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

Chapter 15

O ut of curiosity, somewhere around midday I check the club’s bank account. Sliding the app open on my phone, having it scan my face, and the account pop up, the dollar value appears. “Well, shit,” I mutter quietly as she naps. The mayor actually came through. Our balance, which was once nearing the red, now shows there’s seven million more than before. It is one issue dealt with.

Glancing her way, with her hair strung along the edge of the worn leather seat, and her tiny snores cutting the quiet, I have poured over the pages, searching, making notes of my own and concentrating on the comments regarding Hylo, the Army, Busta’s club, and special dates that stuck out. I have learned far more than I thought I ever would about my mother, the Queen, and my father. Hylo loved black licorices and figs for some reason, and she hated tequila.

Mayhem, to the Queen, was a fuckup. He was an asshole and someone the Queen wished Hylo had never met, but from the way it was written I could tell he loved her. The vitriol the Queen spewed on her pages made it quite clear how she despised him. He could do nothing right, nothing at all. The Queen found him unworthy of her best friend. Personally, I don’t care for him either but... that isn’t why I’m reading this cover to cover.

In the early pages, the Queen and Hylo had grown up together. Growing their business through blood. It listed the changes they implemented after brutally murdering the head of the cartel she had been a member of. Marcus Fuentes. Strung up by meat hooks, gutted, and left to breathe his last breaths naked, he had been lain out at his favorite coffee bar for all to see in the morning. Her account of it in the book was that of horror movie material. She’d made very detailed depictions, surprisingly content with her own handiwork. It is something I found disgusting, even by my own standards.

Hylo helped her along the way. It seemed Hylo was the right hand to the Mexican Diablo. Terrorizing, manipulating, controlling, and handling all the dealings she could from the U.S. side, she and the Queen were notorious. I was impressed. More than impressed, I actually envied and adored their methods. They were epic in their growth, takeovers, and progress.

They were brilliant in their calculated attacks on other groups. Taking out the cartels that trafficked in human flesh, or used children to sell drugs, was not only a necessity in the early days, it seemed they were avenging them like a punisher of evil. They were leaders of the downtrodden. The notes on how it was best to move forward, how to crush those who, in the end, became her competition, and how to sidestep law enforcement, her ingenious methods to interrogate and torture her perceived enemies, it was truly surprising. I’d say it shocked me slightly, but I’d be lying. We’d done worse, and I’d seen worse done at our own club.

In the early entries, I read about their history. As children living in poverty in the slums of Juarez, slaves to the whims of those with dark souls, they learned they could only depend on each other. The two of them confided their hopes for the future and designed what their future would be.

I saw the Queen wasn’t always a stone-cold, fucked-up piece of human flesh, or at least the crazed woman we thought she was.

Yes, I’d heard and seen firsthand from Piper and Codero what she was capable of, but the woman we knew as the Queen was ruthless, power hungry, and without remorse. Taking others into her circle and tainting them was not only a goal but a mission statement to her life.

Working through more of the book, both oddly impressed with her disgusting methods, and kinda thrilled at the methods taken, I’d finally come to one of Piper’s heavily notated pages, it was written in a hand that was not the same as the Queen’s. The slant and scroll was softer and more flourished.

Mi vida, mi sangre. Tu vida, tu sangre. Uno y siempre. Más fuertes juntos.

Reina de Alta Noche.

Rey de Huesos Blanqueados.

Amar para siempre y siempre.

Hylocereus

Claudio

My life, my blood. Your life, your blood. One and always. Stronger together.

Queen of Alta Noche.

King of Huesos Blanqueados.

Love forever and always.

Hylocereus

Claudio

With two bloody fingerprints intersected on the page, showing a pact made, an evil itch crawled across my skin. “Who the hell is Claudio?” And why was Hylo stated as the Queen?

A better question is, when was this? These pages were early on in the Queen’s book, early enough I’d say my mother and the Queen were maybe in their early twenties, late teens.

Looking through it again, trying to locate a date, or something that would give me further clues to the timing of this, I realize within the pages, the writing style changed. The original fifty or so pages are not the same as the rest. It’s different handwriting all together. Is Piper trying to say my mother was the original Queen and this was her book? That the original ideals and the vindictive nature was that of my mother, and not of Claudine Cruz?

Looking more closely, I see the pattern forming. In the beginning it is a harsh and unyielding mindset, in the later section, the writing is that of adoration for the strength it took to be that dangerous and malicious person. Claudine loved my mother. Hylo was held in a place of honor. She was on a pedestal.

Flipping the pages, looking more closely now at it all, I finally see at the bottom right side of each page there is a simple set of letters.

