Chapter Twenty-Nine
Zeppelin
Waking up in Misty’s bed, our bodies tangled together after a night of just talking was better than I thought it could be. We agreed to go to the park with Bernie that afternoon after she got home from Carly’s, and I’m itching for some violence.
The events of the day before still weigh heavily on me, but Jennings is right. I have to be smart about this. Even if I want to kill Butch—now more than before—I can’t just go and do it. I need to have my ducks in a row. Something to lessen the blowback.
Or a hell of a plan in place with backup to get rid of every fucking Black Venom member from here to the east coast.
“What are we doing here?” Rooster asks as we pull up outside of a house on the richer side of town.
If I can’t hurt Butch, I need to inflict pain on someone else. Or at least intimidate them.
I look up and notice things about the house that make me smile. The hedges aren’t trimmed, and the flowers are dying. Which means no gardener comes to take care of the lawn like he used to.
There are cracks on the stucco that need to be filled. And based on the amount of sand built up in them, it’s been this way for a while.
The pool in the back is covered up even though we’re getting into the prime swimming season. So, that tells me there’s no pool guy, either.
This motherfucker’s broke and house poor.
“We need to send a little message,” I say, hopping off my bike.
While Rooster’s the golden retriever of us, he can get vicious when the need arises. And Capone and Pacino look like a permanent black cloud hangs above them, ready to scare off the bravest of men with a single look.
I pound on the front door like I’m the goddamned police until a frightened woman answers. “C-can I help you?”
She has light brown hair pulled back into a bun, and her dress is nice but thrifted. The tag from the store two towns over hangs out of her collar.
“Your husband home?” I ask.
“Troy?” she calls.
A man wearing cargo shorts and a white T-shirt walks to the front door. “Can I help you?”
His wife scurries away, and I back off the porch. “Troy Martin?”
“Yes?”
“Why don’t you step out here and have a little chat with us?”
“What’s this about?” he asks.
Pacino growls. “It wasn’t a request. Either you come out here, or we go inside. Your choice.”
Troy steps outside, and I see it. Smell it. Love it. Fear. He reeks of it.
“What’s going on?”
I just smile at him. “You’re Sierra’s father, right?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what this is about. Your daughter’s a fucking brat.”
“Excuse me?”
Cracking my neck, I glare at him and use my two-inch height advantage to look down on him. “Your daughter thinks it’s fun to bully a little girl at school just because she’s different—”
“That has nothing—”
“I wasn’t done talking, Troy. You should really learn to read the fucking room,” I growl. “Now, as I was saying, Sierra thinks it’s okay to bully a girl at school simply because she’s different. Played an elaborate joke on her, and I’m not okay with it.”
“What kind of joke?”
Considering this motherfucker is house poor, I doubt he knows his wife paid for his daughter and her friends to get their hair done at the salon. And I suspect she’ll get an earful when he goes inside.
I tell him what Sierra did to Bernie, and my guys crack their knuckles. They take any pain inflicted on children seriously, even if it’s by another child.
“Oh, is Bernie the re—”
“I’d be real fucking careful with the word you choose next,” Capone says and cracks his neck, mirroring me. “You never know which one of us you’ll offend.”
“Fun fact,” Rooster adds. “All of us. You’ll fucking offend all of us.”
Troy holds his hands up. “Look, I’m not going to tell my daughter who she has to be friends with.”
“Oh, I don’t want Sierra to be Bernie’s friend. In fact, I think she should stay as fucking far away as possible from Bernie. For both of your sakes,” I say with a sinister smile.
“What does that mean?”
I clap a hand on his shoulder and squeeze just hard enough to make his knees buckle a bit. “I can’t hit your daughter. I won’t hit your daughter. But I can’t say the same for kids related to the club. If your daughter continues to bully Bernie, she’ll find that not everyone finds it funny.”
His eyes widen. “That’s—”
“And because I can’t and won’t touch your daughter, I’ll hurt you. Every time I hear about Sierra doing anything to Bernie, like throwing her cookie on the floor of the cafeteria, I’m going to take it out on you.”
“Is that right?”
