Chapter 18 – Oske
Chapter Eighteen
Oske
Twenty-Two Miles Away From Deacon’s Casino…
I sit on the stairs of my new house with a freshly rolled joint – the best tobacco from the rez sprinkled throughout – ready to celebrate my lifelong dream of owning a house that isn’t just a double wide. This split-level ranch might not be enormous, but it has two floors and every square foot of this place belongs to me. There is no way in hell I’m getting another girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. It’s just going to be me and… maybe I’ll get a dog.
The sound of motorcycle engines threaten to ruin my high. Ugh. I don’t want to spend every waking minute of my day dealing with bikers. I still hate most of them, although the Shaw brothers over time have proven themselves to be well-meaning idiots at worst. I tap some ash out onto the ground and listen a little closer. Two bikes. Hawk and Steel?
I stand up and try to look out over the flat farmland surrounding my new house for bikes in the distance. Shiny, noisy beasts burst down the length of highway, drawing closer. Who else could they be coming for, but me? I keep a Sig Sauer pistol in a holster on my side – a gift from Ruger for a job I did – so I don’t worry too much about the approaching bikers.
I just need to know who the fuck they are…
My worries vanish immediately when I recognize the pair. Not Hawk and Steel. Fuck. I take the biggest inhalation of my joint that my lungs can muster up before they get here and let myself cough it out until tears prickle the sides of my eyes. If they’re here, my peace is over. Wyatt skids to a stop in front of my house, ignoring my designated parking spaces. Owen’s bike respectfully trots between the white cones, but he nearly falls off when he tries to kick it down.
There goes my peace. Wyatt looks like a rattlesnake bit him when he takes his helmet off. Naturally, he has a problem. These idiots always have a problem. They pay well, so I really can’t complain about that side of things, but they have a way of never leaving me alone for long enough to get some peace of mind.
White men bring chaos everywhere they go. That much about them stays true throughout the decades.
“I was about to enjoy an evening alone,” I say to Wyatt, trying to be as rude as possible so he turns around and leaves.
“Yeah?” he growls. “Now you’re about to enjoy an evening with me and Owen.”
“Has that been approved by your wife?”
“Shut the fuck up, Oske,” Wyatt snarls. I want to put my joint out on this giant’s arm.
“You do realize that you’re driving up to my house in the evening, right before dinner, and attacking me? This is why I steal from you, Wyatt. ”
“She’s joking,” Owen says, patting Wyatt on the back. I roll my eyes.
“What do you want?”
“There are secrets going on in the club,” Wyatt says, spitting aggressively next to my stairs. I wrinkle my nose. I don’t know how straight women do it.
“Our brother and Deacon Hollingsworth had a secret meeting, then Ethan fucks off to Boston and won’t take our calls. That’s all he means.”
“They’re probably trafficking women.”
“Do you have PROOF!? ” Wyatt yells.
“Is there something wrong with him?” I ask Owen while giving Wyatt the side-eye.
“Anna’s pregnant again.”
“That’s my news,” Wyatt growls. “Not yours.”
“Why aren’t you happy? Is Owen the dad?”
“I’m gonna punch your front teeth out,” Owen grunts. “Get me a beer and some of that weed. This is fucking serious.”
White men convinced the whole world they’re run by reason and logic when the truth is, they’re highly emotional and can’t even take my simplest jokes. Whatever.
“Sure, come on in. I would love to have two mountain goats ruin my perfect evening and waste my weed.”
Wyatt glares at me while I roll up for Owen, even if I got them both beer. (I don’t want either of them eyeing the venison in my fridge and asking for a cut). I don’t know why he’s always so mad at me.
“What? You look pissed. I didn’t do anything,” I say when I finish rolling the joint for Owen.
“You’re keeping secrets. Someone is keeping secrets.”
“Deacon has a problem with women. I was serious about my suggestion. ”
“Ethan is not trafficking women,” Wyatt snarls. “He would never do that and I don’t know what the fuck the Hollingsworth boys do in secret, but… it doesn’t seem right. I could find that out easily.”
