Chapter Nineteen
Pumpkin Head
Anthony
If I was smart, I would have helped myself to some of Mak’s powder. I knew where he kept it stashed, he always left it at the clubhouse, so he didn’t ever risk getting caught with it at home with his family.
Instead, I nursed a bottle of whiskey in the conference room until I eventually laid my head down.
I knew better than to let them catch me snoozing, but there was only so long a person could stare at four walls or the two assholes they left to babysit me. My brother and Oak were both currently enlisted, and sometimes, I enjoyed hearing their stories and inside jokes.
Today wasn’t that day.
Even my dreams were haunted by that girl. She had a way of flashing a half-smile, and catching it slightly before letting it fully bloom. It made her seem shy, which was hilarious, all things considered.
She was standing in front of me, doing just that, in my dream. When that smile took hold of her perfect features, I was snapped back to consciousness with what felt like a python around my neck. My lungs flailed, my body desperate for air that I just couldn’t manage to draw.
Before I could get my eyes opened and focused, something rocked me.
Pain exploded across my face with a vicious bone-on-bone pop.
I saw spots and my teeth violently clicked.
My jaw caught and on top of all that hell, I remember thinking it was dislocated, but then something struck me on the right cheek, and it popped back in so loud and hard I probably would have cried out if I had any ability to make a sound beyond the grunting, slight huffs I was managing around Vick’s meaty arm.
I couldn’t see shit, but I knew there were only two motherfuckers with arms that broad, and Oak didn’t have the stomach for this kind of thing. Military warring, and enforcing codes on those you loved were two different things in his world.
My efforts to wrestle free were met with rib shots that left no doubt.
That was Big Vick breaking ribs with a half-hearted punch.
I saw stars again and it wasn’t even my damn head that got hit.
“You know, them Chicago cocksuckers were onto something. I like this…. What did they say the street fucks called it?” Mark’s venomous voice bit through the fog, alerting me to his presence in front of me.
“Pumpkinhead?” Makaveli didn’t sound so sure, “You’re not doing it right, they said you’re supposed to hold their arms out like Jesus on the–”
“Shut the fuck up, or I’ll correct and perfect my technique on your dumb ass,” Mark barked at his son.
My left eye was already swelling, but the room slowly came into focus. Vick’s arm loosened from my neck, his other fist taking hold of my hair and hefting my neck back at an odd angle.
“Where the fuck were you?” Mark asked, before catching my cheek with a sharp little slap.
I darted my chin back and Vick jerked up, like he meant to rip my head off my body.
“Say it.” Mark smiled, all but daring me.
I was still coughing so hard my eyes were profusely watering.
He was positioned between my feet, pretending to be unbothered by my long, flailing legs. I wasn’t trying to trip him, or get away, I was dry-heaving and every breath felt like I’d swallowed a handful of nails now that I could freely draw air again.
I finally got a hold of myself enough to realize Mark was waiting on an answer.
“Why were you in Springfield?” he boomed.
“Daisy,” I tried to wet my lips, but my tongue felt like sandpaper, and I was reeling from the headshots just a little too much to fluently finish my lie. “Daisy is tripping.”
The shadows shifted and Montana raised a beer bottle, saluting the statement. My gaze narrowed on him as he brought the bottle to his lips and swigged.
The entire right side of his face was lined with claw marks.
Shit.
I forgot Daisy had already been to visit.
“No shit. Why? Why is she tripping… You know what. Never mind all that. Why weren’t you at the meeting? Hmm? Why were you in Springfield instead of at the club meeting, Anthony? What was more important than the club?”
Vick’s arm might as well have been at my neck again.
Hearing Mark twist her into that…
Nothing came before the club.
Nothing could ever come before the club.
Anything that became a threat of that kind got eliminated.
“Nothing.”
“What?” Mark dropped down to a squat, forcing my legs apart as he invaded my space, either hand claiming an arm of the chair I was sitting in. His cold eyes were wrinkled at the corner, but it wasn’t from smiling. It was from squinting just like he was doing right now.
