Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
DEUCE
I lay awake for a long time after Miss Cinzia leaves the room. I love her spunky, sassy side. Like she really thought she was tougher than me.
Swear to fuck, sometimes the look in her eyes says she wants to go toe-to-toe. Not surprising she could hold her own with Bullet and Viper. She has an inner strength that colors everything she says and does, but holding out on Viper could prove deadly.
I can’t help thinking there is much more to her story.
Questions I didn’t want to ask. Like, how long was she with the Dogs?
And, worst of all, was she fucking both Viper and Bullet?
I’d shared and passed around plenty of chicks back in the day, but thinking of that for Sammie does nothing for the pounding in my head and the pulsing of my eye, which now has a heartbeat of its own.
I long for a few shots of bourbon or the amazing pharmaceuticals we used to have at the old clubhouse, but my sassy wanna-be nurse is actually worried about me. Sure, I could go down to the bar and snag a bottle, but shit, I just don’t have the energy.
Every time I close my eyes, I envision two things: giving Viper and his punk VP Bullet what they deserve and regaining the Kings’ power in AC.
Having my brothers’ backing tonight meant everything, but I didn’t miss the torment shadowing their eyes or the fact our resurrection lay on my shoulders.
Sure, Ace would be right next to me, but this is my mess, and, in the end, it’s up to me to clean it the fuck up.
Then the realization that in a roundabout way, Sammie and her father had to do with the Dogs coming into money and trying to get a foothold in AC.
Sammie laid it all out plain and clear, even with all that, my traitorous brain envisions the dark-haired beauty in her fuzzy robe and sheer tank top, reliving every second of our bar sex in living fuckin’ color.
The way she gave it up for me, so natural with those little moans that shot right to my dick.
Swear to fuck, if I wasn’t so sore, I’d jerk myself off right now.
Staring at the ceiling in the freakishly silent room, I can almost hear Sammie’s breathing.
Slow, rhythmic, nothing like the constant noise of Cell Block 8.
The guard’s heavy boots on metal stairs, rattling steel bars, and the haunting screams of desperate men.
I’d already counted the number of stairs we climbed—twelve, and the number of exits in the apartment—one.
Some prison habits don’t die. The last five years couldn’t be erased in a week.
In the end, I have to get Sammie to sell this bar to me, ‘cause there’s no fuckin’ way I’ll let Viper get his filthy paws on it.
First, I have to find out what kind of hold Viper has on Sammie.
Even with all she revealed tonight, I couldn’t help thinking she was still holding something back.
Like maybe she already has the flash drive and money.
Viper obviously didn’t know where it was, and him threatening her tonight meant he doesn’t want me near her or The End. Maybe he’s afraid I’ll find the mystery flash drive first.
Now, I just have to figure out how much of a hold, and what leverage I can use to come out on top. Viper thought beating me would keep me down. Joke’s on him. It only makes me want to fight harder. Either way, tomorrow would come soon enough, and there was no time to waste.
The next morning, I awake to the amazing smell of coffee. I blink a few times with that wonky not-knowing-where-I-am feeling. I shift, my head pounds and my stiff, sore body throbs, making my blood rage through my veins. Those fuckers are gonna pay big.
“Did I wake you?” Sammie says from the kitchenette.
“Nah, just trying to figure out the easiest way to get up.”
I struggle to sit, and as I suspected, I feel worse today than last night.
Damnedest thing about getting tuned up—the next day is always worse.
My left eye is still mostly swollen shut, and the right side of my face feels tight.
I slowly heave my feet to the floor, shrug on my cut, then push off the arm of the couch.
I gotta take a piss in a bad way, but it’s slow going as I head for the bathroom.
After I piss, wash my hands, and splash cold water on my face, I limp back to the couch where Sammie is waiting with a steaming cup of coffee.
“I assume you take it black.”
“You assume correct.” I put the cup to my swollen lips and drink in the delicious brew. “That’s pretty good.”
“I grind my own beans. I’m kinda anal about my coffee.”
“I get it. Been a long fuckin’ time since I’ve had coffee this good.” The coffee I drank for the last five years tasted like piss water.
“So, what’s the plan?”
I ease onto the couch. “You mean for today, or my immediate future?”
“It still doesn’t look like you’ll be able to ride your Harley—”
“But you want me to move my ass outta here, right?”
Her lips tilt into a smile. “I feel partly to blame since you had a pissing contest with Viper here, and then he used your face as a punching bag last night while he used me to threaten you.”