F Q II E L G

Looking at the legend Piper gave me, I find myself scrolling through the original section. This is how they dated the entries, different digits and different characters correlated in Piper’s legend. Using it, the earliest entries are from the mid-eighties. The page with the “Queen and King” pact I quickly realize had a date from July of eighty-eight. It’s the year before I was...

Pausing, I look at the entries in this timeframe. The writing is that of the first person who wrote in the book and not once is Mayhem mentioned. He is not even spoken off until...

Flipping furiously, looking at the dates on the pages where he is mentioned it’s not until nineteen ninety-one.

That means...

“Holy shit!”

Covering my mouth after the loud outburst, I look to Toni, who had been slumbering away. As she stirred, I stood breathing heavily as I internally freaked out about the news.

Pacing the room, feeling my heart crashing against my chest as it thunders, I’m working through the thoughts that are nearly impossible to stop. It all adds up to numbers I don’t wish to acknowledge.

“The dates line up.” I count it out. The dates are a perfect match.

The darker skin, the blue eyes, the build, height, temperament and...

“Fuck.” Cursing low, I dance around the idea this huge bombshell I’m carrying around is something no one can or should know about. Hell, I don’t want to know about it.

I pace the living room as I work through the truth of the dates and how they coincide with my history. Walking to the fridge, pulling free a beer, I take a long swig of it before another heavy curse escapes, “Fuck,” this time a bit too loudly.

“What’s wrong, Quinny?” a groggy Toni asks.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Well, someone shouting out curses tends to wake me.” Pulling her half drank glass of water off the table and sipping it, Toni sits up. Laying her long hair over her shoulder before clearing the sleep from her eyes, she sets the glass down, asking, “Are you okay?”

Fully stressed, edgy, and about to explode, I point at the evil tome on the table before pulling open the fridge door for another beer. “I’m a tad pissed off by the spectacularly painful information I just learned in the Queen’s book.” Yanking the door to the fridge open, finding there is no beer left, and slamming it closed with a heavy sigh, I turn to the half-empty bottle of whiskey that rests on the counter. Grasping a highball from the cupboard, I pour in a thick glug of amber happiness. Sucking a large amount down, hoping it will settle my annoyance, I wrestle with the truth. A truth I still don’t care to believe.

Striding over and placing a hand on my shoulder, Toni tentatively asks again, “I don’t understand. Is there anything I can do?”

Edgy and near the point of exploding, I try to keep my cool with her. Antonia has nothing to do with this revelation. “It doesn’t concern you.”

“I know it’s been a beat since we’ve been around each other, but I still know when you’re about to lose your shit,” she says.

Turning, standing face-to-face with her, I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol, the lack of nutrition and sleep that has my decision making paradigm in flux, but without thinking further about it, “Toni. This is one time you need to give me space and fuck off.”

Crossing her arms, scrunching up her nose, narrowing her gaze, she stares me down. “No. We’re sort of stuck together for the near future and if you’re going to get drunk and lose your shit on me, I won’t stand for it.”

How adorable. She’s trying to act tough.

“You don’t get a choice, Ms. Morriso. If I decide you’re going to be locked in a room filled with fluffy unicorns and childhood dolls of a pedophile then that’s what will happen.” Gulping the remainder of the whiskey down, I refill and sip again. I’ve kept my cool and tried to be as nice as I possibly can, but the reminder of her fucking me over on the stand all those years ago still sits presently in my mind. It may have been years ago to her, but to me, I feel it is just as fresh as it was that day.

“You don’t have to impress me, make me fear you, or have me hate you. I’m way past that. I know you better than you think, and I know what you’re capable of.”

Backing her up to the wall, pressing myself tightly against her, I cage her in with my arms. “I’m not the same man, Toni, and I’m not in the mood for us to take this where it needs to.”

Releasing a heavy breath, “Where is that, Quinlan?”

If she wants to hear it, I’m not one to disappoint her.

“Fine. You want to go there while I’m pissed off. Let’s go there. You fucked me over. I spent eight years in jail while you were in your cushy palatial mansion with cooks, maids, limo drivers, fancy clothing, and parties with the rich and famous. The course of my life shifted to gangs, carefully crafted moments with soap, and an incessant need to trade soup for phone privileges. I didn’t have cushy pillows and happy dreams. I was sleeping with one eye open.

“I thought of you every day. Every day, Toni. I wanted it all to be a sick fucking dream. Then I’d wake up to my orange jumpsuit, a toilet in the corner that smelled like rotting feet, and a roommate who might knife me in my sleep.”

Toni tries to seem defiant. “Did you think I chose to do that? That I had a choice in what happened to you?” She pushes me away. “I didn’t.” Grabbing up the half bottle, she pulls a clean glass from the cupboard. Pouring a heavy amount of the whiskey, she glugs it down in two mouthfuls. “It wasn’t all gummy bears, rainbows, and shopping dates with friends. I had to do as my father said. I had to.” As her phone pings a message, pulling it free of her pocket, an amazing grin crests her face. I’d seen it earlier when we were eating at the park. The phone would bing, she’d look, a smile would light her face, and she’d reply to the other side.

