Empty Secrets (Back Down Devil MC #5.5)(3)

Angelo took them back into the kitchen area and through another little corridor. At the end of the hall was a heavy door. It was dirty and the handle looked slimy. Angelo opened it and they all worked their way inside.

“Here,” Angelo said. “Now what?”

“I’m going to look around,” Jett said.

“You don’t need to. It’s all fresh. Right out of the ocean.”

“Yeah?” Jett asked. He pointed to a box of salmon. “This says packed from Fairland, New Jersey.”

“Fresh and packed,” Angelo said.

Jett lost it. He grabbed Angelo by the shirt and swung him. The big man was a little hard to move, but when he got him swinging, gravity and momentum did its job. Jett threw Angelo into a rack of food. He crashed with a thud and let out a scream. Two containers of food fell from the shelves, one of them spilling open with chicken breasts hitting the floor and sliding across the floor.

“You’re f*cking scum,” Jett said.

He then took the lead and started opening the containers of food, looking for drugs. It was pretty simple. With all the dealings with the bomb at the compound and some business guy snooping around after his daughter was killed at a fight, Miller worried that some of the other battles in the world were being left behind. The worst thing that could happen were drugs. Back Down Devil MC worked hard to keep all that shit out of Frelen. There were some mumblings about Coast Road MC and bringing in drugs with seafood. Angelo popped up on the radar because he was a piece of shit. A gambler, addicted to strippers, always making promises he couldn’t keep. The restaurant was flooded by debt and waiting to collapse. It only made sense he would be helping to move drugs around.

“What are you doing?” Angelo asked as he tried to get to his feet.

He then stepped on a chicken breast and slid on it. He went down hard on his ass with a bellowing cry.

“Look at him,” Jace said. “He’s pathetic.”

“Yeah,” Jett said. “These containers are clear.”

“Tell me,” Angelo cried out. “What did I do?”

Angelo tried to stand again and managed to get to his feet.

Jett faced him. “Drugs. Got any?”

“No. No, no, no. I never…”

“Angelo, I find out you’re involved with anything like that… I’m going to f*cking kill you.”

“Okay,” Angelo said. “Never. I just have debts.”

“And crappy food,” Jace said.

“Yeah, man, my stomach…”

Jace opened another container and screamed. “Holy Christ.”

“What?” Jett asked.

“Look at this. More chicken, man. And it’s green…”

“I had chicken,” Blaine said.

“You serve spoiled food?” Jett asked.

“When you cook it,” Angelo said, “the bad stuff dies. It never goes bad…”

Jett backed up. He looked at Blaine and saw his face turning white.

“Oh man,” Blaine said. “No…”

Before Jett could say another word, Blaine started to throw up. He launched his food right at Angelo, hitting him in the legs and covering his feet and the raw chicken on the floor.

Jett reached for the door and opened it.

Blaine let out a growling sound and threw up a little more.

“It looks better now than it did when Stacey brought it from the kitchen,” Jace said.

Jett laughed.

Blaine grabbed his stomach and dry heaved. “Fuck you, man.”

“I think we’re done here,” Jett said. He looked at Angelo. “Clean it up, Angelo. All of it. Next time we come back here… it won’t be nice. And it won’t be f*cking puke on your clothes either.”

Jett left the fridge area and spotted Stacey. She looked at him and smiled. He gave a nod. Part of him still thought about running right through her. He imagined her tight and wild.

“That was f*cking gross,” Jace said.

“Yeah,” Jett said. “I’m out of here.”

“Where to?” Jett asked.

Blaine cut between them and put his arms around them. “Let’s go get a f*cking drink.”

“Before that, you need a breath mint,” Jett said.

He looked for Stacey again, but she was gone.

Fuck, what a crazy day.

But at least I’m alive…





two.



Drinking at the clubhouse had its own appeal. It was a lot like drinking with business partners or something. Always waiting for someone to talk about a deal, a war, a fight, a gun, something. Miller and Gaige had given Jett a key to a room at the clubhouse, but he had yet to use it. He was close enough just by wearing the goddamn patch and pulling the trigger on his gun when needed. Not that he didn’t love the guys or anything, but sometimes it was nice to be at a bar outside the clubhouse.

Blaine and Jace were shooting pool against two guys, four women looking on. They were betting fifty bucks a game, but Jett knew that the women were the real prize. For Jett, he just sat at the bar, beer and whiskey in hand, listening to a rambling broadcast of a f*cking hockey game. He didn’t give a shit about sports. Or anything for that matter. Jett had grown up rough and tough, his mother kidnapped and murdered when he was just seven years old. And it always seemed on those sevens bad shit happened. On his seventeenth birthday, he was on the streets, living alone, and found out that his father was the one who kidnapped and killed his mother. That began a long quest to find his father and all the backdoor dealings of organized crime that had been going on around Jett.