Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
PIGGY
“We may not like the Front mob family, but we have an in with them. We may be able to come up with something mutually beneficial. Not just protection on those deliveries, but more. Lorenzo might be willing, especially since he doesn’t have his kid to worry about anymore,” Viking says.
I wince at the thought of his kid. That fucking asshole. He deserved to die, but it should have been a slow death. Excruciatingly slow.
“What happens when Lorenzo finds out about his kid, and that we’re the ones who helped set him up to be arrested?”
“We didn’t kill him,” Goose states. “Should have, but we didn’t.”
We definitely should have. “There needs to be a way we can work with them, not for them. Lorenzo or the Front mob family don’t need to have any kind of control over us. Nothing. It needs to be together yet separate, if that makes sense,” Bullet suggests.
He’s right. That would be the only way this arrangement could work. That is, if we could find an arrangement. Because as I’m looking at it, thinking about it, I’m not sure what we could even do.
“I’ll set up a meet with Lorenzo. You know how he likes to be fucking dramatic and in person only.”
Church is adjourned, but none of us makes a move to get up. We stay where we are, still sitting around and shooting the shit. Maybe it’s because a true decision hasn’t been made and everything feels very much unsettled.
“What about security for the strip club? I know we talked to the owner about it, and he’s interested. They’re affiliated with the Front mob family, but if we’re going to get in bed with them anyway, why not go all out?” I ask.
“Let’s add that to the conversation with Lorenzo.
I can agree that if we’re already getting in deeper with them, that’s something we can offer, and it will pay.
Maybe we can work for other clubs in the area, too.
The only issue is the distance and manpower, but if we’re doing shit with them, we’ll have a presence there anyway,” Bullet states.
I watch as he pushes up to stand, placing his hands on the table as he does. His gaze flicks around the room, and his lips curve up into a grin before he speaks.
“As much as I wanted to go straight as a club, to be legit and not get involved with any part of the underworld, I can’t deny that I’m excited about the prospect we’re walking into.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t still go legit,” Ivy says. “We have over a year of the contract with Robin and Lorenzo. We could still get something going.”
He’s right, we could, but I don’t think we will. It’s ingrained in who we are, not only as a club but as men. We are not made for the legit part of society. Even I, as a cop, am not made to be the good guy.
I can do my job fairly.
I can turn off the Reaper part of me when I put on the uniform, but it is and will always be part of me. It’s my story. It’s my past and present. It is and will always be my future. It’s how I was raised.
My sister hates it and tries to stay far away from the whole thing, but even Lainey finds herself intertwined with the club.
“I’d like to be there when you meet with Lorenzo, if possible,” I say.
Bullet’s gaze flicks to me, and one of his brows arches in question. I don’t tell him why. I’m not sure I want anyone to know that Millie is back. And even though I know it’s her, I still don’t know what I’m going to do about it, if anything.
If I tell him or anyone else that she’s here, he’s going to expect me to do something, and I’m not ready for that or any questions. I also don’t think I want my sister to know that she’s here. They were best friends. It was hard as fuck on Lainey when Millie left.
“I can do that, Piggy. Any particular reason?” he asks.
“Just feel like I need to be involved with security shit,” I reply. He dips his chin in a single nod. “We all good? I have swing shift today,” I state.
“We’re good, brother.”
As I leave the clubhouse, I try not to think about Millie or about the Front mob family, but fail miserably. I can’t help but wonder if she’s involved with them somehow. And if she is, what the fuck has she been up to over the past ten years that would make her get involved with them?
But then again, in the same thought… why the fuck was she with me?
Ignoring the pull to Raleigh, I go home, drop off my bike, and change into my uniform for my shift.
Three to three is not my favorite shift for work.
Personally, I would prefer night shift. I’ve always enjoyed being out at night.
Maybe it’s because all the brass are at home in their beds and I’m away from prying eyes and disciplinary action.
I drive to work and make my way toward the shift-change meeting, my mind still focused on Millie instead of work, which is a dangerous place for my head to be. Not that much happens in Thunder Rock, but still, I need to be fully aware of everything surrounding me.