Staring at me like he was so beyond disgusted and disappointed that he couldn’t stand the sight of me anymore.
It was how he’d always looked at Makaveli when we were growing up.
Rage boiled through me. I’d never backed down from my own father, and Chef Aviston was more of a bastard than Mark Miller could ever dream of being. He was dead, and had been for a long time.
Having a grown man get in my face and not only interrogate me, but to try and manipulate my testimony and situation…
Goddamn. I wanted to slam my face into his so hard we both lost teeth. My jaw grated so hard it could have been a sound effect for Tales from the Crypt.
I forced myself to exhale all that turbulent energy, and reminded myself that better outlaws than me had named him president of our pack. It had to be for a reason. Even if I was too pissed off to see it right now.
He was a top tier asshole, but we were family. Not blood. But, family.
“Nothing ever comes before my club,” I calmly repeated, through the throbbing in my mouth.
“Good.” Mark nodded, stepping back finally. “That’s really good, because you know… When Mak met Sasha, I had to sit him down and explain a few things to him.”
C.C. snorted, and Vick let go of my hair, while Mark rattled on, “I showed him this little tool my neighbor uses on his livestock, and I let him know… That if some little piece of ass ever got in the way of club business… I’d make sure his brain never had to compete for blood flow again.
You’re too fucking old for threats like that Anthony, I’m not going to bother showing you anything of the sort, but if I ever find out some little twat kept you from being there when the club called…
” His eyes pinched just a little more and he nodded, leaving it to hang, while he moved down the length of the table and took his seat like nothing had happened.
“Get them assholes in here. I’m fucking tired, I’m cranky, I want to go home.”
The door squeaked behind me and Montana’s slow, Oklahoma accent called over the music in the bar, “Tables been called. Let’s do this, gentlemen.”
I held my jaw and closed my eyes, trying to be as still as I possibly could, just to keep the ache in my side to a minimum.
The room was unusually full, since Oak and my brother were deployed. They straddled a line, and Mark preferred to keep them incognito for his own benefit.
Large stacks of money were divided around the table, to everyone but me. When Mark finished passing out what he would, he still had a mountain of cash in front of him. It was probably twice what everyone else had been allotted, if not better.
“Know what this is?” Mark asked, smiling broadly at me.
I tried not to roll my eyes, already knowing he was about to half it between us and say a portion would have been mine.
“Hmm?” He doubled down, when I didn’t take the bait.
I flipped my hand up like I was clueless.
“This is the runner's cut, Anthony. All of it.” He swirled his pointer around the stack, leaving a little smear on the waxed surface of the table. “It would have been yours… but since you were a no call, no show…”
He shrugged and his finger abruptly stopped moving.
I locked my tongue against the back of my teeth just to keep from calling bluff. No way did he mean to give me that much and not his road captain.
I broke eye contact just to glance at C.C.
His elbow was on the table, his chin resting idly on his hand. He didn’t avoid eye contact, but I wasn’t reassured by what I found, either.
“Now.” Mark said the word a little louder than necessary, “Now, we’re all stuck paying a little from our own individual pockets to go with this. You know, to cover the person who stood in for you.”
He snapped his finger, tapped that stubby pointer on the table. A chorus of grumbling erupted as stacks were passed back, until the pile was increased by a third.
“The guys have to pay to cover your fuck up.” He sneered, like I was too slow to catch on the first time he spelled it all out.
I boiled inside all over again. I knew better than to meet his gaze, I’d swing.
“It’s alright, you’ll make your absence up to them, same as me,” a quiet, bass-filled tone rumbled from the doorway.
“Get the fuck out,” Makaveli laughed, shooting out of the seat next to his father.
“Holy shit, they finally let you out?” C.C. grinned, as our vice president, Slutty Benji, strolled in and paused to shake up with him.
“They had to, I served the whole damn bit. Fuck them and their parole.” Benji smiled like he’d really stuck it to them. He took his cut off the back of the chair that had been reserved for him, even during his incarceration, and shoved an arm into it.
