Chapter Thirteen
Cruz
“Are you about ready?” Tank shoved a cigarette between his lips.
“Yeah.” We needed to make a last round on the property before the end of our shift. The warehouse in the industrial park had offices in the front and activities I didn’t need to know about in the back.
Sometimes, ignorance was bliss. If I was a betting man, and I wasn’t because I always lost, I had a good idea that my bosses dealt in more than fine wine and diamonds.
I’d signed an NDA and was basically told they’d gut me like a fish if I talked about the work I did for them. They hadn’t given me a lot of choice, but I’d accepted what I was getting into. I worked for the fucking mafia.
My job wasn’t to ask questions but to stay out of sight and monitor the grounds. I wasn’t allowed in the building unless I needed to take a leak. There was a restroom in the lobby, along with a coffeepot and a water cooler.
Doors had biometric locks, and there were more surveillance cameras than the craps tables in Vegas.
“Final check.”
The command came through my earpiece. The first fingers of dawn crawled along the distant horizon. Night shift sucked, but the money was good. I stuck to the shadows. Gravel crunched beneath my boots as I walked the perimeter of the building.
Loading bays lined the west side of the structure. One truck bumped the dock a couple hours ago. Where the fuck was Kodiak? He’d been assigned to watch the bay door while cargo was unloaded.
I circled the truck twice, checked around the side of the building, and scanned the distance. I pulled my weapon and dropped my arm to my side. I wasn’t a gangster. Pulling a gun still hadn’t become second nature to me.
Since day one on the job, I’d figured I’d lucked into the easiest job on the planet. Carry a gun, stay awake, walk the perimeter, and talk shit with Tank and Kodiak all night.
For the first time, an uneasy feeling snaked along my spine. Hair on the back of my neck prickled. There should be at least one mafia suit with the truck, and Kodiak should have the loading dock secure.
I weaved around the side of the truck. Fuck this. I could see into the warehouse. There were unloaded crates, empty space, and dark corners.
No bosses, no Kodiak, and no guy from the truck. I leapt onto the dock and peered into the building without stepping a toe inside. Rules were fucking rules. Unless I had permission to enter, my ass was staying on the dock.
I pushed the touch to talk button on my radio. “Tank, I’m at the truck.” I spoke low. “Where the fuck is Kodiak?”
“Kodiak check in.” Tank’s voice came through the earpiece. No response from Kodiak. “On my way.”
I jumped back down from the dock and continued to scan the area. Seconds ticked by. I turned just as Kodiak jumped from the dock.
“Where were you?” I slid my gun back into my shoulder harness.
Kodiak sniffed, stiffened his shoulders, and strode past me. “Doing my fucking job.”
Tank hustled around the side of the building. “What happened?” he asked Kodiak.
“You tell me. I’ve been here the whole night.”
Nah. He was full of shit. He’d been inside the building. Kodiak narrowed his gaze on me, almost as if daring me to contradict him. Voices sounded from the dock.
“Is there a problem?” One of the bosses in a suit asked. I didn’t know the hierarchy of the mafia, but the guy didn’t appear to have a sense of humor.
“Everything is secure,” Tank said. “No problem.”
Without missing a beat, he turned and strode back into the building.
Tank stepped closer to Kodiak. “Don’t fuck around.”
“Took a leak. That’s it.”
“You sneeze in the wind, you call it in. You need to take a piss, you call it in. If you see, hear, or smell something that isn’t reeking of Italian business, you call it in. Understood?”
“No problem.”
Tank stepped back. “Fuck me over, and I’ll fuck you up.”
I walked with Tank toward the front of the building. “He was in the warehouse.”
“I know. Watch your back kid. You can’t trust a fucking Crawler.”
Former Crawler. Bullet had destroyed the former rival MC. Vega and Steele were solid. After tonight, I wasn’t sure about Kodiak.
After work, I stopped off for fast food on my way to the MC. Once I’d eaten, I sent McKelle a text, then climbed into bed to sleep a couple of hours before we headed up to the jail for our visit.
My left butt cheek vibrated and then vibrated again. I must have fallen asleep the moment my head hit the pillow. I reached beneath me, grabbed my phone, and squinted at the caller ID.
I smiled and slid the button to accept. Static filled the line with the recording from the jail.
I combed my fingers through my hair. I must have been tired.
Food wrappers littered the right side of the bed.
I gathered the trash, then propped back on the pillow while I waited for the call to connect.
“Hey.” His voice came through the line.
“I know you miss me, Rizz, but I’m going to see you in a couple of hours.”
