Fucking hell.

There are nine layers of hell and as you go down the list they become more and more vile. Right now, I’m sitting at the seventh layer sweating my balls off as I build a fucking ramp off Wolf’s front porch. I would’ve been finished if I had done the job myself but these fools here are fucking everything up. Needles shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a tool, for fuck’s sake he’s a tool himself. He nearly took his own finger off nailing down the floorboards, and Bas, he’s been cutting the same piece of wood for the last hour. Stryker, well, he’s somewhat of a help I suppose. He did after all, hand me the hammer a few times. Riggs is useless though. Fucking useless. I swear that guy is just here for shits and giggles.

Then there’s Wolf.

The crazy fuck has been hanging over my shoulder the entire time, hollering about his petunias. Heaven forbid I step on one of his fucking flowers while I bust my ass. The world might fucking end.

“So, a little birdie told me you did fuck up,” Riggs says, dropping his shades from his head. I wipe the sweat from my brow as he crosses his legs at the ankles and tilts his head back to take the fucking sun. “Yeah, I’m talking to you, Cowboy.”

“Yeah, everyone’s talking about it,” Stryker adds, handing me the hammer. Fucking guy is a real winner.

“What the fuck are you idiots talking about?”

“Cobra is plotting your death,” Riggs explains. “Says you took advantage of his sister,” he continues, placing a hand over his heart. “Man, I’m on your side. I feel for you, truly I do. If anyone knows the consequences of shagging someone’s sister it’s me.”

“Is he now?” I ask, grinding my teeth. “Fuck him too,” I growl. “I didn’t take advantage of Ally.”

Just saying her name makes me fucking miss her. This morning she threw me for a loop when she revealed she had asked Celeste to take her to her appointments. It was a big step for her and I should have been happy to see her spread her wings and all that shit, but it stung a little. It got me thinking about my purpose in her life and what will happen when she lives independently. When she doesn’t need me anymore.

“I fucking knew it!” Needles boasts.

“Knew what?” Stryker asks.

“Back in Albany, I caught him checking her out,” he says pointedly.

“I wasn’t checking her out,” I argue, recalling the night Needles was talking about. Albany seems like a lifetime ago, especially since the girl I saw that night is nothing like the girl I sleep next to every night.

“I saw it too,” Bas chimes in.

“Fuck you too then,” I sneer. Desperate for this conversation to end, I turn to Wolf. I’m about to ask him how Linc is doing when I notice his jeans are half way down his ass.

“Um...Wolf…” I start but he straightens up and picks up his pants.

“Fucking pants are defective,” he grunts.

“No, they’re not. You’ve lost weight,” Riggs tells him.

“There’s this thing, it’s pretty amazing, maybe you’ve heard of it…it’s called a belt,” Stryker taunts.

“Oh yeah? Never heard of it,” Wolf grinds out, slapping Stryker upside the head. “How’s your mama been, boy?”

Stryker’s brows knit in confusion and before any of us can fill the poor bastard in and tell him Wolf’s got a thing for his mother, Blackie and Jack pull their bikes into the driveway followed by Rocco Spinelli’s fancy whip.

And just like that I slip into the eighth layer of hell.

Throwing my hammer down, I lift my shirt and wipe the sweat from my face as they make their way toward us. It’s never good news when the gangster tags along and I’m not in the mood for anymore fucking bullshit.

“How’s it coming along?” Jack asks, jutting his chin toward the ramp.

“Can you tell what it is?” I reply.

“Well, yeah,” he says.

“Then it’s coming along fine.”

“Don’t mind him, he’s on the rag,” Riggs defends.

“You would think getting laid would put you in a better mood,” Jack comments.

“I didn’t get fucking laid,” I shout.

“Then you’re doing something wrong,” Blackie informs, earning a pat on the back from Jack. I wonder if he realizes he’s cheering on the guy who fucks his daughter, but hey, not my circus, not my monkeys.

“All right, enough,” Jack says, clearing his throat as Rocco and his goons step alongside him. “Church, now,” he orders, pointing toward the house.

