42. Paul
42
Paul
S omewhere along the two-hour drive on I-44, Harper fell asleep against Paul. He took comfort that her injuries weren’t so severe that pain prevented her slumber. She had to be exhausted. He was, and he hadn’t been through half the hell she had.
When Eddie turned off the highway, Paul let out a breath. “How much longer?”
“I don’t know. Another ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”
Paul nodded. The mood in the car had shifted. They weren’t running on adrenaline anymore. Men were injured. They’d lost five of the fourteen. Tragic, but to be fair, they were horribly outnumbered. There were at least thirty bikers in the clubhouse, not to mention two prospects, and the multitude of others who got in the way because they were looking for a good party.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Paul did his best to ignore the pain in his leg. While it hurt like a son of a bitch, he hadn’t actually looked at it. At least the bleeding had slowed. It only leaked when he moved.
He was fairly confident it wasn’t a through and through, or even a lodged bullet. Just a graze. Nothing serious. Stitches were in his future, and he’d deal with that.
Harper was in far worse condition. The longer he watched her, even in the dim light of the evening drive, he could see her bruises darkening. Her breathing had a whistle to it. She often flinched when jostled. Internal bleeding or unseen injuries were his concern. She needed to be thoroughly examined.
But where? And by whom?
He couldn’t exactly take her to the local hospital. While they had connections, they didn’t have that kind. Someone would report her injuries, and that would mean questions. No one wanted to be put in a position to answer any of them.
They had to be creative and maybe call in a favor or seven.
Another hard turn and the SUV plunged into darkness. There wasn’t a streetlamp in sight. The headlights illuminated the long dirt road flanked by overgrown trees. They’d made it to the large cattle ranch owned by one of their former casino employees.
Tommy worked for them when times got tough. They may have even lent him a few grand to save his family’s land when the bank tried to steal it from him. The country needed more family-owned farms. Especially ones with private airports.
The SUV pulled up beside a white Cadillac Escalade and his father’s charcoal Porsche Cayenne parked outside a large steel outbuilding set far back on the property. The area was illuminated by massive floodlights. Blowing out a breath, Paul braced himself for another meeting.
He shifted Harper, careful not to wake her. Once out from beneath her, he exited the car and joined the men.
“Tyler, stay back,” he ordered the man with a swollen eye and split lip. “Watch Harper.”
The shaggy brown-haired man nodded eagerly. He was a good soldier, maybe twenty-five. The best part? The guy didn’t ask questions. He just did as he was told. Paul was glad Tyler got out of the clubhouse with just a few scrapes.
Turning his attention to Eddie, he noted his brother looked as haggard as everyone else. “We can’t go in there like this.”
Eddie nodded. “That’s why Dad has fresh clothes for us in the car.” He gestured to the Porsche SUV.
Nodding, Paul unbuttoned his shirt quickly. Peering in the car, he thought he caught Harper shivering. Wearing only a tactical vest and skimpy underwear, she had to be cold.
“Drape this over her. If she wakes up, tell her to put it on,” he instructed Tyler.
His soldier nodded and accepted the shirt.
Eddie entered the code in the door, unlocking Joseph’s car. Inside, hanging on a hook, were two suits still in the dry cleaner’s plastic. Shaking his head, Paul wondered how his father found the time for such things.
Each of the brothers took the appropriate attire and swapped out their torn and bloody clothes for crisp, clean, and pressed designer suits. Paul used a section of his trousers to tourniquet his calf. He didn’t want to be bleeding all over the floor during their discussion. It wasn’t perfect, but it’d have to do.
Each man slid their holsters back on under their jackets and checked their weapons. Paul had half a clip. Eddie slapped a full one into his weapon.
Satisfied they were properly attired to attend a meeting, the brothers gave each other a brief nod and made their way to the small door of the massive hangar.
Inside the bare-bones structure with the exposed metal beams was a Cessna Skyhawk, several red rolling Snap-on toolboxes with drawers, spare tires, and a card table where Joseph sat smoking cigars with Dario. Behind the Sicilian Casa Nostra leader was a man wearing a black suit with his hands clasped before him, his eyes on Paul and Eddie.
