Death’s Deal (Broken Bows, Hade’s Army MC #1)

Chapter 9

B ennett

Reaching Long Beach, where the rich and insane live, I pull up to the oversized, two-story flat black gates where the emblazoned M stands out in gold filigree. It screams of opulence, ignorance, and wealth. This is the Mayor of Los Angeles’s summer beach house.

Martin Morriso is a man I have hated for longer than I care to remember.

The younger Bennett in me felt like Romeo, shunned by the Capulets every time I’d visited Antonia at this property. I’ll even admit I’d left a sliver of my soul here that never quite repaired. I had left its care in her company, to covet and nurture. She’d destroyed that piece of me before it could grow to its full potential. As a man, I’d learned my heart could survive without it. I’d shored the gates around my heart, living without love. Love has no place in my life. Thanks to their intervention, the mayor and his offspring, those who were integral in creating the man I am now, I’d become strong, willful, determined, and methodical. I’m someone who doesn’t take shit from anyone.

I am Death. It’s not what I had envisioned for myself at that age. At sixteen, the last thing I wanted was to be involved in the MC, I wanted nothing to do with it. Instead, I became a man, who—along with his friends—went up against a cartel and lived to tell the tale. I’m stronger, tougher, and more sure of my own self-worth than that kid ever was.

Pulling up to the gates and finding an intercom box to the left, I set my bike on the kickstand to reach it. Smacking the button that’s just out of reach with a buzz, a voice rents the air, “I think you’re in the wrong place.”

Don’t I know it.

“Tell him Bennett is here.”

That same voice cuts through the tiny speaker, stating flatly, “Come up to the house. Park on the left of the fountain.”

Knowingly annoyed and bothered I was dismissed like the help, as the gates part, I ride up the long drive with a determination to express to that asshat I’m not some punk bitch who doesn’t deserve respect. I demand it.

Riding at a crawl would be expected and cordial, instead, gunning the throttle and revving it through the winding driveway, the house comes into view. As long as the off-ramp I came here on, I ride up a rise until the white pillars and light-gray stucco sparkles and dances in amongst the bright-green vegetation that dots the landscaping surrounding the property. Money makes things beautiful during a drought, and the heavy illegal cash injections made this house glow up from expensive to opulent. As a doe-eyed kid, who came from less, I found it enormous. As a man, I think of it as a replacement for someone with a small dick.

Screeching to a halt, leaving rubber along the ground, I parked directly at the base of the stairs. I leave my bike prominently in view to annoy the mayor and his overpriced asshole son. Pocketing my key, I start up the steps.

Stepping up to the heavy wooden door, as I’m about to place my hand on the handle, it opens. Greeting me in a pristine black suit, pressed neatly is a greasy-faced, wasted frame of a man. His early onset male-pattern balding and a sickly smile tell me he’s further into the drugs he deals than back then, Carlos greets me snidely, “Took you long enough.”

“Where’s Martin?”

Raising his chin slightly, looking to impart his inferred superiority over me, his dentist-corrected grin glares back. “He’s been awaiting your”—checking his expensive watch—“late arrival. We were expecting you hours ago.”

Ignoring his snideness, I retort, “I don’t work on anyone’s timeline but my own, Carlos.”

“That may be, but he does have other engagements.”

“Like I give a shit.” Standing, peering around this mausoleum of the rich, I shove past his shoulder to enter the front lobby. “Where is he?” I inquire once more just as curtly.

Before he can answer, bounding down the hall from the left, a raucous twenty-something punk calls out, “Yo. LoLo.” Wearing black ripped jeans, and a high-fashion company tee shirt with a photo of a 90’s rock band, he looks past me as if I’m the hired help. “When’s the chopper coming? I want to get the shit outta here.” His wide smile, dirty-blond hair, and the bluest eyes I have ever seen, mark the kid as no relation to Carlos. Where Carlos’s deep Italian heritage shines through; his dark-green eyes, dusty-brown receding hair, and olive tone, is as far across the spectrum as a Chihuahua and a Great Dane, I can only guess why the kid is here.

