Chapter 8 #3
Zara blushed prettily and murmured, “Thanks, Bootneck. You’re very sweet to me.”
My brother's face softened, and he gazed at Zara with a goofy smile on his face.
“If there’s anything I can do for you in return, just let me know,” she told him earnestly.
Thug nudged me discreetly.
“How about you show me your appreciation by making me one’a those lemon cheesecakes you’re so good at,” Boot requested.
Zara’s face lit up. “You like my cheesecake?”
“So that’s what the kids are callin’ it these days?” Thug muttered.
Zara’s face burned.
Boot glared at him.
My stare hit my boots, my lips twitching with the effort not to laugh.
“When d’ya wanna go, babe?” Boot asked.
“Whenever you’re free,” Zara replied. “I don’t want to inconvenience you. I know how busy you are.”
“Gimme your digits, babe,” he ordered, slipping his phone out of his pocket. He unlocked it and handed it to her. “I’ll message ya when I’ve got a free hour.”
They gazed at each other for a beat, and then Zara shook her head slightly, like she was waking herself from a daze. Red stained her cheeks, and she programmed her number into Boot’s cell before handing it back to him and whispering, “Thanks, honey.”
He grinned, watching as she scurried away.
“Smooth,” I drawled.
“What?” Boot asked.
“You and Zara,” I shot back. “It’s like watchin’ a cheesy fuckin’ teen drama play out.”
Thug busted out a laugh.
“Jesus Christ,” Boot protested. “She’s a nice girl, and she’s got a medical condition. Don’t want her havin’ to get a bus to go get her meds.”
I got where he was coming from. Zara had epilepsy and needed to take medication every day to keep it under control.
A few days after the club opened, she caught a virus and threw up her medication.
Later, she had an epileptic fit, and I had to admit, it was hard to witness.
Ever since, we’d made sure she was okay, and the club covered the cost of her meds and co-pays.
All the brothers, girls, and even strippers were provided with basic medical insurance, and if they had to pay extra, we tried to help.
Once we opened more businesses and the cash began to roll in, their policies would improve because I wanted clean, healthy brothers and girls, and no high roller would pay big bucks to watch or fuck a nasty ass stripper.
I hadn’t seen a doctor until I joined the military, and I knew that life was hard enough without having to worry about selling everything you owned just to pay for basic medical care.
“Make sure you take enough out of petty cash to pay for it,” I ordered.
“I’ve got it covered,” he assured me, shaking his head. “That’s one of the main things I miss about England. No prescription costs more than ten quid. And if you’re elderly or a kid or have a lifelong condition like epilepsy that can’t be cured, you don’t pay jack shit.”
I took a swig of coffee. “Stop your fuckin’ whinin’. Your health insurance doesn’t come outta your pocket.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “You say I’m whinin’. Thirty minutes ago, you beat the fuck outta Rodeo ’cause you were in such a damned snit over Aislynn ghostin’ you. Bet you feel like an even bigger bellend now Thug’s told you she saved your ass with Hank.”
“Bellend,” Thug chuckled under his breath. “You Brits have the best insults.” He topped up his coffee, grinning and shaking his head as he passed the pot to Boot.
“Prez,” a voice called.
I craned my neck to see Wiki heading toward us, his iPad in hand.
He may have been the biggest damned geek you ever met, but he still looked like Henry fucking Cavill with glasses. He had a Clark Kent thing going on, except he was way more shredded.
“Got a hit on your woman.” He started tapping on his iPad as he approached, and I felt the buzzing of my cell phone in my pocket. “She’s with Tristan.”
My gut immediately calmed.
I’d thought about going to Tristan’s, but reckoned it was too obvious. Should’ve known she’d hide in plain sight; it’s what I would’ve done. My woman was proving to be more sneaky than I initially thought.
“Smart,” I muttered. pulling my phone out of my pocket and checking the screenshot of the WhatsApp message that had been sent to Aislynn’s phone.
Mammy: Bring Tristan with you for Sunday lunch. Tell him I’m making sticky toffee pudding and custard.
My knuckles were busted up and crusty with blood, and my head pounded from lack of sleep and worry about my girl, but as I scrolled through the screenshot again, I felt lighter.
For two days, I’d paced the compound like a caged tiger, snarling at the brothers and raining my anger down on anyone who looked at me the wrong way, but now, my chest loosened, and for the first time since I threw Aislynn out, I could breathe easy.
It had taken me half-killing one of my brethren just to calm my shit enough to sit down and talk to Boot like a normal man.
If I carried on acting the way I was, I’d have no brothers left, and it made me realize that I needed to smooth things over with Aislynn.
After days of nothing, I had something to go on at last, so I just had to plan my next move.
I wanted my Dubheasa back, and going in like a bull in a china shop wasn’t the way to deal.
Still, she needed to know that disappearing on me wasn’t a good move.
I’d let Aislynn think she had the upper hand for now, and lull her into a false sense of security, then I’d play a little game of cat and mouse, and strike when she least expected.
It was about time my woman understood something.
She could run, but she couldn’t hide forever.