“Got nothing to do with you. Viper and I were at each other long before you came into the picture. Me being gone for five years gave him a false sense of security, but I have no intention of letting him slide, and that has nothing to do with you and everything to do with building up the Kings in AC again.”
“I guess you figured out he wants this place too.”
“Yeah, I got that loud and clear last night, but that ain’t happening.”
“You should steer clear of Viper because . . . Viper is evil.”
“And I’m not?”
“No, you’re just dumb if you go head-to-head with Viper. I don’t think you know what he’s capable of because, if you did, you’d take his warning,” she motions to my banged-up face, “and move on.”
“Not possible, but what if I have another idea that lets you keep the ownership of The End, and lets the Kings use it as a clubhouse?”
“Ohhhh, no, absolutely not.”
I hold up my palm. “Just hear me out.”
“No. I’ve told you I’m not selling.” She spreads her arms wide. “You don’t understand; this is all I have.” She lowers her head, turns away from me, and her shoulders shudder. “I have nowhere else to go.”
“Babe?”
“I told you not to call me that.” Her whispered gasp tugs at my chest.
I reach out, turn her face to me and wince. “Shit, don’t cry. Fuck, I hate when women cry.”
“You almost sound like you care.”
“I sure as shit don’t wanna see you crying. Especially not you.”
“Why? ‘Cause I’m supposed to be so tough? Supposed to be able to take care of myself?” She shifts her legs. “Well, I’m shit-poor at taking care of myself.” She pulls up the right leg of her jeans, and my eyes widen.
“Shit!”
“After eight months, they let me out of EMSF for good behavior.” She points to the monitor. “And as a parting gift, I got to go home with this lovely piece of jewelry.”
“Holy shit, you’re tagged,” I blurt out, then I lean forward as far as my busted body will allow to see where the strap’s rubbed her skin raw.
“Just like a wild animal.”
Fuckin' sucks, but I gotta say, I’m intrigued. All the shit I’ve been into, I never had to wear one of those. “How’s it work?”
“House arrest for three months total. Can’t go any more than two hundred yards away from The End. Just far enough to put out the garbage on Tuesday and Friday.”
I bark out a laugh, then hold my midsection. “You got funny fuckin’ way of spitting shit out.”
She spreads her arms wide. “Yeah, I’m just a laugh a minute.”
Then she waits for my reaction. It’s the second time she’s used dark humor to deflect, and I get it, but she won’t get any judgment from me. I don’t waste time on judgment. I keep inventory.
“Man, I thought my story was fucked up, but I got another question.” My eyes are glued to her ankle as the thing hums quietly. Like it’s alive and watching me back.
“Shoot.”
“Going to bars is against parole, and you’re basically living in one, so how did that work with your PO?”
“One of the beauty parts of dealing with an overcrowded system and an overworked parole officer. You saw the way the place looks, so I just told them I was going to gut the building.” She shrugs.
“Might be my only option, but like I said, the whole system is overworked, and they really didn’t give a shit as long as I sign into my virtual meeting every week. ”
“Yeah, the whole system is screwed. I only have to check in once a month ‘cause, even though they found a clubhouse full of contraband, I had a clean record on the inside and didn’t commit a violent crime or show any signs of violence.”
“Except when Viper pushed your buttons last week in the office.”
“Extenuating circumstances. Viper’s a vindictive fucker who needs to be shut down.”
“And by shut down, you mean?”
“Nothing for you to worry about.”
“Except it is if you want me to allow you to use this as the Kings clubhouse.”
“Nothing will ever touch you.”
“Sounds great, but I’ve heard that before, and you can’t make that promise.”
Her words hang between us, and although I don’t want to admit it, she might be right.
“My father won this place in a poker game, and believe it or not, before my mother died and all the shit hit the fan, he made a profit. Of course, it all went up in smoke when he got sent away, but he did sign it over to me, and I do own it outright.”
“And now Viper wants this place too.”
“Only because he thinks there’s a shit-ton of money to be had and an incriminating flash drive. Plus, he was always spouting off about owning Atlantic City.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not gonna fuckin’ happen. Which brings me to the plan I concocted last night while my swollen eye and jaw had their own heartbeat.”
“Let’s hear it. Can’t be any worse than smashing holes in the sheetrock.”
I eye her ankle monitor. “You’re chained to this place, and like I said, the Kings need this place, so here’s my deal.”