Always.
Not so much thinking about the way Millie looked up on that stage, glittering gold beneath the lights, her sexy-as-fuck body on display, dancing in a way that was beyond inviting.
I wanted to gouge out every motherfucker’s eyeballs.
But there was also a type of power in the fact that I was probably the only man in that room who had ever been inside her.
I’m fucked in the head. I know I am. It doesn’t make any sense that knowing I’ve fucked and loved Millie would make me feel powerful in any way. I chalk that up to a male ego thing and push it down.
MILLIE
After putting the address into my GPS, I chew on the corner of my bottom lip as I wait for it to pull up the directions. It’s an easy enough trip there and back in a day, but I need to go when I have a few days off from the club.
My schedule is pretty jam-packed, but I need to make the time, specifically so I can figure out what to do. And I know the Vicious Reapers are the only people who can help me.
God, I should have run off to another country or something. All I’m doing is making everything worse for myself. I’ve done nothing but create a bunch of drama, even if I’m not sure of the actual drama or if it will follow me here. I have created it by not dealing with the issue and running instead.
Running straight to Axton.
I’m the same girl I was when I was eighteen—running straight to this man, my best friend’s brother, and leaning on him to rescue me from my shit situation. Except this time, it’s probably life and death, whereas last time, it only felt like it.
My parents wouldn’t have ever killed me. They might have slapped me around, often, they might have drunk more than they should have and never had enough money for rent or food, but they wouldn’t have murdered me.
Those guys in Vegas, they’re going to kill me if they get the chance.
Forcing myself out of bed, I head to the kitchen to find something to eat and distract myself from Vegas. From the possible outcome that is without a doubt lingering in the not-so-distant future.
I open the fridge and reach for a container of chia seed pudding that I meal-prepped a few days ago. Eyeball pudding. That’s what I call it anyway. It’s not my favorite thing, but it’s high in fiber and really good for you, so I eat it.
I drizzle some honey over the top, then toss in a few blueberries and raspberries for color and taste. Grabbing a spoon, I walk over to the sofa and sink down as I reach for the remote control with my other hand and press the power button to turn the television on.
I’ve been watching a documentary about the world’s worst prisons. I don’t even know why I’m watching it, but at this point, I’m a few seasons in, and now I have to finish it and see all the prisons around the world and how this guy just jumps in with a camera crew to chat to all these bad guys.
I’m completely fascinated by the whole concept.
As I eat my breakfast, I continue to watch the show, and at least until my alarm sounds, I forget about my predicament. When my alarm does go off, I know it’s time for me to get ready for work.
I hold my breath for a moment, then let it out slowly as I flick the television off and stand up from the couch. I rinse my dishes in the kitchen and place them in the dishwasher, then take a bottle of water from the fridge and carry it back to my bedroom with me.
Pinching my eyes closed, I try not to think about work tonight and avoid seeing myself. I haven’t made any friends here, and I’m very lonely and isolated. I miss Vegas. It was always busy, and with the friends I made, there was always something going on.
I spent the last ten years living the perfect life of being infinitely distracted, and I loved it. Being here alone, I do nothing but think about my problems, past and present. It’s starting to give me a level of anxiety that I’m not sure I will be able to handle much longer.
Turning away from my reflection in the mirror, I start the shower before I strip off my clothes. It’s time for me to shift my focus to my job and making money. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to flee the country altogether.
Sure, they could follow me, but would they? Just because I know too much, saw something I wasn’t supposed to see, I’m not sure I’m worth the expense to track down in a whole other country.
Letting out a snort, I step into the warm shower and shake my head a couple of times.
I may not know those guys very well, but I have a feeling they would do it on principle alone.
They aren’t going to let me get away, hide for months, and then not chase me to another country.
They’re going to drag my ass back and then make an example out of me.
A shiver slides up my spine at the thought of what that means. The steam and the heat from the splashing water do nothing to warm me up. I’m chilled to the bone now just thinking about those men.
Those highly dangerous assholes.