THIRTY-TWO
Luciana did not like narcs. She suffered them like an ingrown hair: dug them out with a needle and plucked them from existence. Invariably, they left an ugly mark, and she hated that even more.
Which was why she believed in stopping them from developing in the first place. The only problem? They were hard to spot, so prevention was next to impossible.
Frank was an ingrown hair. One that was proving difficult to eliminate.
She’d given him a chance—one chance—to prove his value…and he’d gone running to that Spartan trash female and spilled their secrets.
That was the problem with the world these days—no loyalty.
Running the pointed, metal file over her nail, she watched with mild interest as the dust from her nails floated down to cover her pant leg. “Tell me everything you told her,” she said with deceptive calm. A calm she most definitely did not feel. She was raging inside, a red-hot ember of vengeance simmering just beneath her smooth, brown skin. She looked at that with disinterest too. She needed to lay out in the sun later, work on her tan. Pasty skin was disgusting.
“I d-didn’t s-s-say anything,” Frank stuttered.
He was sweating like a sinner in a church on Sunday. She didn’t bother to hide her distain. “Don’t lie to me,” she warned him coldly. “My men followed you.”
His gringo face blanched, making him appear sickly. He’d better not throw up on her floor. She had zero tolerance for weakness. And Frank was about as weak as she’d ever seen a man—if he could really be called that.
“I didn’t say anything, I swear.”
“Then why were you speaking with her?” Luciana asked, watching as a bead of sweat rolled down his temple to his neck and then soaked into his white man’s cheap polo shirt collar.
No sense of fashion, either.
“She’s an old work colleague. A f-friend.”
Luciana stared at him. Finally, she sat forward in her chair, crossing one leg over the other and folding her hands over top her knee, the shiny silver file on full display. “Do you know what a tell is, Frank?”
He looked puzzled at first, but then shook his head, understanding at least part of her meaning.
“Good. Because over the years, I’ve learned to read people well, and you, Frank, are a very easy read.” She left her seat and walked up to him where he sat in a hard metal folding chair, sweating bullets as she circled him. “I bet you’re wondering what yours is,” she mused, and scratched the tip of the file across the flushed, moist skin around the base of his neck, following his hairline.
Drips of sweat dropped from the spiked tips of his hair, soaking his shirt at the shoulders. He didn’t breathe a word in response, indicating that he knew just how dire his position was.
Of course, anyone who came before her should feel that way. It pleased her to know that she was feared. In her world, fear equaled respect. Because if someone feared you, they weren’t likely to cross you—not unless they were stupid.
And Frank was clearly a few crayons short of a full box.
“It’s the stuttering,” she informed him. Pausing behind him, she bent at the waist and placed her lips beside his ear, the nail file pressing into the soft spot just below the base of his skull. She whispered, “Gives you away every time.”
A small whimper left his lips, and his entire body shook violently. Good, he should be afraid. Because the stories about her were true: Luciana was as bad as the rumors claimed. In fact, she liked to think she was even worse.
She was merciless.
“Pl-lease,” he begged. “I swear I didn’t s-say anyth-thing.”
“You know what I hate even more than liars, Frank?” Luciana asked as she straightened. Catching Manuel’s eye, the corner of her red mouth turned up. She held that gaze as she spoke. “Weak men.”
Then she tightened her grip on the file and put her weight behind it, shoving it through the soft flesh at an angle, driving it up into his brain. Frank gasped, sputtered in shock, and released a tiny squeal like a stuck pig, and she gave it a little extra push, waiting until she felt his body go slack before stepping back.
With a dispassionate stare, she watched his body collapse onto the gold marbled tile. As red spread out around him, she looked down at her hands and clucked her tongue. “Anyone have a tissue?”
***
“It’d be great if we could get our hands on that asshole,” Moose said from the far end of the table. He was met with hardy nods of agreement from all the brothers gathered around him. “Then we could shake him down for more info, see what else he’s hiding.”
After the fiasco a couple days ago between the women going to The Tavern and learning about Country’s woman, Talia, along with Blake’s Gabby and Repo’s Ginger tagging along to potentially stir up trouble, and that fuckwad Frank, Talia’s former work buddy who was slimier than a snail slick, Blake had understandably called church to update everyone. Understandably, the prospects hadn’t been invited. Moose didn’t understand why, and he wouldn’t. Not right now. They needed to take his measure, keep an eye on him too, make sure he didn’t run back to his nephew to fill him in. They needed to know he was still loyal.
“As you know, I’ve had ears and eyes out looking for the prick. Nada,” Blake informed them. “It’s like he’s disappeared off the grid.”