Annoyed and addressing the teen, Carlos clips back tersely, “The chopper will be going back to the city when the mayor goes back to his office tomorrow.”

“Fuck that. I’ll pay Jones to take me. I’m not waiting for tomorrow. There’s a concert at the—”

Lifting a hand, he halts the kid’s impatience. “Just wait, Tristan. For fuck’s sake.”

“LoLo, you’re an asshole,” he smacks back before starting up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Happy to see Carlos on edge, I grin. “Your kid?”

“Fuck no.”

“I like him more already.” I smile. “You are an asshole.”

He ignores my comment with a disdainful tone. “Just follow me.”

Turning right and passing no less than four doorways, finally stepping up to an oversized double door, we stop at what I assume is the mayor’s office.

Muscling my way past Carlos, I leave him to mumble along behind me, “You can’t just walk in.” Carlos is still the skeezy kid trying to appease his father’s wishes, and weakly attempting to stay in his good graces. He still believes his father’s power makes him in some way superior to me. To my kind.

It never did and never will.

Martin had always acted like he was protecting Antonia from the bad side of town. From the biker president’s son who would drag her down. What pissed me off the most was, I was the cleanest one of us all. Smugly, Carlos and Martin both knew they were sending an innocent man to Chino for something they’d done. I was a kid doing a long stint for their illegalities.

Forgetting the past and the years of self-loathing I’d processed while rotting in jail for something I didn’t do, I stride through the room. Taking my time, I heavily accent each step I take. Amused by his discomfort as the sound ratchets off the walls in the hollow room, I stop beside Martin’s desk.

Sitting there, poring over paperwork, and talking animatedly on the phone, Martin’s voice booms across the space. “I don’t care. Find a way to fix it. Today. We can’t have the PCH closed for that length of time. Constituents would be growling at my doorstep by five.” Slamming his phone on the desk, Martin seems flustered and ill at ease.

I like it.

Taking a seat on a thick black leather couch, I toss my feet across the end, glancing at the mayor.

With disdain, he remarks, “Are you comfortable, Quinny?”

I had always hated that nickname coming out of his mouth. I hated hearing this family using it. It was Antonia’s nickname for me, but it was never theirs to use. Deciding to cause the same discomfort back, I use the name his opponents use. “ Mingia , why am I here? What do you want?”

Mingia in no uncertain terms means dick in Sicilian.

Not taking the bait, he smiles. Always the politician.

Rising from his chair, walking over with a folder in his hands, he stops beside me. “I hear the cartels had a bit of fun with you. A few of you died, didn’t they?” Smirking, he then takes a seat across from me in a brown high-backed leather chair, “You look to be doing well for yourself after that. I had bets on you and your club being ruined.”

His condescending tone irks me. He’s hoping I’ll take a shot at his smug, irritating face. I won’t though, no matter how badly I want to. The cost is too great.

Dropping my motorcycle boots to the floor, leaning forward and cutting to the chase, I grasp the brown folder out of my cut and slam it on the table between us. “Why don’t you tell me why you brought me here?”

His smug look dissipates. “Fine. My daughter—”

“Antonia,” I interrupt.

Annoyed, he continues, “Yes. I’ve run into a bit of an illegal issue. I need someone outside of the law, outside of the normal constraints of etiquette to look after it and her...”

I scoff, “And you thought of me? How charming. You are desperate.”

Rising from the chair, Martin steps my way. “I’ve been told to get out of the situation will take some finesse.”

“I’m full of finesse.”

Nearly rolling his eyes, he continues, “They are asking for tribute of a sort. Something I value for something they value in return, until I supply that which I owe.”

“Who do you owe?” I ask, knowing I don’t really care.

“That’s not really the issue. It’s what they are asking for in value that I find difficult to provide. They’re asking for Antonia.” He paces between his desk and an overfilled bookcase on the left wall. “I don’t wish her that fate, and I need her protected. Protected by someone who loves her.”

Visibly flaring my nostrils, I feel my teeth grind off a layer of enamel. “Loved,” I correct him. “I loved her. I don’t have time for traitors in my life, Martin.”

