Chapter Twenty
James
Doing nothing is more difficult than starting an all-out war would have been.
Tension among the Saints grows tighter every day.
Theo doesn’t even tell June what happened until they get back from California because he was worried she’d hop on the first flight back.
Secretly, I’m thankful, because it gives me another reason to avoid Sadie.
I can’t tell her either, so I might as well not talk to her at all.
We’re swallowing the hit. At least, publicly. We plan the funeral, which a few Saints members from other chapters attend, but make no outright move to retaliate. Instead, we gather information and leverage, letting the South Five relax.
But while it feels like we’re doing nothing, we aren’t.
Daryus oversees ensuring we claim power over the prison and get the new warden in our pocket.
Meanwhile, I work on learning more about the Fivers’ drug trafficking system.
Who their on the ground sellers are. Where they buy from.
What their transportation looks like. How they launder their money.
On Saturday night, Nico accompanies me to a high school house party. As a trust fund kid from Catalina Foothills, he’s uniquely qualified for the mission and knows the kid who’s throwing the party.
“His older brother and I were on the baseball and swimming teams together,” he had explained.
We take Luna’s Lexus ES, which her dad had bought her before she joined the Saints and got herself cut off. It’ll fit in much better than my Jeep would.
“You’re positive his parents won’t be there?” I ask as we near the neighborhood. We drive past houses that probably cost at least two million.
“Yes,” Nico says, itching the skin under his cast. “They never are, especially on the weekends. Garret would throw parties every Saturday night, and it seems Jeremy has carried on the tradition.”
Sure enough, we roll up to the giant house to see the looped driveway filled with vehicles far too nice for high schoolers.
But everyone I see walking around is clearly a kid.
It’s bewildering to watch. What must it be like to grow up with this kind of wealth and privilege?
Where everything you want or need is there at your fingertips?
Yet the kids are still desperately searching for escapes.
Parties, alcohol, drugs. Hell, even Nico and Luna are proof that lavish lifestyles do nothing but apply better makeup to the face of corruption.
Both happily left behind the luxuries of their childhoods for the tumultuous MC life because they craved authenticity and belonging.
Maybe more excitement, too, but I think what they really wanted was the lasting security found in a loyal family, rather than the fleeting security of money.
“Damn, they look young,” Nico says as we watch two girls walk past. Their skirts are so short that I look away, instantly feeling like a pervert. I’m twice the age of most kids here, and that awareness makes me want to turn around and abandon this plan.
“Alright, their dealer should be here.” Nico unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches for the door handle. “If he’s smart, he’ll run as soon as he sees you.”
“I know, Nico. Just get him outside and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“You got it.” He climbs from the car, walking confidently into the house.
I picture him doing the same thing four years ago as a student, probably enjoying the attention of his fellow classmates and excited for a night of rich kid debauchery.
I didn’t know him then, but I can imagine how much he’s changed and aged since.
He nearly died at the hands of a gang and is now caught in a war with them, partly because of his choice of a lover.
I wait a few minutes before following. I stand behind a pillar near the side door where Nico said they’d exit from. When my phone pings with a message from him, I reposition so anyone walking outside won’t immediately see me.
Then the door opens and out walks a guy a few inches shorter than Nico, with a shaved head and piercings lining his ears. I waste no time in slamming my fist into the back of his head, knocking him out cold.
"Couldn't just choke him out?” Nico asks, looking down at the crumpled man.
"Doesn't last as long,” I answer. “Now help me carry him.”
We take him back to the car, tying his hands and feet and slapping duct tape over his mouth before stuffing him in the trunk. Then we make the drive to the gym, which is empty and insulated so no one will hear the screams.
~
The dealer rattled off a list of names half an hour into torturing him. I stuck to punches and breaking bones so there wouldn’t be blood to clean up. Then I tie a bag over his head and call Axel to come help Nico deal with the body. This should be an easy disposal, so Ace shouldn’t be necessary.
I don’t get the chance to update Theo on what we learned until Sunday morning. The dealer had enough information for us to hopefully take over all dealings in the Foothills, which will increase our earnings and cut off a significant portion for the Fivers.
“I won’t sell to kids,” Theo says as we discuss the best way to do this. We’ll have to buy more from our suppliers, but we have drivers who can move the money, and if Nico helps Axel sell, we’ll be able to handle it.
“We won’t cut the shit like the Fivers do, so it’ll be safer than theirs,” I reason.
“Not kids, James.”
Frustration flares, but I push it down. Growing up in the system, Theo saw drugs ruin and take far too many lives. But what he’s not acknowledging is that these kids’ experiences are completely different than his. They’re snorting coke for a high, not doing and selling drugs to survive.
“We’ll stick to party drugs. Shrooms, weed, LSD, and cocaine. Nothing harder.”
“No.”
“T—”
“No kids!”
I pull air in through my nose and close my eyes before replying. “If we don’t do it, someone else will.”
“Then we’ll kill them.”
“We don’t have the time or manpower. The Fivers were selling meth, fentanyl, and Rohypnol. This will be better.”
He pauses, and I watch the internal battle play out on his face. Finally, he says, “Shrooms, weed, and LSD only. Cocaine to adults.”
I want to argue, because cocaine is what most of those kids are doing at these parties, but I know this is the most I’ll get out of him, so I agree.
He doesn’t look happy, and I share his sentiment, because I don’t want to sell to kids either.
But I know Nico will cut them off far sooner than the Fiver dealers would, and this way, the risk of anyone unintentionally buying something mixed with more dangerous drugs, like fentanyl, will be much lower.
Plus, it will hurt the Fivers and help us earn some much needed cash. It’s the lesser of two evils.
Our conversation continues with an endless list of matters we need to attend to for another hour. Once my head starts pounding, I excuse myself and head for the gym.
The entire time I’m attacking the punching bag, moments of regret play in a loop in my head. The most painful ones are rooted in that terrible day nearly eight years ago. Her voice, mine, his. All of them reverberate in my skull like ghosts set on taunting me for eternity.
“Please, baby.”
“Won’t make it later, sorry.”
“She’s gone.”
I slam my fist into the bag, blinking back a burning in my eyes. Sweat drips down my temple as I struggle to force the memories back. But their absence just leaves space for more recent regrets. Images of Matthew’s broken body morph into Sadie’s hurt expression.
“Stop trying to be June.”
“Fuck you.”
“Shit,” I groan, knowing that I’ll once again be suffering through a sleepless night.