Turning, Joseph raised a hand and stood. “Boys. So nice of you to join us.”
Dario held his stogie between two fingers while he brought a stemmed wineglass filled with burgundy liquid to his lips.
“Dad,” Eddie greeted him as he approached, giving their father a quick hug, complete with several slaps to the back.
Paul offered a brief embrace as well.
“Come. Sit,” Joseph said, gesturing to the open folding chairs.
He was far too jovial for someone who knew they’d lost five of their soldiers in a brutal battle with the bikers.
Monitoring the man behind Dario, Paul took a seat to his dad’s left as Eddie took the chair on the right. Joseph ashed his cigar as he sat.
“I was just telling Dario about the unfortunate circumstances we find ourselves in,” Joseph explained. “But also the opportunity that has presented itself now that the bikers have lost two presidents in as many days.”
“It’s no secret that I’m not a big fan of the cockroaches doing business in my state,” Dario offered.
“He has agreed to rescind permissions for the bounty on Paul’s head, so the Irish can’t outsource that,” Joseph explained. “But he cannot squash the bad blood. That will remain.”
Dario nodded. “I’m not about to get between feuding families. You killed one of theirs, so they have the right to seek retribution.”
Paul nodded. He could handle that. It was nice knowing only the Irish could go after him.
With that, Dario snubbed out his cigar and rose. “I had better get going.”
Paul and the rest stood with him. Dario offered a polite handshake to Joseph and a nod to Paul and Eddie before he and his man took their leave of the large hangar.
Once the door closed, relief washed over Paul as he collapsed into the folding chair.
Joseph blew out a breath and turned to face his sons. “I think I’ve cleaned up your mess the best I can.”
Paul looked away. He hated being the reason his father had to clean anything. That was his job.
“Give me the update,” Joseph said, snubbing out his own cigar.
“We lost five,” Eddie informed. “Pretty sure they lost more.”
“Diesel?”
“Dead,” Paul answered.
His father nodded. “And the clubhouse?”
“Burning.”
Reaching for the bottle on the table, Joseph refilled his glass with the red wine. “Dario wants us to run the bikers out of Oklahoma.”
Paul frowned. The bikers included Harper’s brothers. She loved her family, even if they were shitty people. He couldn’t fault her. No one could pick their blood.
“How are we supposed to do that?” Eddie asked.
Joseph lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know, but it was his offer to call the dogs off, Paul.”
Paul winced. He hated that his father had to accept a deal he didn’t like for his benefit. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He was supposed to help his family grow their syndicate, not make things more complicated for them.
“That’s going to take some time,” Eddie offered.
“He knows, but he wants to see progress.”
“At least they’re weak,” Paul commented. “They don’t have any leadership or a base of operations at this point. It’s going to take a lot for them to regroup.”
Eddie nodded.
His father stared at the wineglass as he swirled the liquid in it.
“I say we go after their businesses. We already took their deal with Sebastián. That was most of their income. What else do they have?” Paul asked.
“A low-end strip club, where Boris funneled them women. They ran guns for Niall. The body shop is the last thing I can think of,” Eddie said.
Joseph took a sip of his wine. “Niall won’t do business with us right now. We have to work with Dario for guns.”
“So then we’ve already cut them off at the ankles,” Paul commented hopefully. “All Eddie has to do is get their club, and we’re set.”
Eddie bristled. “That’s not really my—”
“Do it,” Joseph interrupted him, still staring at his glass. “What about Harper?”
Paul shifted in his seat and winced from the pain in his leg. That was the question, wasn’t it? Frankly, he didn’t know. “I suspect she’ll want to go home.”
Joseph turned and stared at him. “After all this?”
Swallowing hard, Paul diverted his gaze. “I don’t know.”
“Well, find out,” his dad demanded as he slammed his hand on the table. “If she wants to go back, Tommy will fire up the plane, and we can ship her back tonight. If not, then we have to deal with that.”
Standing, Joseph buttoned his suit jacket as his gaze bounced from Paul to Eddie. “Eddie, take me home. I have funerals to pay for.”