Running a hand along his clean-shaven chin, raising a recently Botoxed and Grecian formulated brow, he states, “No matter how hard I tried to remove you from her life, you must know you were never far from her thoughts, Quinny.”

I don’t want any part in this. Rising from the chair and turning to leave, I step toward the door. “Please,” he pleads on a rushed breath. Showing his fear finally, his facade drops and his worry of me leaving him to this situation alone, I find myself intrigued more than I had been ten minutes ago. He really must be out of choices.

“Why force me with a subpoena to show here?”

“If we’re being honest, Bennett, there’s no one I think is worthy enough to keep her safe. That would put her safety first.” Pulling up a stack of paperwork in a folder, and placing them before me, he taps them. “Look at this, please.”

Not taking the bait, I don’t touch the folder. “I don’t buy the bullshit that you want me.”

He blows out a hot breath. “Oh. I don’t want you within a thousand miles of her, but I’m a smart man who knows I need you. I’m asking you as a man who knows his daughter’s best chance is with you.” Grasping the paperwork and holding it aloft between us, he waits for me to take it. When I still don’t, he tries again. “Please, Bennett.”

Deciding it can’t be that bad to look, I take it. Begrudgingly opening the file to the front page, the first picture shakes me to my core. Flipping to the second, the third, and beyond, the whole thing reads like a dictation of our lives from the past few months.

Tossing the file to the desk, I reply, “Not interested.”

“It’s not a request, Bennett. Remember, subpoena,” he states flatly.

“The subpoena was to show up here. Not to do your dirty work.” Surprised I even entertained this meeting; I’m beyond pissed off. Sneering, I start for the door once more. “You know what? Fucking sue me. Sue the club, take it all. I’m no longer a kid who is looking for your approval, Martin. You’re the exact reason why we balk against the restraints of society. So don’t worry, we’ll rebuild. We always do.” Realizing this is probably the only time I’ll ever wish to be in his company, or I’ll have a chance to tell him how I really feel, spewing all of the hatred I have, I let it loose. “Your problems are yours. I took the fall once; I won’t take it on the chin again. So, whatever it was that put you in his sights, it is all your fault. I can’t put my club in that position again, not after what we’ve faced.” Our chances of survival for even considering what he requests dwindled to less than twenty percent as I read the paperwork.

“No one else has faced the cartels as you have and come out the other side. I need you to protect her. To save her from these unscrupulous deviants.” When a lone tear trickles down his chiseled jaw, I almost don't believe it to be true. In under ten minutes, Martin Morriso has shown me both fear and true human emotions, both of which I never thought he possessed. “I’ll give you anything. Name your price.”

“We can’t be bought, Martin.”

Slyly wiping that sad little stray tear off his cheek, he starts, “I know you’re running shy of cash after everything you’ve been through. The war with the Huesos, the Alta, not to mention the infighting with the clubs—”

“All of which is not a concern anymore. Murianos is down, the Alta is torn apart, and we’re very chummy with the other clubs. We’re rebuilding just fine,” I snap back.

“The cost of your sister’s hospital bills must be mounting after everything you’ve done for Curse and his family. It had to have cost you nearly all of your savings.”

“Are you blackmailing me now?”

Calm as a cucumber, the emotions he once showed have dissipated and the sly Martin has returned. He grins knowingly. “No. I’m just aware of your circumstances.”

“I’d be an idiot to even agree, after all you did to ruin my life. Why would I give a shit for your traitorous daughter?”

“Quinny?” the soft voice calls out.

Everyone through school called me Ben, Benny, Bennett, B, or a combination of something of that sort, but not her. Antonia called me Quinny, and no one else dared to unless they were one of the Morriso’s. After I went to jail, I swore no one would ever call me that again.

Giving pause, hearing my nickname lyrically and lovingly stated like she used to, I feel like that sixteen-year-old punk who was in love once more.

Schooling my reaction, I reply, “Antonia.” I try to seem unaffected by her comment. Like an old wound that’s been struck, my heart beats and the feelings I once had for her come flooding back. That is, until I remember her betrayal.