He’d done a dime for the club, came out and been named vice president.
His parole officer knew what he was up to with the Steel Disciples, but he could never catch Benji.
They began making his life miserable, adding court recommended evaluations and finding reasons to mess with him.
When they insisted on an ankle monitor, he held firm and opted for prison time instead.
I thought he was nuts, but he swore every day out in the world was worth two in as far as the time counting goes with sentencing.
I don’t know how to do inmate math. How do you get excited about a year of shared showers? For me, it wasn’t just the lack of pussy, but the actually being told when you can touch your own dick that made me twitchy about police encounters.
I’d hit a century and not think twice, before I pulled over most days…
And, Slutty Benji had just walked in and let them cuff him?
Absolutely not. Ten minutes in a cell was too fucking long by my math, and I didn’t give a damn if they were selling good time or any of that, I still wasn’t biting.
The thought of sitting in a cell and not knowing when I’d see her again would drive me over the edge. I’d hurt someone or lose my mind.
It was a helluva thought to have, considering my occupation.
I stared at the mountain at the end of the table and swallowed hard.
What would that money mean to her? A girl who was too stressed to smile over a lousy-ass night shift at a place like the Pink Cabaret?
Jesus.
I hated her being so far away. What if someone got out of hand? Would those goons get to her quickly enough? I’d put myself between them and her, hadn’t I?
My thoughts shifted and swayed, between fucking her on a pile of money, and itching to call her.
My eyes closed and I exhaled much harder than I intended.
Fuck.
I never got her number.
“We boring you, handsome?” Slutty Benji, demanded.
My right eye snapped open and the left caught in a stiff squint.
He hissed and nodded, “Yeah, I guess we are, you need some ice.”
“Fuck that.” Mark sniffed, waving at Benji’s seat. “Sit down. Let me go over shit.”
He glared at me while the room grew quiet again.
“Floor’s yours, prez,” Montana quietly urged.
Mark glared at him, before sniffing again, “Right. As you all know we couldn’t take the entire load this morning.” I felt his hard glare on me but didn’t look up. “So, we’re going back up tomorrow, as long as Romeo can fit us into his agenda?”
Jesus, fuck.
“Yeah,” I grunted.
“Good. Good. See you then.” He looked at me as the table began to stir and stand, “Your babysitters can drive you home in the Tahoe. It’s yours for the duration of the trip.
So is the rental bill, since it must be extended.
You can pay those back, before you start earning again. ” He pointed at the money on the table.
Everyone started leaving in a hurry, while my gaze lingered on the pile, a sick knot forming in my stomach.
“I don’t even know how much money that is,” I quietly protested the debt.
I made enough money to show off a little hauling the club's weed and business around, but that…
“It’s sixty grand. The Tahoe is another three, if you have it back by noon tomorrow.” He winked, hooked an arm around Benji and started toward the bar.
“Your face,” Oak teased, his eyes glistening with barely restrained amusement.
I glared at him.
It was definitely not the time to be fucking with me. I’d had about all the ball busting I was gonna put up with for one day. He was barely even patched in.
Well, he was unpatched.
Whatever the fuck that meant.
I snorted and shook my head.
“What the hell were you staring off like that for, anyhow?” Oak continued, that easy laughter of his finally erupting.
I stopped in the doorway, looked back at him and recalled what his brother had said about him being in love with Crystal since he was a little boy.
Even though that little voice said abort mission, there was something about her that made me half fucking feral. That white-hot streak of triumph and my territorial nature burned a little too brightly, and I lost control of my own tongue.
“I was remembering what it was like staring at Crystal Nance’s pouty lips while they tasted my name.
I unraveled your pretty, pink dream at the seams, Oak.
” I smiled, “She about broke my dick in half with that little snapper of hers. I had to pretzel her up like you would not believe, but I think I finally taught her to take it all.”
Fuck, yeah, I did.
Everything in my face hurt, but I smiled, before doubling down on my claim when his expression fell, “I’m gonna fucking marry that girl, just you watch and see.”