Chapter Twenty-Seven
Alexandra
Princess.
That damned, dumb nickname is now going to live forever in my memory, attached to the first time that the man that I love — fuck, I do love him — told me he loves me. Not only that, but unlike the first time we met, he beat me to the punch. He said it first.
Damn him again.
“Princess? You tell me you love me — and I love you too, damn it, because you are handsome, supportive, and drive me fucking crazy — and you use that fucking nickname?”
“I did, princess,” he says, that smirk growing. “When this is all over, I’m going to bend you over my knee and slap your ass until you admit you love it.”
“Oh, really?”
“And then I”m going to eat your pussy until you’re begging for me to shove my cock deep inside your royal pussy.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“A promise.”
I look down at the cup in his hand. “The drink’s melted.”
He chuckles. “It’s alcohol. After the morning we’ve had, the captain will drink it and be grateful.”
“Go take care of your team, Dixon, before I change my mind about loving you and decide to murder you instead..”
He smirks, but he leaves to the firetruck for a minute, and when he returns, the rest of the fire crew is right behind him. And he stays with them for a short while, introducing them to the MC, getting them drinks, doing his best to make up for past mistakes. I see a different side of him — a man who’s relaxed, who’s laughing and joking with friends, a man with a ready smile and even a hug or two for the people close to him. I like this side of him. It reminds me of what I used to have, before tragedy ripped my life apart and I spent so long drifting, planning, hating, that I forgot what it’s like to be a part of a loving family. I mix drinks and I watch Dixon with the others and I imagine what our life together could be like in the future.
“You’re good for him,” Striker says.
I turn, startled by his sudden appearance. “What?”
“You saw what he was like when you first met him, and that was him on a good day. This party right here, this is the first time in a long time where I’ve seen Smokey actually enjoy being alive.”
Those words hit home and I take a moment to soak in the sight of him, the weight that seems, in this moment, to have lifted from his broad shoulders.
“I love him.”
“That quickly? You seem pretty sure of it.”
“I spent so long hating him, and when I finally got him where I wanted him, I thought I was going to kill him. But I couldn’t do it. The more I got to know him, the closer we got, the things we survived… There’s only one thing I can think of that can overcome all the hate that I had inside me, and that’s love.”
“Murder is the foundation of a surprising number of relationships.”
Dixon disentangles himself from the crowd, and he taps one member of his MC on the shoulder — a wiry, muscled man with short, dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and so many tattoos that his skin looks like a canvas — and the two of them approach my bar station. It’s as they get closer that I see the newcomer has the folder in his hands. He must’ve gotten it from Dixon earlier.
“Alexandra, this is Ghost. He’s going to help us run down this Erik Marquez. If there’s anyone out there who can track him, it’s Ghost.”
The doubt on my face must be more readable than I realize, because Ghost extends a calloused hand and a smile. “I spent some time in intelligence and… doing other things I can’t tell you about, for agencies that don’t exist, in places you’ve never heard of. I’ve already sent what little information we have about Erik Marquez out to some of my connections. Something will turn up on him. No one is so good that they don’t leave a few breadcrumbs behind.” As if on cue, his phone chirps, and he takes it out of his pocket. He frowns. “Here’s something. Or several somethings. According to one of my sources in the DEA, Marquez is connected to a few heavy-hitters. Picked up a few times, but never charged. But you know how that is. Smokey, we may want to suggest to Rook that we loop in the Twisted Devils. When the time comes to act, if Marquez is working for any of the names on this list, taking him down may require manpower.”
Dixon nods grimly. “Fair enough. I’ll talk to him. Or whoever ends up getting elected president.”
Striker and Ghost both trade a look and a smile passes between them.
“You haven’t heard?”
“What?”
“Shit, we should’ve told you earlier,” Striker says. “Bullet and Thunder, they came up with the idea. We’re all voting Rook as president. Ghost and Hawk are on board, too.”
“Why?” Dixon says. “He doesn’t want the fucking job. That grumpy asshole doesn’t want to do anything that might bring him into contact with other people.”
“That’s exactly why we’re voting for him.”
“Some kind of punishment thing? Or a prank? We can’t risk the future of our club just for a good gag.”
Ghost shakes his head. “He’s got good relations with the TDMC. Besides, it’s a bonus that he is a grumpy asshole because that will make him the leader we need right now: someone to keep us from getting entangled in enterprises that we do not need to be involved in.”
“And,” Striker adds, “if we get wrapped up in any business with the asshole Santoro Syndicate or the Covingtons, we’ll just send him to negotiate a deal and he’ll grump them into submission.”
Dixon shrugs. “Fair enough. You make a strong case — he’s got my vote.”
There’s another beep from Ghost’s phone. He squints at the screen. “Another from my DEA friend. She’s sent me some surveillance photos from a cartel case about four years back. Looks like we got a workable photo of our guy instead of that grainy shit from your files.” He passes the phone to Dixon, who looks and then holds it to me.
I take the phone, a look, and then everything goes dark as I’m caught in a sudden memory. The phone clatters to the ground, and a vivid vision of my past swirls in front of my eyes. I sway, my breath leaving me in a sharp release.
“Alexandra, what is it?” Dixon says, catching me before I can fall.
“I’ve seen that man before… I know him. My father and my brother hired him.”