Turning, seeing her standing there, Antonia is just as I remember. A petite button nose, a tight tiny chin, with a freckle right in the crook of her full puckered ruby-red lips, lips I wish badly to bite. Seeing her long flowing onyx hair lying across her shoulder, covering her left breast, and reminding me the right is unabashedly perky under the white shirt she’s wearing. The perfection of her is almost too hard to describe. Wearing the tightest black jeans, with a bra a shade of light pink that peeks through the material, the years have made her even more beautiful than I thought she could become. Time has worked in her favor.

Once in a while—more like nightmares after all this time—I see her in my dreams. Those dreams don’t even come close to how she looks right now.

Walking across the room, like a slow moving montage of my high school life, Antonia steps toward me. Every ounce of her beauty captivates me until I’m reminded of how it all ended. How jail was for teenage Bennett.

I remember I’m not that kid and I’ve grown up to be stronger. Years have passed and I’ve become a man who knows his own worth and strength. I don’t moon over a woman, or take shit from someone else, especially not from the likes of a traitor like her and her asshole father.

She pauses before me with a shy grin. “It’s good to see you, Quinny.”

Schooling my features, I reply, “It’s not like I had an option. A subpoena usually has you in handcuffs or in the office requested.” I’m still not sure how he had a judge sign off on this, but it doesn’t matter, Martin got exactly what he wanted. Me, here today.

In a soft tone with a shrug, she repeats, “It’s still nice to see you, Quinny.”

“No one calls me that.” I point to my cut, the name tag, and the position in the club, her eyes travel to it.

She grins. “Death it is then.”

Avoiding how it actually stings for her to call me that, I turn to her father. “Martin wants me as your protection detail. I was just declining his request.”

Interrupting my mental montage of teenage Toni, Martin steps toward his daughter, hugging her around the waist tightly toward him. Toni tightens at the contact, and to most it would seem imperceptible, but I know her. She’s not happy with the contact. “Did you know my largest business partners are those you just removed from LA for good? The Alta, and Murianos with his Huesos.”

“You’re saying it was our fault for getting our asses rearranged by the cartels?”

“Yes. Quite simply put, it is. After your escapade with the Alta Noche Cartel, it left a void in the trafficked goods the Huesos received, which in turn pissed off the Manos Cartel. One you’ve been lucky enough to not have interacted with yet. Their trafficked goods have depleted, and they’ve put the heat on me.”

I’m not surprised by this revelation, knowing he was the reason I was sent to jail in the first place. “Let me get this right. You tossed an innocent kid in jail all those years ago, to what? Protect yourself? Or to protect your bank account? And miraculously you now want me to save your ass?”

“Yes, Bennett. The clubs and the street gangs came to me for their drugs, their women, and their guns. Back then, it was either me or someone else, and I was doing what was best for LA. I’d do it all over again.” Smugly and sure of his superiority, he continues, “I’m the well-loved Mayor of Los Angeles. I have made this city prosper far better than any mayor before me, and I have kept all of the dealings off the radar. Sending you to jail helped LA prosper and you seemed to have done quite well for yourself. President of a powerful MC. I think you owe me for that.”

That turned on a dime.

Martin went from “I’ll give you anything” to “you owe me” in under ten minutes. I bet he could talk the unions out of well-deserved raises too.

“I’m not playing your game, Martin. My club will have nothing to do with the cartel or you. So put my ass in jail. I’m not the scared little kid anymore. I’ll be fine inside.”

“I asked for you,” Antonia blurts out. “I asked to get you involved. I wanted someone who could protect me. I knew you could keep me safe, Quinny.”

Seeing the veins on my hand rising out of my skin, my whole body stresses. I can feel the blood pumping through the tiny roadways. This is just another problem I don’t need, and she’s another problem I could’ve avoided for the rest of my life.

Murianos may be out of the picture, but that doesn’t stop the wheels of the bus from turning. The Mano Cartel, it seems, still wants their money, their product, and their business to continue with the Mayor of LA. I now understand why I’m being asked to protect her. This wasn’t random, it is because he’s in a predicament, and this was her choice. Antonia asked this of him.