“It’s more than right. It’ll be my fucking pleasure. And considering how much trouble you’re having financially, I don’t think you can afford the medical bills.”
“You’d break my bones because my daughter is bullying a brat at school?”
My elbow connects with his jaw, and he falls to the ground. “You don’t think I’m serious? I know what to break to cause the most pain with the least risk of death. That shit can get real fucking expensive.”
“I’ll sue you.”
“Good luck. You don’t have money to pay for a fucking gardener. I doubt you’ll have the money to retain a lawyer willing to come after me.”
He wipes blood from his lip and stares at me. We both know it’s the truth. There’s nothing he can do to touch me. And after me comes others in my club. He’ll be in a goddamn wheelchair before half of us end up in jail.
“Fine.”
“Fine, what?”
“I’ll tell Sierra to stay away from the—Bernie.”
“Do it now.”
Frowning, he stands. “Excuse me?”
“Call her out here and tell her. We want to hear you tell her,” Pacino says. “Considering you’re a sleazy used car salesman, we don’t really trust you.”
“I sell pre-owned luxury—”
“Yeah, yeah, I don’t care. But I bet your wife will care to learn about your second family fifty miles east of Reno.”
His eyes widen, and I have to hold back my laugh. “Must be tough paying for two houses and two families when your sales are going down thanks to the internet.”
Squaring his shoulders, he stands and walks to the door. “Sierra! Come out here!”
The brat from the salon walks out onto the porch, hip cocked and arms crossed. She’s going to make some guy miserable as hell one day.
“Yeah?”
“You stay the hell away from Bernie Reynolds,” Troy says.
“But, Dad—”
“I mean it.”
Frowning, she sticks her nose up in the air defiantly. “I don’t wanna. It’s fun making fun of her. And it’s really easy, too.”
“Do you know Samantha Trevors?” I ask her.
Her defiance slips for the briefest of moments. “Yeah. So?”
“She’ll be keeping an eye on Bernie for us. If she hears you doing anything, she’ll handle it in school. And I’ll handle it with your father.”
“I-I’m not scared of Sam.”
“You should be,” Rooster says. “I’ve seen her make grown men cry.”
Grabbing Troy’s shoulder again, I squeeze until he yelps in pain. “And when Sam is done with you, she’s going to tell me. And I’ll be back here to talk to your dad.”
“So?”
“You’re pretty slow, aren’t you?” Pacino asks with a chuckle. “Kid, if you hope to ever dance with your dad at your wedding, it’s best to stay away from Bernie.”
“And God help whoever decides to marry her,” Rooster mutters.
Troy glares at his daughter as he tries to get out of my grip but fails. “Stay the hell away from Bernie. You hear me?”
“You think you’re tough, but you’re not,” she says.
“Well, there’s another way to punish her,” Capone says. “Your mom owns the salon here, right, Zep? If she allows Sierra to come back—which it sounds like she won’t—her hair may end up blue or shaved next time.”
“And we can make sure no one buys another car at Daddy’s car dealership,” Rooster says. “Do you think she’ll like shopping at secondhand stores for her clothes? She seems like the type who wants brand-new name-brand threads.”
Sierra’s jaw drops, and I release Troy. I just smile and walk back to my bike. “I’d suggest you shape up, or life might be a little different in a few weeks. Might even need to move to a smaller home. I hear the trailer court has a few houses for rent. Have a great weekend.”
“That was kind of fun, but also kind of like we went toe-to-toe with a kid,” Rooster says.
Troy drags Sierra inside by her arm, and I shake my head. “I doubt she’ll figure it out until Sam shows her what it’s really like to be bullied. But as long as she gets the idea at some point, I’m fine.”
“Can you imagine what she’ll grow up to be like if someone doesn’t check her now?” Capone asks. “She’ll be like my second stepmother.”
“Or Chanel,” I say.
They all agree, and I’m stunned to realize I’ve never seen it before. The reason I despise Sierra more than I probably should is because she reminds me of my ex. Chanel always talked big and acted out because she knew I’d be there to back up whatever she said and did.
Well, not anymore. She’s on her own now.