There was a beat of knowing silence. They all knew that even if someone went into hiding, they still tended to leave a footprint somewhere. For the trail to have gone so ice cold? It didn’t look good.
“If he’s turned Devil’s Advocate, we should be looking for a body,” Taco uttered. He flicked a pen around, spinning it in circles on the tabletop.
Blake nodded, watching him closely. He’d been distracted lately, not his normal, chipper self. Usually he was off trying to catch some tail, but lately, he’d been quiet instead of his chatty self. And he’d seen him walk right past bunnies who were blatantly trying to gain his attentions and even downright shutting them down on their approach.
Something was up, and Blake wanted to know what it was. He couldn’t have his men distracted. Not at a critical time like this. He’d deal with him later.
Speaking of distracted…
“You’ve been quiet today,” he said, looking to Country for a response. After their blowout the other night, he hadn’t seen or heard from the man, and he wasn’t certain if it was because he was freezing Blake out, or if he was simply stewing in his own thoughts.
Country’s blue eyes flicked up at him, and there was a whole lot of pissed-off brewing like storm clouds staring back. “What is there to say?”
Blake chose to ignore his attitude. “Do you have any input?”
“I wasn’t aware you were interested in hearing my ideas.”
Heaving a heavy sigh, Blake tilted his head left and right, cracking his neck to relieve some pressure. He was not going to allow his patience to be tested today. “Your ideas are always welcome and appreciated.”
Country snorted and looked away, not offering anything further.
Looked like his boys were growing vaginas. What was with all the moping and attitude? If he wanted to deal with this shit, he’d have just stayed home. Gabby had been in a mood since he’d confronted her about her little field trip to No-No Land, and now he had his best friend and another of his men acting like women on their period.
Jesus, he couldn’t catch a break.
Thankfully, Repo interjected, saving Blake from having a tantrum of his own—he was edging the line of his limit, and he was about to knock some heads.
“If this Frank guy is dead, it saves us the trouble of having to do it ourselves. I think we can all agree that we’d rather not get our hands dirty if we don’t have to.”
A murmur of agreement rippled around the table.
“But I will say this: he wasn’t our leak. At least, not directly. Someone here is talking, and they were talking to him. Frank was just the messenger, an opportunist who saw his chance to climb the ladder.”
“Except that shit never works out well when you’re factoring in a crime boss,” Moose added.
“Too right, brother,” Repo agreed. “He got in over his head. Personally, I don’t give a shit if he lost it. He brought that on himself. I just want to know where the bleed is so we can stitch it up,” he said, playing it off like they didn’t know Tanner was the one they were looking at.
If Moose knew something, though, he was a great actor. Blake couldn’t spot any sign of deception.
But he agreed fully with his sergeant. They might have their noses clean, but they didn’t need anyone telling outside sources what was happening inside their lines. It was bad for business. If word got around that they were keeping above board, staying out of trouble, and keeping one hundred with local law enforcement, they’d be labeled weak, making them ripe for a turf war. It was a Catch 22.
Case in point, Cruiz had already tried it. Who knew who all he’d talked to, what lies he’d spread, but if anyone—including the asshole who was making moves on them—stepped up and tried anything, they were going to find out the hard way that Spartans still fought fire with fire. They might have everything to lose, but that was exactly why they would never back down.
“You got that look in your eye, Prez,” Moose rumbled, calling Blake from his thoughts. He tipped his chin up. “What’s on your mind?”
“Not a damn thing the rest of you aren’t already thinking.” Flattening his hands on the table, he pushed to his feet, signaling his men to do the same. “We’re going to find this bastard. We’re close; I can feel it. Whoever they are, they’re going to pay.” He kept his eyes on Moose.
Taco stared down the table at him. “Are you talking war, Prez?”
“They drew first blood,” Blake answered, glancing at Repo. “We’re going to answer in kind.”
Repo tipped his head, pride and determination reflecting in his eyes. The Spartans were going to hunt those responsible for Repo’s injuries, and when they found them, the streets would be painted red.
Dismissing everyone, Blake bypassed Country and Repo and went straight for Taco, who was making a beeline for the exit. Wherever that man was headed, it was with purpose.
“Taco, hold up,” he called out as he punched his hand into the door and followed him into the parking lot.
Taco stopped and turned, his brows pinched together. When he realized who was after him, he schooled his expression. “Hey, Prez, what’s up?”
“Need to talk to you,” Blake informed as he pulled to a stop in front of him. “You running off to somethin’ important?” He lifted his chin toward the row of bikes lined up behind Taco—specifically, the black crotch rocket with the purple flames painted down either side. Fucking ugly as sin and an insult to the classic American muscle surrounding it, but kids these days… They just didn’t have the same appreciation.