I pace the space before I turn back toward Martin, answering as truthfully as I can, “I need to table it with the club.”

“This isn’t club business, Bennett. They don’t need to know why my daughter is in your care.” Martin’s voice is short, clipped, and glib in nature.

“I won’t do anything without their knowledge. They know the history and I’m loyal—”

“To a fault,” he interrupts. “Yes, I know that. It’s exactly why I can trust you to care for Antonia.”

Without saying another word, I turn quickly, exiting the office. I have to, before I say something I know I’ll regret.

Popping the door and finding myself out in the California midday sunshine once more, I stop beside my bike. Looking back at the house, I consider what was being asked of me. The club is bleeding cash and Martin is giving us a way to get above water. He’s asking me to lie to my family and friends to do it though. He’s asking me to leave them in the dark about Antonia. Most of the guys know the story, and they won’t be pleased to see her around at all.

As I muse about my predicament, Antonia steps outside. Sauntering over to where I stand, she is just close enough that her perfume wafts my way. “I wouldn’t have asked if I thought there was someone better for the job. I couldn’t think of anyone.”

I know Antonia, she’s cunning, calculated, and she has a MENSA level mind. After the way I treated her—after she’d thrown my ass in the penitentiary—I don’t see why she’d come to me. Unless I was her last best choice. “If I consider this, and I mean this is a big if, Toni, your father has no involvement from this moment forward.”

The thought of even considering this is turning my stomach. Fucking over my brothers and not telling them the truth? I feel really uneasy about it.

“I get it. I understand it’s a big ask, Quin—Death, but there’s no one I trust more.” As she steps up beside me, her scent nearly overwhelms me. Warmed vanilla, roses, and daffodils. Letting it wash over me, coating my soul in a smell that hasn’t affected me in years, I can’t help but to ask, “You still wear it?”

Stuck in the memory of how my body reacted to her just from something as simple as her perfume, I take a second deep breath. Even if I don’t see her again after this moment, the smell will linger in my thoughts.

She gives me that tiny quirky smile. “It’s not produced anymore. I have it professionally made.”

Of course she does.

Bypassing the way her perfume goes straight to my cock, reminding me of how it felt to be inside Toni, I keep on task. On the situation at hand. Blowing out a haughty breath, thinking of how this will affect us in both bad and good ways, I know it’s the only thing I can do to help the club. I’ve almost run through the personal loan I took out. The club is strapped for cash as we rebuild, and without Obi and J, we’re not as busy at Humble. We need help. The club needs the cash injection, immediately.

I know I’ll regret this in some way going forward, because no gift is given freely, but this is a necessary evil. It’s in the best interest of the club’s survival. I only have to protect her, not make her my bride.

Pointing to the bike, I bark out a command, “Stay here.”

Cursing myself the whole time I walk the distance back to the mayor’s office, leaving Toni at my bike, I don’t stop at the closed doors. Striding in, I give him my demands. “One mil, no questions asked, for the emotional pain I’ve endured. Then five mil, in advance, for what you owe me for my time inside. Also, an extra mil a week for protecting Toni, starting this minute. Have the first seven mil wired by the end of the day to this account.”

As I write out the account number, he doesn’t protest at any point about the value he’s just attached to her safety, or that he’s left her in the care of a notorious biker club. “Don’t think I won’t take her ass straight to the cartel, or the FBI, myself if you cross me or miss a payment each week. I will.”

He looks down at the paper. “I’m trusting you with my daughter’s life, Bennett. Tell me my trust is well placed.” Martin just sold his daughter’s life and he asks if I’m to be trusted.

“You called me. I have no reason to trust you. Remember that. I was the one who’s already taken the fall for your shit. This is your daughter on the line now. Prove you love her more than life itself.” Turning, not wishing to stick around a second longer, I feel the bile rise in my throat for the betrayal to my brothers as I head for the door.

As I’m about to walk out, he calls out, “Even though you don’t believe it, Bennett. I do appreciate you’re doing this.”

Without pausing, I stated quite loudly, “Don’t thank me yet.”