“I counted his money the other day,” Owen says. “That Seneca girl told me Deacon has secret transactions with you, and she thought the Ethan situation could be connected to that.”
They mean Deacon’s sex trafficking. Men might call it something else, but he buys women and takes them to some type of BDSM dungeon, paying them well enough that most of them never return, but they also never talk about it again. I’m glad Keyshawn took her money and ran off to Chicago.
I miss her but… I know she’s safe over there. Straight women are highly susceptible to falling in love with men that are downright dangerous. I warned Keyshawn to take her money and disappear, even if it hurts to have fewer friends at The Fire Spot and the other places I work in the area.
“I can’t talk about my transactions with Deacon.”
“You would if I put a gun to your head,” Wyatt mutters idly, continuing his menacing glare while he drinks the beer from my fridge.
“Then put a gun to my head,” I reply calmly, sliding the finished joint across the table to Owen, who lights it up in my house without asking. I make a mental note to pickpocket him the next time I see him drunk.
“Don’t fucking tempt me,” Wyatt says.
Owen steps in as peacemaker. “Look. We’re just saying… If Ethan is involved in anything crazy, we want to know. He disappeared to Boston and we have families. We can’t just fuck off to Boston.”
“He has a gambling problem,” I remind them. “Maybe he’s gambling. ”
“No,” Wyatt says, rolling his set of green dice over the tops of his hands. “I would know the signs.”
“If it makes you feel better, I have never done any joint business with Ethan and Deacon. I handle a private matter for Deacon, which he pays me very well for, but it has nothing to do with the club.”
“But it’s a secret.”
“Isn’t your sex life a secret?” I ask Wyatt.
Owen laughs. “Not to his neighbors, I’m guessing.”
Wyatt glares at Owen for a change, not like his brother cares.Those boys are too dumb sometimes, and I’m beginning to suspect that even if he stumbled in here like a drunken bear, Wyatt actually wants my help. He wants me to think of something.
“Why don’t you send a spy out to watch Ethan?” she says. “Find a club member you can trust who has nothing better to do.”
“Like you?” Wyatt says.
“Women can’t be club members.”
Especially not Indian women, but I don’t want to get into a heated discussion with these boys.
“I’ll watch Deacon,” I suggest. “Owen says he was counting money, which means Deacon was out of town. He hasn’t requested my personal services for… two weekends.”
“Are you fucking him?” Wyatt asks.
“Don’t be disgusting. I’m gay. Mostly. Bi, if the guy is worth something to me.”
“That’s enough,” Wyatt growls. “What you crave is attention… and pissing me off.”
I roll my eyes at Wyatt’s homophobic comment. He really thinks it’s original, but it’s not worth getting into an argument with him over it. Not when I can double charge him for the Deacon situation .
“Listen, I can watch Deacon, but I’ll have to cancel my elk hunting trip to Montana.”
The trip I just pulled out of my ass so I can charge him double.
“Elk hunting?”
“I’m native ,” I say to Wyatt, glaring at him with the intention of calling him racist. Owen puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder, encouraging him to calm down and acknowledge his racism for questioning my hunting trip.
“Understandable,” Owen says. “You want money.”
“Whose money are you offering so freely?” Wyatt snaps at him.
“We need to know what’s happening with Ethan,” Owen says. “And I don’t want to hunt either of those fuckers down. We’ll give her a little cash and Oske will find us a good spy in the club to send out East.”
“I need another beer,” Wyatt says, walking over to my fridge. Luckily, he doesn’t spot the venison and just returns with three beers. Three? This man is depraved.
“Who knows how long it will take to find your brother in Boston,” I continue. “Maybe a month. That’s a lot of work for a new homeowner.”
Wyatt rolls his eyes. “Here comes the extortion.”
“Bold words from a white guy…”
“Just tell us how much you want,” Owen sighs. “You are like the worst younger sister anyone could have.”
“Good thing we’re not really related. I might charge extra for that.”
“Stop raising the fucking price,” Wyatt says. “Pick a number and my brother will pay.”