“Naw, nothin’ going on. What’s up?” he asked again, but Blake caught the way his eyes darted away, telling him he was lying through his pearly whites, but hey, who was he to judge?
“Just been noticing you’ve been a little more quiet than usual lately? Somethin’ going on I should know about?”
Taco shook his head. “Nothing’s going on. Just been busy.”
Blake narrowed his eyes, studying his friend closer.
Taco stared him back, reading the question in his eyes easily. He shook his head again and laughed. “It’s not me, Prez. I can promise you that.”
He thought he was sizing him up as the rat? Blake played along, knowing it was better to keep as many brothers in the dark about Tanner as possible to keep up pretenses. “That’s exactly what a rat would say.”
Taco chuckled and raked a hand through his hair. “You’re right. But that doesn’t change the fact it’s not me. I got too much respect for this club and Repo to ever do something so shady. I might not be educated, but I know when I got a good thing. And this,” he said, waving his hand around to encompass the grounds, “is a good thing for me. I would never risk it.”
Blake studied him more, appreciating the truth of his statement. At a time like this, it was refreshing to know the kid was being one hundred. “Then what’s been goin’ on? Somethin’ has you twisted.”
As a father, it was easy to spot the signs, and, also as a father, he wanted to help. Lot of the brothers never had a proper male figure growing up to steer them right, which was why they’d fallen into the club life in the first place. Damn good thing they’d turned it around, otherwise they’d all have followed a much different path. Instead of jail, they were doing honest work and acting with integrity. With other clubs, shit didn’t play out quite the same way.
“Nothin’ worth talking about,” Taco said cryptically, which gave Blake all the answer he needed to know.
“This have to do with a woman?”
Taco looked away, confirming his suspicions. “Like I said, it’s nothin’.”
“Look, Curtis,” Blake said, using his real name so he understood he was being real with him, “women are a dime a dozen. Especially ‘round here,” he said, referring to the bunnies. Because in truth, that’s probably the kind of woman Taco had been hooking up with and had him in his current state.
“You won’t believe me, but she was different.”
“Why wouldn’t I believe you?” Blake asked him. “I have Gabby, don’t I?” He’d been running through the common tail for what felt like ever before she’d come along and introduced him to “different.” Of anyone, he’d be the one to sympathize. Hell, even Country, the womanizer that he’d been, changed his attitude when Talia came along. And now Repo was climbing on board.
Hell, now that Blake took a step back and looked at it, they were dropping like flies, weren’t they? Fucking Cupid was shooting arrows all over the place it seemed like.
“Look, Prez, Blake, it’s not the same. Shit’s…complicated,” he said, blowing out a breath. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” Taco stepped back and lifted a hand. “Sorry, but I need to take off.”
“Important shit to do?” Blake asked, arms crossing over his chest.
“Something like that, yeah.”
Yeah, he’d just bet. Funny how when a guy was avoiding something, he couldn’t seem to stick to his story. But Blake bit his tongue. It wasn’t his place to question the guy on his private life. He just hoped Taco knew that he had a friend if he needed one.
Blake watched Taco ride off before turning and heading back into the clubhouse. There was more work that needed to be done, and there just didn’t seem to be enough hours in the day to do it all.
At least he knew Gabby and Ash were safe at home, under the watchful eye of prospects. Knowing they were safe gave him a measure of comfort so he could focus on the business end of things. Not only did he have the club to worry about, but he had his construction business to tend to. Half his men worked the job site as part of keeping things legit, keeping his boys out of trouble, so he needed to make sure that he kept it all running smoothly. When the world seemed to be falling to shit around them, it was especially important to hold onto the good. Sometimes it was what made all the difference.
“What’s up with Taco?” Repo asked as Blake took up a seat next to him at the bar.
Ginger was behind it, surprisingly, and she wasn’t throwing off attitude either. He didn’t know what he’d expected—maybe a tantrum like Gabby and Talia were giving—but she looked normal, if not a little quiet today.
Maybe Repo and she were doing okay…
“Nothin’, according to him.”
“What are you doin’ here? Don’t you have a wife and kid to get back to?”
“Later,” Blake said. “I have some work to do before I head home. Just need a drink to loosen up a bit first.”
“Yeah, it’s been rough lately.”
“Yeah.”
“What can I get you, Blake?” Red asked with a smile as she approached their end of the bar.
“Just a beer, hon.”
“I’ll take another, too, babe,” Repo said, but she was already turning away. She hadn’t even acknowledged him.
