Chapter 22
JOKER
Three days later, I wasn’t feeling much better.
I went through the motions at the garage until Gus called me out with “Get your head outta your ass.” Then I’d go home and watch Daisy and Derek handle little Dakota with ease.
Even Deana entertained Dakota during her tummy time with sing-alongs from Moana and The Princess and the Frog .
Meanwhile, I felt like a spectator in my own family.
I’ve told myself to straighten the fuck out and get with it, but even my own brand of tough love isn’t working.
My nerves are jangled, my heart’s pounding way too hard, and the only time I’d experienced any relief was sitting at the bar of The Gold Mine pounding shots and beer until I was too numb to feel anything.
“Hey, quiet down, fuckers.” Rattler points to the flatscreen TV over the bar. “Listen.”
“This is Mike Connelly, and I’m at the Great Basin National Park, where two unidentified males were found at the base of Wheeler Peak.
The men are believed to be part of the Ely Shoshone reservation and members of the Northern Nevada Nomads motorcycle club.
Foul play cannot be ruled out, but it’s unclear at this time if their deaths were accidental or premeditated.
Right now, this case is under police investigation until further details are revealed. ”
Rattler plays it back again, then Cobra checks his watch. “Ahead of schedule. Not bad.”
“Seems Warrior’s a man of his word after all,” Python adds.
Boa taps at his ever-present laptop for more information, but all the pieces fit together. Arrow and Blade are history, along with the fucker who terrorized my family.
“That’s what you call solid proof.” Mamba raises his beer. “Here’s to putting all the bad shit behind us.”
I raise my shot glass ‘cause that’s what my brothers expect, but I’m still a long way from numb.
Two hours later, I push off the barstool and brace my palms against the bar. “I’m heading out.”
Rattler jerks his chin at Cobra and Python. Two seconds later, they’re at my side.
“What the fuck are you doin’?” My tongue feels two sizes too big for my mouth.
“Taking your drunk ass home.”
“I got my bike outside.” I throw my arm toward the back hall, lose my balance and grip the granite bar top.
“No fuckin’ way you’re driving.” Cobra nudges me toward Python, then points to Rattler. “Give me the keys to the Escalade.”
Rattler throws them to Cobra, who hands them to Python.
I try to square my shoulders. “I don’t need you takin’ care of me.”
“Yeah, you do.” Python throws an annoying look to Cobra then pushes me toward the back door.
I eye my bike in the lot. “This is fuckin’ ridiculous.” I hoist myself in the Escalade, then fumble with the seatbelt three times before I get it buckled.
Python rolls his eyes, and I visualize me shoving my fist into his smug face. He starts the SUV and silently wheels us out of the lot.
“So, is this the part where you tell me I’m acting like an asshole?” I know I’m being a prick, but I can’t seem to control my mouth.
Nothing.
“Go ahead, I know you want to.”
“What I want is for you to shut the fuck up for the next fifteen minutes until you become Daisy’s problem.”
“Daisy’s the best fuckin’ thing in my life—and my kids too.”
“Hmmm,” Python grunts.
“It’s true.” I huff out a laugh. “And she loves me. I don’t know why the fuck, but she does.
” I rest my head against the headrest. “When we first got together in Miami, I used to tell her she was way outta my league. She was all classy and shit, and I was just some outlaw biker with a price on my head and a scar running down my jaw.” I turn my head to look at Python. “But she didn’t care.”
We ride the rest of the way in silence, and I marvel at how the streetlights resemble rainbows in the night. Kinda cool.
When we pull into my driveway, I wrestle with the seatbelt, and Python grabs my forearm. “For the last four nights, one of us has had to take you home and listen to your bullshit, but one thing you’re right about—Daisy and your kids are the best thing to ever happen to you—so don’t fuck it up.”
“Sage advice from my sergeant-at-arms.” I smirk around the words. “Did you forget I’m your VP?”
“No, did you? ‘Cause you sure ain’t acting like it.”
I grope for the door handle. “Fuck you.” I climb out of the SUV, slam the door, and throw Python the finger just to be a prick.
DAISY
“You know I don’t like going behind Joker’s back, but he keeps insisting everything’s fine when I know it isn’t.” I’m sitting in the wooden chair facing Cobra’s desk. “I know something’s bothering him, but he won’t open up about it.”
Dakota is six weeks old, and I started letting Mrs. Parker watch her so I can go back to the garage two days a week.
Today, I left the shop early with the excuse of doing errands, then called Cobra and asked him to meet me at The Gold Mine.
In the beginning, I figured Joker just needed time, but after six weeks of watching him sleepwalk through life with little or no interest in anything—including sex—I decided it was time to take action.