“Who the fuck is it? A fucking boyfriend? Did I take you away from some humorless, pocket protector, first-grade teacher named Charles?”

When I move to take it from her hand, she pulls back fast, slinging it behind her and placing it in her pocket once more. She’s not as forthcoming about giving up her truths. “It’s none of your business, Quinlan. I’m just a payday. We’re not friends, lovers, or even buddies. We’re nothing to one another. You’ve made that abundantly clear.”

“Oh, honey. You’re right. You’re a payday. So let me be perfectly clear, we were a thing. You ruined it. I grew up faster than I wanted. I became the king of my domain because that’s what you made me be.” Pointing to the tattoo on my right arm, Death in dark thick script, surrounded by the flames of hell and a caricature of a red and black demon. “That’s on you. I wanted out of it. I wanted to be a defensive end, I wanted college ball. I worked hard to be outside of the club, but you changed the direction of my life, Antonia.” Gulping back my glass of whiskey, allowing the simple burn to coat my throat, I set the empty glass on the counter to refill it. Placing her hand on the top of it, she blocks my chances of dealing with this conversation drunk.

Fuck.

Fine.

She wants this to be a sober moment of hatred, let’s go there.

Pushing up against her again, her spine tight to the wall, her breasts pressing close to my heart, the smell of her hair is wafting upward. Intoxicating, painfully so, I play with the heavy strands lying across her shoulder just begging to be pulled on.

“Don’t,” Toni says softly, not really meaning it with any seriousness. As I lift my hips to push into her, she tries again to seem tough. “Don’t, Quinny. I don’t think I can handle your flip-flop attitude.”

“Don’t what, Antonia? Don’t feel emotions. Don’t remember what it was like to have you under me? Don’t remember what it was like to feel you squirm and squeal when I would make your clit pulse. To feel your heart race and your breathing hitch when I would make you come silently in your father’s home. Which part is it you don’t want from me, Antonia?”

“I can’t do this again. It cost me everything last time. I can’t—”

“You can’t? It cost you everything?” I lean close, ready to argue with her. “I do as I please, Antonia. I take what I want now. There is no room for can’t in my life.”

“You’re not that man who takes what they want. I may not know Death, but I know you, Quinny. You are not that man.”

On that she’s right. I don’t take from women what is not given freely. “Fine, Toni. I’m going to ask you a question, and if you tell me the truth I’ll leave you alone, and we’ll never speak of it again. I’ll back off. Just remember I know you better than most. I know when you lie.”

Turning her eyes my way, trying to appeal to my better judgment, which at this moment, I don’t have a “better judgment,” I ask, “Why did you lie and send me to jail instead of those fucking assholes who were the criminals?” Her answer will determine where we go with this next.

Pushing me away from her gently, Toni attempts to walk out of the kitchen. I block her path. I want the answer. “I had to make a hard decision between my future and you. I chose what I thought was right.”

“So a Prada bag took precedence,” I snidely remarked.

“No, Quinny. I didn’t choose money and fame.” Placing a hand along my cheek, softly stroking it once, before I halt her, she carries on, “I had no choice.”

I remove her hand. “We all get a choice, Antonia. Your choice is what has made you a hostage of the Army. Your family, who you chose, they threw you to me as if you were a stray cat that pissed on their favorite shrubbery. You mean no more to them than their illegal immigrant gardeners do.”

As she’s about to reply, probably to curse me out for calling her an unwanted member of her household, when her phone pings twice quickly.

“Give me your phone.”

Removing her hand from my face, she looks frightened and backs away. “No,” Toni grinds her teeth defiantly.

“It’s not a request. Give me the phone.”

“No. You may be the leader of your men and can tell them what to do, but not me.”

Reaching around her, I cage her in so I can pull free the phone. “I won’t have you fucking texting some lovesick asshole while you’re in my home, telling him how you care for him, how you want to be with him, and wish you were lying naked beside him, all as I keep you safe.” Grasping it, I pull it free as she wrestles to gain it back. “If he wasn’t man enough to keep you safe, then he doesn’t deserve you.” Right now, I’d love nothing more than to knock his perfect fucking teeth in so he can’t smugly smile her way ever again.

“It’s not like that! It’s not, I swear. Just give me the phone back, please!” She’s clearly distressed I have her lifeline to her lover. “Please, Quin. Don’t.”

Turning the screen my way once I finally get Toni’s grubby mitts off of it, it lights up with the texts bannered across the face.

Don’t be worried. I’ll be fine.

Love you, Mom. Be safe.