Rocco bends down and takes my hammer before he blows the sawdust from the head. Turning to Jack, he offers him the tool and cocks an eyebrow.

“Won’t you be needing one of these?”

Riggs bursts into a fit of laughter.

“Ha, point for the gangster.”

Jack mumbles a curse before snatching the hammer out of Rocco’s hand and tossing it into Wolf’s flower bed.

“My petunias!”

“For fuck’s sake, everyone get in the house!” Jack bellows, demanding order amongst the clowns and we all follow him inside Wolf’s house. As I enter the living room, I have to hand it to Wolf. Not only did the guy mortgage a house he owned free and clear to help Linc, but he also rearranged his home to fit Linc’s needs, moving all the furniture around so he’ll be able to maneuver his wheelchair.

He’s crazy, this we know, but he’s got a big fucking heart.

We spread out, making ourselves comfortable around the modest living room before Jack pulls the meat mallet from his back pocket and pats it down on the wood floor.

“You’ve got issues,” Rocco says and we all look at him as if he’s the one who is mentally ill.

“Maybe Rocco got laid,” Riggs says. “He’s on fire, today.”

“He will be if he doesn’t fucking start talking,” Jack retorts.

“You asked me to get you intel on Igor Yankovich. Do you want it or you want to keep flinging threats at me?”

“You found the brother?” I ask, Captain Guinea.

“He’s hosting a card game in lower Manhattan in two weeks,” Rocco reveals.

“How do you know this?” Blackie asks.

Rocco brushes a piece of lint from his designer suit and crosses on leg over his lap as he leans back against the sofa.

“Yeah, I’m not telling you that.”

“Can you get the location?” Jack asks him.

“What good does this do us?” Stryker chimes in. “What are we going to do at a card game?”

“More importantly, who gives a fuck about Igor, it’s his brother we’re hunting,” Wolf contributes.

“Nothing,” Rocco asserts. “Because the card game isn’t going to happen,” he says adamantly. “Well, it’s going to happen but it’s not going to end very well for anyone.”

“Explain,” Jack demands.

“I’m sending a few of my guys to rob the game,” he reveals.

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

“You want Yankovich, don’t you? We’ve established the only thing this bastard gives a damn about is money. Hear me out. I send my men in there with ski masks on, armed with guns you’re going to give me and they take his fucking money. You don’t think that’s going to get this guy’s attention? It’s like inviting him to come and play.”

“It’s inviting death,” Jack argues.

“Maybe,” Rocco says, shrugging his shoulders. “But we’ll be ready for him.”

“Will we now?” Wolf asks. “We don’t even know why this motherfucker is in any of our lives.”

“He’s right, we can’t even get a lead on him,” Blackie says.

“Right, so what should we do? Wait for him to come out of hiding so he can spring another blind attack on us?” Rocco fires back, shaking his head. “I don’t know if you people realize it but the only people getting hurt in this motherfucker’s game are innocent women. I’m not willing to find out which one is next.”

“He’s right,” I declare. Cringing as the words fall from my mouth because the only thing I hate more than shopping and admitting I’m wrong is admitting Rocco Spinelli is fucking right.

Turning to me, Jack pins me with an intense stare.

“I need to talk to Ally,” he says.

“We discussed this already,” I remind him, reaching behind me to cup the back of my neck. “Not gonna happen.”

“It will happen,” he corrects. “And you’re going to make it happen. Until then,” he says, pointing toward Rocco. “You tell me what you need and I’ll see you have it.”

“I need your guns.”

“Done.”

He diverts his eyes back to me.

“Get your girl to talk,” he warns before glancing around the room. “Anything else?”

“Linc’s coming home tomorrow. I want all you idiots here at eleven o’clock sharp,” Wolf says, waving a finger around the room. “Bring the ladies and the kids too, I hired one of those clowns that makes animals out of balloons.”

“You people are fucked,” Rocco says.

“Don’t worry, you can come too, Spinelli. We’ll have Bozo make something special just for you.”

Rocco’s wrong.

We’re motherfucked.