Blake’s brows rose, and he looked to Repo, who was staring after Red like a man lost in space. Well, shit, maybe he’d read that all wrong.
“Problems in paradise?”
Repo scowled, his jaw clenching. “We don’t see eye to eye on some things. She left.”
Blake flinched, feeling the man’s pain, despite the lack of information. Unlike women, men didn’t need every detail to understand when there was hurt caused. It was obvious that his friend was suffering inside.
“Let me guess, you tried to make her see your way,” Blake deadpanned. He knew Repo, and he could just imagine how the whole thing went down. Some things were probably said that Ginger didn’t agree with, and being who he was, Repo didn’t back down an inch. And being who she was, neither had she. The two were stubborn as hell and neither bent well.
They were made for each other.
“The woman is hardheaded. She thinks I’m controlling.”
Ginger set Blake’s beer down in front of him, and without looking at Repo, smiled and walked off again. Yep, she was pissed off. Women were easy to read but impossible to understand.
“You, controlling?” Blake scoffed mockingly. “I don’t see it.”
“Fuck you,” Repo said with a crooked smile. He knew he spoke the truth. That pale blue stare followed Red around longingly, watching her every move with laser focus.
Blake knew that look. He’d had it himself with Gabby. Still did. Well, shit. That would need to be sorted. Otherwise the man would be no good to him. A man without his woman was nothing but a shell of himself. Love was one hell of a bitch.
“Listen,” Blake said, ready to impart some sage advice, whether it was welcomed or not. And hell, it wasn’t lost on him how strange it was for a man several years younger to be acting like a life coach. “Whatever the problem, apologize. And mean it. Women know when you aren’t sincere, feel me?” He took a swig of his beer. “Don’t let pride stand in your way, man, or she’ll never come back. You gotta take some hits with this one if you want it to work.”
“I don’t have a problem taking a hit,” Repo groused, “but she can’t have it all her way. She needs to understand who makes the rules and learn how to follow.”
Blake shook his head. “Wow, yeah, I can see the problem now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you, brother, have a problem.”
Repo didn’t look so happy to hear that. In fact, he looked like he wanted nothing more than to punch Blake in the face, but Blake wasn’t scared. Repo could intimidate most men, but Blake was the president, therefore, untouchable. He wasn’t scared of shit.
“You can be pissed all you want, but you know I speak the truth,” Blake told him. “That woman right there knows exactly how this club works. She’s been around long enough to know how to act right. Does she have a mind of her own? Yeah, she does, and she exercises it often. So, if you’re looking for a pussycat that bows to your every whim, then she’s not the one for you. But something tells me that’s not what you’re looking for. Hell, her stubbornness is part of her appeal.”
It’s what had hooked Blake’s teenage self all those years ago. But Ginger had always been hard to peg. She didn’t act like most women he knew. She was vulnerable, but she didn’t show it. She wore her heart on her sleeve, but she kept it covered in Kevlar, and if someone crossed her, even once, she cut them from her life like a tumor and froze them out so efficiently, it was as if that person never existed.
No man wanted to be on the receiving end of that kind of rejection.
“You’re right. I do like that about her.”
“Then why try to control her? You can’t control a wild animal. The best you can do is try to gain its trust and hope it allows you to get close enough to touch it from time to time.”
At that, Repo chuckled. “You make it sound like she’s an untamed horse.”
“Maybe she is. But the worst thing you can do is try to break her. Trust me that would be a travesty.”
They grew silent, watching Ginger navigate the bar and serve drinks like the seasoned professional she was. She took pride in her work and treated everyone equally, and with such warmth, they all felt like family. She was truly the woman of the house, making each person feel special in their own way.
Blake just hoped that Repo could find a way to soften a little, so they could both be happy. They really were a good match, if they could find the right balance to work together.
“I appreciate the talk,” Repo said, pushing his empty bottle aside and standing from his stool. “But she’s done with me. Said it herself. And I’m pretty sure I had it wrong thinking she wanted me in the first place.”
Blake knew better than that. He’d seen the way those two looked at each other when they thought no one else was paying attention. “You’d be wrong,” he informed him flatly, then took another drink of his beer. “That woman cares a hell of a lot for you. Your history together alone proves that much. You just need to prove you’re worthy of her heart before she’ll give it to you.”
Blake looked up, meeting Repo’s cool stare, hoping the man got the message.
“I hear you,” Repo finally said. “’Preciate the talk.”
He clapped Blake on the shoulder then stalked away, pushing out the exit door without a backward glance.
Ginger watched every step with a sadness Blake had only ever seen in a person who was in love.