SLAM HER(7)

I looked right at Knox. I knew what I wanted to do. I knew what I had to.

“Find out everything you can about his daughter.”





five



(slam)



MONTHS AGO



Timmy, Tommy, and Don. I had repeated their names in my mind a hundred times, making fun of them for sounding like some dumb TV show. They were the ones with big money and big ties to other work for the MC.

But the way they talked and acted, they always seemed skittish to me. Yet when it came time to vote, I threw my hand up with a yay because I wanted the cash and I didn’t want to go head to head with the entire MC. Granted, I had been pounding whiskey when we went to chapel, so maybe my best judgment wasn’t present.

Either way, I was first in line, cruising along a normally quiet road, the back of my ride stuffed with pieces of weapons. The plan was simple. If I got knocked over in any way, shape, or form, the guns I had could be worked out through the lawyers and court. Not to mention most of the PD was on our side with things. It was just the chief and a few of his brown nosed buddies that wanted to f*ck us over big time.

Behind me, Ari drove a truck. If that was opened, there would be a big stack of just-about-to-turn seafood. Enough to make your stomach turn and want to get away from the truck.

If shit did hit the fan with me, then Ari was to park the truck and bail. Then when the coast was clear, we’d have an alternative route.

Most of our runs were flawless. Sometimes we ran into hiccups.

But this one…

This was a f*cking set up.





Chief Richards put his foot to the middle of my back and pointed his long ass revolver to the back of my skull.

“I got ya,” he growled. “You filthy piece of shit.”

“Fuck off,” I said.

I knew how to play off getting arrested. Jail time didn’t bother me at all. I could get in and get out, just like nasty sex, you know? Do it because it needs to be done. Then be gone.

Chief had two of his guys stand me up.

He was a little shorter than me. Years on the job had left him with salt and pepper hair, a rough looking attempt at a beard, and crow’s feet big enough that he looked ready to grab dinner and fly away.

His breath stunk of cigar and whiskey.

“Guns. Always the guns with you guys.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.

“Yeah f*cking right,” Chief Richards said. “I’ve been eyeing you for a long time. And we have a box truck about two miles back that’s full of weapons.”

Now that got my f*cking attention.

I looked right at Chief Richards and he knew I knew he f*cking had me good.

Right on cue one of the police cruisers moved and I saw Tommy standing against another cruiser, his arms crossed, body shaking.

That’s why I didn’t trust those pricks. They were junkies. They were on the search for the next high. It was the only thing they knew. They couldn’t exist beyond it. And they had sold the f*cking MC out big time. My name was thrown all over the place and since I was the first guy they grabbed, I was the one who got f*cked.

I had no reason to talk as Chief Richards walked me to his SUV. He took me to the box truck and tried to get me to sell out the rest of the club. One thing about the guys in the Reap: we never f*cking sold each other out. No matter what.

My lips were shut and stayed shut.

Chief Richards introduced me to his baton half a dozen times and all I did was spit blood on the ground. His biggest deputy slammed my face off the side of the box truck, leaving a bloody smear.

They had their fun.

I would serve my time.

And I would get my revenge.





six



(belle)



NOW



It was a quiet little Italian restaurant. My father got me the job as a favor and I ended up staying way too long. I got too close to the family that owned the place and now I felt completely stuck there. The owner, Marco, had been through two divorces. His kids had grown up and moved on, while I was still there, working. His mother, Annie, had battled two types of cancer, beaten them both, only to fall, break her hip, and somehow end up with pneumonia, and that’s what took her precious life.

The restaurant had seen hundreds of workers come and go but I was one of the few that stuck it out. I could handle the family drama, the crises, and everything else in between. I could handle Marco when he drank too much and talked to me about his future. I could handle the people, the drunks, the complaints, and I could handle decorating the place for each stupid holiday all on my own.

The truth was that it wasn’t about comfort. It wasn’t about having a job. That part was nice. Thanks to my suggestions and Marco’s willingness to spend a little money, we took the restaurant from a small casual place into something a tad bit more upscale. Marco promoted me and I was able to make enough to survive and have plenty left over. Trust me, I wasn’t rich. I wasn’t retiring at forty or anything. I had a one bedroom apartment, a used car that needed an oil change, and the last time I bought myself something new at the mall was for the black dress I wore to Annie’s funeral. (And even then, Marco slipped me a hundred bucks to get something nice.)

What it was… family.

I felt like I was part of a family. The restaurant was home.