“I get it, babe, but you know the way he gets.” Cobra cocks his head. “He’s stubborn as shit, and he won’t talk until he’s ready.”
“I know that, but I thought maybe he’s said something to you about what’s bothering him. ‘Cause something is definitely up with him. He’s drinking way too much, and I don’t want to see him go down that road again.”
“Even if he said something to me, it’s not my story to tell.”
“Really? You’re gonna play that card.” I tilt my head. “Or maybe you forgot how I got you and Sheena back together after you found out she kept her past mob ties from you.”
Cobra mashes his lips together, and I know I’ve got him.
“All right, but he really hasn’t said anything specific; he just seems off. Quiet, pissed off more than usual. And, yeah, he’s been drinking too much.”
I remember only too well how he got after Derek got shot by a rival back in New York. Thankfully, Derek made a full recovery, but Joker went off the rails big time, and I’m not about to wait around until that happens again.
Cobra lights up a smoke. “Funny thing is, after you were kidnapped he kept it together, but you fell apart. He sat in the same chair you’re in now telling me almost the same thing.”
“Okay, so whatever you told him must’ve worked ‘cause he pulled me out of my funk. So spill, oh great one of outlaw biker logic. ”
Cobra huffs out a laugh. “I told him to pull his head outta his ass and stop babying you. I told him to demand answers from you no matter what the fuck you said, and stay up your ass until you came clean with whatever was fuckin’ with your head.”
“A little harsh.”
“But effective.” He waves his hand toward me. “And you’re living proof.”
I digest Cobra’s words, then push out of the chair. “If for some reason this doesn’t work, I’ll tell Sheena, and she’ll make your life a living hell.” I end the sentence with a smirk, but we both know I’m right.
Sheena and my friendship dated all the way back to the bad old days when we were running cons and dealing cards at illegal games in Vegas together.
Another time when some skank tried to put the moves on Joker, Sheena literally smacked the shit out of her.
Our bond was tight, and we lived the phrase “ride or die.”
On the drive back to the condo, I formulate a solid plan of action.
I text Derek and ask him to come home after his classes and take Deana out for dinner in their favorite spot, Shake Shack, then a movie, my treat.
I add that if all goes well with Joker, I would push for Derek’s prospect patch again.
After his heroic rescue against the Nomad, even the other Serpents were on Derek’s side.
I ask Mrs. Parker to keep Dakota until nine, and she also agreed. The woman is a blessing, and I planned on paying her double, maybe even triple if what I have in mind works.
Then I call Joker and practically demand he come home for dinner. I’d let him wallow long enough, and it’s time to take action, whether he likes it or not.
Once home, I begin making southern fried chicken and homemade biscuits—Joker’s favorite. I coerced the recipe out of Madeline, Boa’s wife, who owns her own catering business. Being from Tennessee, she has all her mother’s recipes, and they’re all delicious.
Her secrets are shaking the chicken and the coating in a paper bag, frying the pieces in hot, fresh oil, then letting them cool and frying them again for extra crispness.
I put it all together, and if his favorite meal, along with Cobra’s advice doesn’t work, I’ll just drag him into the bedroom and fuck him stupid.
At six-thirty, I hear the roar of Joker’s Harley pipes, followed by his heavy booted footsteps as he climbs the stairs from the garage.
“Something smells fuckin’ delicious,” he says as he enters the kitchen.
I turn from the stove and smile. “Your favorite, fried chicken and biscuits.” Then I hand him a tumbler of Blanton’s, his favorite aged bourbon.
He takes the glass from me with narrowed eyes. “Fried chicken, bourbon? Did you wreck the car, overdraw the checking account?”
“In my opinion, I drive better than you, and did you forget I take care of all the finances here and at the shop? So, no, I just wanted to make a nice meal for my husband.”
He eyes me suspiciously. “And where are the kids? It’s way too quiet here.”
“Derek and Deana are eating at Shake Shack and seeing a movie, and Dakota is spending a few extra hours with Mrs. Parker.” I pick up a glass of rosé I poured for myself. “So, it’s just you and me.”
“Ohhh.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed.” I steer him into the living room.
“I’m not; it’s just I look forward to seeing them and holding my new baby girl.”
“They’ll be back in a few hours, but right now, it’s just you and me. ”
He sips at the bourbon. “You pulled out the good shit.”
“And you want to know why?”
“On a random Wednesday, my wife makes my favorite meal, herds the kids out of the house, and serves me my three-hundred-dollar-a-bottle bourbon—yeah, I wanna know why.”