the time the drugs were offloaded so I could continue fueling them with service.
So, I sold it to the KG9’s as a supplement to the income they already ran with property ownership and blackmailing or whatever the hell else it was they did with their lives.
But now, Calais was asking me to turn my back on my club. What was supposed to be a part-time side gig was quickly turning into a dominant money-making scheme. I hadn’t let on as to how many drug pipelines I had created. I had clients that relied on me and now a street gang that expected me to deliver on product I wasn’t sure I was going to have. That was not the deal we came up with. It was a very fluid deal that gave me plenty of wiggle room to cut this shit out if it became too much.
And of course, it was becoming too much.
I was keeping up with my stream of income, but eventually, I was going to have to find another way to get the drugs I was selling. I couldn’t go straight to our supplier because there was a chance he would talk back to Mac. Which would be detrimental to my relationship with the club. Creating my own clientele was a good thing, but once I ran out of product my reputation in the community would be ruined. I had less than a two month’s supply on me before I was in trouble, which didn’t give me much time to figure out what the hell I was going to do.
Shit. I was in trouble.
I didn’t want to turn my back on my club, but I couldn’t turn my back on my father, either. That man had shielded me from the worst of my mother. Her drinking and pill addiction spiraled her in ways I didn’t understand until I was much older, and I had my father to thank for that. I had him to thank for all the positive childhood memories and all the park trips we went on. He was fucking there for me when my own mother was sucking down orange bottles of candy.
I wasn’t gonna turn my back on him now.
But I didn’t know how to get any more drugs. That had never been my issue. I was the seller. The smooth-talker. The one who grew clientele and got us more people interested in our product. I didn’t know the first fucking thing about acquiring them in the first place. I had convinced Hawk and Talon to let me sell off their portion so they could take care of their families, and I would only take a certain percentage of the money they made from their stash.
But the KG9’s were just as good at selling and sniffing down drugs as anyone else.
Between what they bought for themselves and what they bought to sell, I ran through all three of our stashes faster than I’d ever imagined. Myself and the KG9’s had gotten into a familiar rhythm. Calais would come pick up the stash, and there would be two different containers. One would be for their personal use, bought and paid for by their gang. The other would be to sell, and I would cut them a deal on the price. I’d sell my portion of the drugs and keep the money due to me, and I would ‘rent’ the KG9’s services in helping me sell off the stash they did. Calais came to collect every couple of weeks on my ‘rent,’ and I would hand them more shit to sell.
It was a good system, but it was a system that was about to come to a halt.
All of this was boggling my mind. The sun was already set over my little warehouse apartment, but I wasn’t ready to go back to the lodge. I grabbed my phone and checked in with Mac, telling him I would be staying at my place for the night. I’d check in with him before I went to sleep and again in the morning, then I grabbed my shit and left.
I needed to blow off some steam and clear my head. Because I had shit to figure out.