Chapter Five
Suck the Floor Out
Menace
A day in solitary confinement could feel like a week. I was three in before a guard appeared in front of my cell at a time the schedule didn’t call for. I glared at the door as he fumbled with the keys and popped it open.
“Zade, you have a visitor.” He informed me, once we were face to face.
It took me a moment to respond, even though I heard him well enough. I slowly stood, my knees popping as I did so. There was only so much movement one could get in the county PC cells. My whole body ached, from the soles I’d paced on, all the way to the migraine I’d been sporting for the past few hours.
I put my hands behind me and tried not to snarl when the cuffs pinched and settled a little tighter than I’d have preferred. One had to pick their battles. They’d be off in moments, for a thorough search prior to my entering the visiting room. Bitching about it now meant I’d be in them longer or I may lose my visit entirely.
I marched with him and suffered in silence until the intake guard for the visiting room let me out of them and went through the motions of checking my shoes, clothes, and person.
“I bet you say that shit in your sleep, huh,” I cooed at the guard once we were on our way to the room with the tables.
“Hm?”
“Squat, spread, cough.” I injected as much authority into those three words as I could muster.
I recognized Larissa’s abrupt giggle down the hall, but I didn’t take my eye off the guard who had searched me.
He scowled hard as the visiting room door buzzed open, but he didn’t dare do anything with a roomful of witnesses. Especially since half weren’t inmates. He nudged my right shoulder, roughly encouraging me onward.
I smiled at the chick sitting behind the counter. Her uniform was fresh, her hair was neat, and she was smiling like she was operating a Disney ride. They always put the ones who were too friendly for the general population at the visiting room desk. Typically, there was a much more experienced guard assigned to stalk the perimeter of the room. I surveyed the area and instantly found him. He was an eagle-eyed man with broad shoulders, standing behind the table my brother, Henny was sitting at. Across from Henny was Ziggy, our club President.
If there was one thing Zig was good at, it was that military gaze. The man’s eyes were weathered at the edges and expressed more sentiment than his mouth usually did. Currently the lines were tight, and that gaze narrowed with disbelief and disappointment.
There was no doubt the man was labeling me the world’s biggest dumb ass. I knew it, and so did eagle eye.
“You gentlemen gonna be okay here?” he asked.
I snorted and sank down onto a stool between Zig and Henny at the round table.
“Are you?”
“Shut the fuck up.” Henny sniffed, and abruptly jerked his neck making it crack loudly. His good eye closed and his shoulders dropped.
“We’re fine,” he rumbled at the guard.
The man lingered momentarily and then continued his path around the room, his gaze returning to us every few steps.
When he made it to the clock over the water fountain, halfway around the room, Ziggy growled under his breath. My gaze snapped to his disgust-filled eyes, and he slowly shook his head.
“You know who the Double Nickels are, bud?” His words came on a low rasp of breath that didn’t pause long enough for me to answer, “Do you have any fuckin’ inkling of the shit storm you’ve set fire to?”
I took a deep breath. Zig could be discreet. He could do that shit and have these types of conversations in public. I could not. My voice rose with my temper, it always had. I didn’t want to incriminate myself, and I damn sure, didn’t want to risk incriminating my club or the people I held dearest. So, I remained quiet, even if I knew it would make Zig boil.
I had to.
The silence thickened and stretched. Zig’s fingers drew tightly into his palm as his jaw set and his chin lifted in acknowledgement of what he likely considered defiance or disrespect. It was neither. I loved the man as much as my own brother.
He was the head of our pack, and I would die demanding his respect. I wanted to make them understand without diving too deep or risking too much of a scene in the stuffy visiting room.
“How’s your eye, brother?” I looked at Henny, finally breaking the stare down with Zig.
Henny flinched, that one good eye settling on me, before he asked, “Is that supposed to be funny?”
“No.” I abruptly denied, clearing my throat, “It was supposed to be restitution.”
Henny’s features instantly relaxed and settled back on his stool but not Zig.
“Rest– You little cocksucker, be glad…” His voice had started to rise into a normal tone, and he paused when he realized it. Ziggy’s jaw trembled and his dark eyes burned through me. “You be fuckin’ glad I don’t have nobody in here with you, Menace. You hear me?”
I didn’t just hear him, my blood turned to ice water and every fiber in my being sat up and took note.
“Are you saying–?” I finally found my voice.
“I said what the fuck I said,” Zig snapped, before shooting out of his chair and barking at the visiting desk, “Open that goddamn door. Now.”
Henny scrambled after him, holding his hands up apologetically at the gal behind the desk, while ol’ eagle eye darted toward them.
I numbly stared at my hands. They were covered in Dirty Savage ink. My knuckles were scarred from fighting the club’s many battles. I’d known what I wanted ever since I was a kid. I wanted to be feared and respected. As an adolescent, it became clear to me that there was one sure fire path to both.
The patch.
I’d lived and breathed for it ever since I had that epiphany.
Now I was out bad?
I slice one wrong throat and I’m out… just that quick.
I forced myself to get control of my spiraling anger. It was easy to see things that way, but I had to be real. The Double Nickel gang was one branch of a three-headed monster otherwise known as the Irish mafia.
I’d hurled my own blood brother and the club I loved into a war with one drunken mistake.
I couldn’t blame them for putting me out. Shit, I couldn’t blame them for putting me down if it came to that.
I was on my own and I had no one to blame but myself and that fucking temper of mine.
“Boy, for someone who was spitting all that bullshit earlier, you sure are quiet now,” the guard poked at me.
I blinked and realized my hands were no longer cuffed. The familiar confines of my protective custody cell were staring back at me. I turned to face the man, but I really didn’t know what to say.
“Shut the fuck up and get out.” I huffed, unable to fully find my voice or stop the tremble that shot down my arms and settled in my hands.
I was on my own and the Irish mafia and my own club both wanted me to pay. The door loudly locked and my knees buckled.