Any trace of sleepiness evaporated with the sound of his low, gravelly chuckle. “That’s why I’m calling.”
“If you called to talk to McKelle, she isn’t here.”
“I called to talk to you. Privately.”
My pulse jumped and a rush of heat surged into my cock. “Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of her.” I smiled thinking of the propositions and innuendos I’d levied against him.
“Not this. Visitation is canceled.”
I sat up straighter. “What? Why?”
“Clerical error on the paperwork.”
Heat seared my gut, rose into my chest, and became a tight pressure clawing up my throat. “What happened between last week and this week?” I rested my elbow on my bent knee and closed my eyes for a moment.
I couldn’t think of him in that cell, alone every fucking day, waiting for a fifteen-minute phone call to hold us over until we could see each other again.
“I don’t know. It’s county.”
“She’s going to be devastated.”
“I can’t talk to her.” His breath filled the silence that matched the cadence of my heartbeat. Slow. Ragged. We were both feeling the hit. “She’ll cry, dude. I hate what I’m doing to her.”
“It’s temporary.”
“Yeah, I know.” He sighed. “Tell me something good.”
“I had dinner at McKelle’s. While her dad sorted his food into color coded food groups, he asked about you.” I told Ryatt about Cece riding on the back of my bike, volunteering at the track, and how talking with her parents was so far out of my comfort zone I’d need GPS to find my way back.
Ryatt laughed. “I hate what her parents must think about me.”
“They’re more concerned about my track record than yours.” I reached over and grabbed my cigarettes. “They know you being locked up right now wasn’t your fault. They want you home, too.”
But I hadn’t taken the money for the attorney from them. The MC would cover the costs, and I’d pay back the retainer and additional expenses with weekly payments.
“It still feels weird to think of anywhere but the halfway house as home.”
“The MC has always felt like home, but I want a place of our own.”
“The three of us?”
“Are you open to this conversation?”
The line was quiet.
“Listen, whatever you want, I’m all in, but I’m not sure you’re ready to be all in with me.” I tightened my fingers on the phone. “You don’t have to be. It’s enough that we’re both here for her.”
“I’ve never had a home of my own. The three of us getting a place together sounds good.”
I exhaled a stream of smoke toward the open window. “Something with a garage where we can work on our bikes.”
“When I get another one.”
“A yard without a fucking shed,” I said, loving the excitement in his voice.
“And no locks on the doors.”
“Rizz, I’m making good money, but we aren’t living like my boss with private security.
We need locks on the doors.” It would take me some time to save enough for the first and last. And it would have to be close to her parents.
Something like Bullet had outside of town. A little house with lots of property.
“It sounds so fucking good,” he said. “Like a dream.” He grew quiet again. “Our call is going to end.”
“About visitation, how do we fix the problem? Do I need to come down to the jail? Should I call Willy?”
“No. Just wait a few days.”
“Nah. Fuck that. I need to see you. Once McKelle’s done crying, she’s going to get pissed. I’m all for a good fight and fuck—um—more on that when you get out.”
“I get it. I know you can fuck her happy again.”
“I don’t think that’s going to work this time.” It wasn’t me she missed. It wasn’t me keeping her up at night, her heart was in her throat because he was there and we were here.
“Don’t tell me you’re doubting your skills.”
“It’s not my skills we’re talking about. I’m not a replacement for you.”
“Sorry to break it to you, but you’re all she’s got. I’m locked up. I’m going fucking crazy wanting what I can’t have.” He heaved a heavy exhale of exasperation. “Cruz, I can’t do this.”
I didn’t like the dejected tone of his voice. “Can’t do what? Be specific, Rizz.”
“I can’t pretend that I have any chance of getting out of this. I can’t pretend that it doesn’t eat at me that you’re there with her and I’m here. And you know, it pisses me off that I can’t stop thinking about you, either. The longer this goes on, the harder it’s going to be.”
“I know you’re scared, but you’re not doing this without us.”
“Three weeks feels like a long fucking time. Five years is going to feel like an eternity.”
There was nothing I could say. “You’re entitled to a bad day, Ryatt. But you can’t shut me out.”
“The call’s going to end.”
“Ryatt—”
The call disconnected.
I sent a text to McKelle.
Cruz: Are you on your way? I need you.
McKelle
I sat in the jail visitation lobby waiting for the man sitting behind a glass partition to finish up with a woman wanting to see her son. Apparently, he hadn’t been following the rules.
She continued to argue with the man. “If he knew how to behave, he wouldn’t be in here, would he?”